Yesterday I worked a 9 and a half hour day, with no lunch and no breaks Which is inexcusable since I have an assigned substitute carrier and I was only out for two days. It should not take me that long to clean p after him, but it did. And now I'm off today, so I'll be cleaning up tomorrow, but that's a gripe for another day.
Any hoo...
Nine and a half hours. I promptly started dinner as I got home, wondering where the hell my husband had gone off to when he came through the door and announced that he "had done it."
Crap.
I forgot to vote.
Getting dinner into a good holding pattern, I threw my sneakers and coat on and headed out the door.
"Youngest, I'm off to cast my vote for Vermin Supreme!" I yell down the stairs.
"You do that! Ponies for everyone and mandatory teeth bushing!" He replies.
In truth, I would have felt better about casting my vote for the guy that wears a boot on his head and promises a pony based economy. At least you'd know what you're getting. And who wouldn't love a security team of flying monkeys? On the mile drive to the elementary school I pondered my choices...
A chick that's completely untrustworthy, who basically has stated little, if no new ideas for the country, but sadly is the most qualified.
An old guy, funded at $25 a whack, who's ideas I like a lot, but even I know are not possible.
The Donald. *shudder*
A guy that may or may not be eligible, since he only denounced his Canadian citizenship when he figured he'd throw his hat in the ring, that is also not trustworthy.
A guy who doesn't show up for work and is predicted unlikely to win his own state.
A doctor who looks as though he's been doing a lot of self medicating and who I'm not sure knows he's still running.
And the guy from Ohio, who is seemingly the only one making any sense, simply by keeping his mouth shut.
Being Independent, I can pick which party to vote in. So do I vote against who I like the least, knowing full well that's how it will go anyway? OR do I switch the party and vote against the biggest of all evils, just so that that candidate doesn't get that extra vote?
Or do I write in Vermin and ensure we'd all have fresh breath, and a funded time travel program?
It's a vexing problem indeed.
In the end, I voted to try and upset the apple cart. Which it did not. I did learn that according to CBS, Vermin won 4th in NH, coming in with more votes than the Republican Senator Gilmore. I also learned that "How to move to Canada" internet searches skyrocketed shortly after the polls closed.
We. Are. Doomed.
I sure hope Canada is ready for our refugees...
Wednesday, March 2, 2016
Tuesday, February 23, 2016
It's Personal...
11:30 pm
Clang, Clang, Clang.
Silence
Clang, Clang, Bang!
"Did you put the kids to bed?"
"Yup."
"Are you sure they went?"
"Yup"
"Ohhhhh... I know what that is."
And as the kitchen light clicked on, all the noise stopped.
It had been three days since I baited behind the kitchen trash to catch some critters. I have been slowly cleaning out every nook in the house, and when I cleaned under the kitchen sink, where we keep the trash, I found... evidence. And while I will not bait the garage or a shed, it is just not acceptable for us to share our living space with a mouse.
Our home is 75 years old. Despite my best efforts, it's nearly impossible to seal every crack and crevice, no matter how many cans of spray foam I have purchased. Having the cat would be a huge advantage in the war against wildlife, if he actually did anything. In fact, as the two of us tried to figure out what to do with our new found house guest, he laid sound asleep like a ten pound anchor on the foot of the bed.
That was Friday night. On Saturday, after work, I came home and cleaned the basement. Our basement measures about 6'4" at it's highest, which means that at 6'2", my husband would be of little long term help. I started in the laundry room, moving the washer, vacuuming cobwebs, sorting through items to donate, searching for anywhere there could be a nest. I took down walls. Removed insulation. Destroyed panel board. Reworked wiring.
Nothing.
I moved onto Tony's section. The section that houses approximately 70,000 baseball cards... in boxes... in stacks... in books. I moved every box. Inspected them all for damage. Chew marks. extra evidence. It is a haven for mouse nesting material. Yet, nothing.
In fact, I found zero evidence of mice anywhere in the basement. Every trap we had strategically placed out of reach from the cat was empty. At one point Tony came down to find out why he had heard the power tools.
"Was that wall structural?"
"I hope not. It came down in 3 kicks."
"I don't think I like it. We almost have too much room now."
"You can not fill it with more crap."
Six hours later, the basement was sparkly clean. The trash bags and demo debris was thrown on the back lawn for disposal on Sunday. Donations were bagged and boxed for drop off. I felt a bit better thinking that maybe, just maybe, the nest was not inside the house. We went to bed, traps set, and were woken again at 430 Monday morning.
*sigh*
Exhausted, Tony opted to wait until 530 when he would be getting up for work. The clanging had subsided, so we figured he had given up on the struggle. When the time came to retrieve the trap, we were in for a surprise.
The mastermind had propped the trap between the copper pipes and pried himself off, leaving nothing but a tuft of fur and a piece of popcorn.
Oh, HELL NO.
Game on.
I came home from work with multiple traps. I set four under the cabinets. Two more down stairs under the pipes that lead into the cabinets. I emptied an entire can of spray foam darkening every speck of light I could find. I prepped the bucket, and went to bed.
1130 pm.
Clang, clang. rattle, rattle, rattle.
I filled the bucket from the tub. Tony scooped the tiny mouse into the bucket for a quick execution and stuck the bucket outside. We washed up and returned to bed where the cat had decided, now that the coast was clear, he'd go have a snack, his tag clanging against the water bowl.
Pft. *eye roll* Useless.
Today I did some more cleaning to see if I could find evidence anywhere else. I pulled the oven, nothing. As best as I could see, under the fridge also showed virtually no evidence of activity, although the dust bunnies are ferocious. I am tempted to pull the dishwasher as I suspect that if there is a nest, it would be in the corner of wasted space, but that is a project for another day.
For now, we wait....
This time, it's personal.
Clang, Clang, Clang.
Silence
Clang, Clang, Bang!
"Did you put the kids to bed?"
"Yup."
"Are you sure they went?"
"Yup"
"Ohhhhh... I know what that is."
And as the kitchen light clicked on, all the noise stopped.
It had been three days since I baited behind the kitchen trash to catch some critters. I have been slowly cleaning out every nook in the house, and when I cleaned under the kitchen sink, where we keep the trash, I found... evidence. And while I will not bait the garage or a shed, it is just not acceptable for us to share our living space with a mouse.
Our home is 75 years old. Despite my best efforts, it's nearly impossible to seal every crack and crevice, no matter how many cans of spray foam I have purchased. Having the cat would be a huge advantage in the war against wildlife, if he actually did anything. In fact, as the two of us tried to figure out what to do with our new found house guest, he laid sound asleep like a ten pound anchor on the foot of the bed.
That was Friday night. On Saturday, after work, I came home and cleaned the basement. Our basement measures about 6'4" at it's highest, which means that at 6'2", my husband would be of little long term help. I started in the laundry room, moving the washer, vacuuming cobwebs, sorting through items to donate, searching for anywhere there could be a nest. I took down walls. Removed insulation. Destroyed panel board. Reworked wiring.
Nothing.
I moved onto Tony's section. The section that houses approximately 70,000 baseball cards... in boxes... in stacks... in books. I moved every box. Inspected them all for damage. Chew marks. extra evidence. It is a haven for mouse nesting material. Yet, nothing.
In fact, I found zero evidence of mice anywhere in the basement. Every trap we had strategically placed out of reach from the cat was empty. At one point Tony came down to find out why he had heard the power tools.
"Was that wall structural?"
"I hope not. It came down in 3 kicks."
"I don't think I like it. We almost have too much room now."
"You can not fill it with more crap."
Six hours later, the basement was sparkly clean. The trash bags and demo debris was thrown on the back lawn for disposal on Sunday. Donations were bagged and boxed for drop off. I felt a bit better thinking that maybe, just maybe, the nest was not inside the house. We went to bed, traps set, and were woken again at 430 Monday morning.
*sigh*
Exhausted, Tony opted to wait until 530 when he would be getting up for work. The clanging had subsided, so we figured he had given up on the struggle. When the time came to retrieve the trap, we were in for a surprise.
The mastermind had propped the trap between the copper pipes and pried himself off, leaving nothing but a tuft of fur and a piece of popcorn.
Oh, HELL NO.
Game on.
I came home from work with multiple traps. I set four under the cabinets. Two more down stairs under the pipes that lead into the cabinets. I emptied an entire can of spray foam darkening every speck of light I could find. I prepped the bucket, and went to bed.
1130 pm.
Clang, clang. rattle, rattle, rattle.
I filled the bucket from the tub. Tony scooped the tiny mouse into the bucket for a quick execution and stuck the bucket outside. We washed up and returned to bed where the cat had decided, now that the coast was clear, he'd go have a snack, his tag clanging against the water bowl.
Pft. *eye roll* Useless.
Today I did some more cleaning to see if I could find evidence anywhere else. I pulled the oven, nothing. As best as I could see, under the fridge also showed virtually no evidence of activity, although the dust bunnies are ferocious. I am tempted to pull the dishwasher as I suspect that if there is a nest, it would be in the corner of wasted space, but that is a project for another day.
For now, we wait....
This time, it's personal.
Thursday, February 18, 2016
Truth Is...
... it's been a month since my last confession post, and so as to not make this feel too much like sneaking into church late, I'm just going to jump right in. Mmmmkay.... shall we?
Truth is.... this was the temperature here on Sunday, Valentine's Day...
Nope. -14 is not the windchill, it was the actual temperature at 6 am (as per our friend's weather station) and yes, that is a -31 degree windchill. When I went out at 10 am it had warmed to a balmy -2 with a wind chill of flash-freeze-upon-contact. Four days earlier I was out delivering mail in shorts and a t-shirt. Two days earlier I was sliding all over the road in 8 inches of snow. On Monday I was out delivering in a blizzard. By Wednesday I was in jeans and a T-Shirt, with barely any evidence of snow piles left to show for it all.
Truth is... I think Mother Nature is drunk.
Truth is... I have been purging the cabinets. It began simply with the bathroom cabinet. I tossed all the expired medicines, moved on to my old cosmetics, nail polish, etc. A few days later I moved onto the kitchen cabinets. A full trash bag though ancient spices, when the hell did I buy this? and why do I have 4 boxes of corn starch???, I realized I am a hoarder of baking good intentions. So many goodies, so little time....
Truth is... upon cleaning out the cabinet under the sink, I discovered we have had a visitor. Likely seeking shelter from the extreme temps, he happened upon a baby bell cheese snack that had been tossed in the trash.
Truth is... there is now a perimeter of glue traps laid everywhere the cat can not get into. I will not be calling an exterminator, this time.... it's personal.
Truth is... I had to prepare Youngest of the realities of glue traps. The only way a mouse could survive a glue trap is to shave them off. I then had to convince him that no one would respect a bald mouse army and that his plans of world domination would need to be carried out by other means. He is bummed, but understands.
Truth is... he's taking this much better than he did a few years ago when Mr. Chewey Cat caught the only other mouse we've ever had here due to a door being left open all night. He seriously wanted to nurse it back to health. It was a sad, sad day folks.
Truth is... the cat is fired.
Truth is... the roof finally went on the house! About a month later we finished the installation of a sun tube in the bathroom. Here's the before picture of my tiny bathroom, about noon time on a bright sunny day...
And then with the sun tube, at 8am, on a cloudy day...
Crazy, right? So far I'm loving it. Even at night, it collects the light from a full moon and I can get up and pee without turning on the light! Awesome...
Truth is... about two days later the bathroom fan died and I had to work around the newly installed sun tube to retro fit the new one. *sigh*
Truth is... I finally finished the valance for the bedroom. I used up the last of some fabric I had from another project (to be posted later) and utilized some large grommets and voila! $22 later I had curtains.
The bedroom has been a giant work in progress... at some point I will reveal the gory details, but for now you can see the valance. You're welcome.
Truth is.... Have you ever seen photos of people at paint night and there's always that one person who does something so completely different and you wonder if they were in the same class? Apparently, when I turned my canvas the "wrong way" and painted clouds through my moon and wanted glitter for the snow, I became that person.
Truth is.... this could also explain why no one wants to go to next Wednesday's class with me.
Truth is... I'm also trying my hand at coloring to relax at night....
I have to use markers because I have trouble getting the color I want from pencils, with the whole hands going numb thing. I have paint markers and watercolor ones. So far, I'm not hating it. But it is taxing my hands, so I have to limit it to two drawings per night.
Truth is... my appointment to assess the nerve damage in my hands is next Monday.
Truth is... I'm beyond sick of medical appointments.
Truth is... I've missed it here...
Truth is.... this was the temperature here on Sunday, Valentine's Day...
Nope. -14 is not the windchill, it was the actual temperature at 6 am (as per our friend's weather station) and yes, that is a -31 degree windchill. When I went out at 10 am it had warmed to a balmy -2 with a wind chill of flash-freeze-upon-contact. Four days earlier I was out delivering mail in shorts and a t-shirt. Two days earlier I was sliding all over the road in 8 inches of snow. On Monday I was out delivering in a blizzard. By Wednesday I was in jeans and a T-Shirt, with barely any evidence of snow piles left to show for it all.
Truth is... I think Mother Nature is drunk.
Truth is... I have been purging the cabinets. It began simply with the bathroom cabinet. I tossed all the expired medicines, moved on to my old cosmetics, nail polish, etc. A few days later I moved onto the kitchen cabinets. A full trash bag though ancient spices, when the hell did I buy this? and why do I have 4 boxes of corn starch???, I realized I am a hoarder of baking good intentions. So many goodies, so little time....
Truth is... upon cleaning out the cabinet under the sink, I discovered we have had a visitor. Likely seeking shelter from the extreme temps, he happened upon a baby bell cheese snack that had been tossed in the trash.
Truth is... there is now a perimeter of glue traps laid everywhere the cat can not get into. I will not be calling an exterminator, this time.... it's personal.
Truth is... I had to prepare Youngest of the realities of glue traps. The only way a mouse could survive a glue trap is to shave them off. I then had to convince him that no one would respect a bald mouse army and that his plans of world domination would need to be carried out by other means. He is bummed, but understands.
Truth is... he's taking this much better than he did a few years ago when Mr. Chewey Cat caught the only other mouse we've ever had here due to a door being left open all night. He seriously wanted to nurse it back to health. It was a sad, sad day folks.
Truth is... the cat is fired.
Truth is... the roof finally went on the house! About a month later we finished the installation of a sun tube in the bathroom. Here's the before picture of my tiny bathroom, about noon time on a bright sunny day...
And then with the sun tube, at 8am, on a cloudy day...
Truth is... about two days later the bathroom fan died and I had to work around the newly installed sun tube to retro fit the new one. *sigh*
Truth is... I finally finished the valance for the bedroom. I used up the last of some fabric I had from another project (to be posted later) and utilized some large grommets and voila! $22 later I had curtains.
Truth is.... Have you ever seen photos of people at paint night and there's always that one person who does something so completely different and you wonder if they were in the same class? Apparently, when I turned my canvas the "wrong way" and painted clouds through my moon and wanted glitter for the snow, I became that person.
Truth is.... this could also explain why no one wants to go to next Wednesday's class with me.
Truth is... I'm also trying my hand at coloring to relax at night....
I have to use markers because I have trouble getting the color I want from pencils, with the whole hands going numb thing. I have paint markers and watercolor ones. So far, I'm not hating it. But it is taxing my hands, so I have to limit it to two drawings per night.
Truth is... my appointment to assess the nerve damage in my hands is next Monday.
Truth is... I'm beyond sick of medical appointments.
Truth is... I've missed it here...
Tuesday, January 12, 2016
Bench Warming....
If there's one undeniable thing about New England it's that we are a sports town. Even when our teams suck.... like Patriots in the 80's suck.... we are still die hard fans. It's almost sacrilegious to not follow any sports, but alas... I am not a sports fanatic.
Sure, I will watch my share of hockey and soccer. They move fast enough to hold my attention. Basketball has grown on me, mostly because I have figured out how to (mostly) block out the squeaky sneaker sounds. But football? Forget it. Actually, the only thing I truly find appealing about football is the super bowl nachos. And not even the tight pants and nice buns of baseball will entice me to turn the channel. That is unless of course, you throw in reasonable seats at Fenway, a beautiful day, and all I can eat hot dogs and fudge sundaes... because then it becomes an event... not just a sport.
Mmmmm ice cream... where was I? Ah, yeah... my avoidance of sports.
I am also not too proud to say that I avoided sports entirely for the better part of the boys' early years. There was no T-Ball, no Mighty Mites hockey, not even a rec league soccer game. As a single mom it was very hard to just juggle work, day care, and the basics of keeping them alive, and while I eventually caved and put them both into a rec league dodgeball event (6 weeks, 2 times a week, same league) and Youngest experimented in Karate (made it all the way to his blue belt) I had successfully navigated my way around every "team" sport and all of the mind numbing, time sucking, soccer mom-ing that came with it.
Until 3rd and 4th grade, respectively, and the basketball rec league took over our lives. The first year wasn't so bad. Even though the boys were on different teams they were in the same league. The second and third years, Tony coached on both leagues, which meant 4 nights a week, and that from November to February the living room was fair game for running plays and faking out your opponent...from 6am to 10pm. We also had multiple snow cancellations those years, so the February end date pushed straight into mid March, where we lived and breathed the full effects of March "madness".
Youngest likes the rec. league. He can suck and no one cares, he'll always get playing time, and he can goof off with his friends. Oldest has always been more competitive, trying out for the 7th grade school team as well, knowing full well with 42 kids trying out and two spots to fill, he'd likely never make it. And he didn't. He went on to play rec. league, and when summer came, he signed up for the High School's skills clinic.
In eight grade he tried out again. About 60 kids this time, with about 10 spots to fill. He made the first and second cuts, but failed to make the final. Disappointed, he went back to rec. league where again, he worked on his skills, enrolled in the summer clinic, and joined a summer tournament league where they got their arses handed to them every. single. game. But he showed up for every game and practice, one of only 3 kids that consistently did, and it showed.
The recreational league for High School here is limited. Perhaps their is a lack of interest by that age, or a lack of gym space, but it leaves a lot to be desired. None the less, Oldest was fine with playing rec again, but wanted to tryout for the freshman team. I was less than enthused. To be honest, I just didn't want him heartbroken again, and his practice ethics from the summer tourney league were waning. I tried to prepare him for the blow.
"You're not practicing enough."
"There's a LOT of kids trying out, and not many spots."
"You don't have the stamina."
"Imagine the practices of the summer tourney league, but WAY harder."
Yes, I know... parents of the year. But we wanted him to be prepared.
He ignored us completely. A hundred and sixty dollars and an updated physical later, he was trying out, one of 30 kids for what would inevitably be maybe four not already determined spots.
He was exhausted every practice. The other kids said he'd never make it.... he'd never made a team. The coaches yelled at him every practice to work harder, get faster, stay focused. And yet, he just kept coming back, even when his enthusiasm wavered and he began to rethink his choice, he didn't quit.
And, he made the team.
We have never been so proud to have been so wrong. Season started in November, right after Thanksgiving. They practice SIX days a week for an hour and a half every day. They play a full rotation, and work their b-ass-kets off. He doesn't get much playing time, and tonight as I finally made it to an away game, he got no playing time. But he is there, working hard, belonging to the team. Slowly the team is taking shape, and while their record sucks, it is slowly coming together.
The plan was never for him to play JV. When he initially watched the tryouts they had to endure it was completely off the table. Now, it's peaking his interest. The JV coach has started noticing him, he gets along well with the other players, it's less like work and more like play...sometimes... others times it's more like "I can't move even my eyelashes, can you get me some chocolate milk?" But he's thinking about it. And this time, I am sitting quiet.
Because as much as I want to protect him from falling, I have never been so proud of his determination.
Even if all he ever does is warm the bench.
Sure, I will watch my share of hockey and soccer. They move fast enough to hold my attention. Basketball has grown on me, mostly because I have figured out how to (mostly) block out the squeaky sneaker sounds. But football? Forget it. Actually, the only thing I truly find appealing about football is the super bowl nachos. And not even the tight pants and nice buns of baseball will entice me to turn the channel. That is unless of course, you throw in reasonable seats at Fenway, a beautiful day, and all I can eat hot dogs and fudge sundaes... because then it becomes an event... not just a sport.
Mmmmm ice cream... where was I? Ah, yeah... my avoidance of sports.
I am also not too proud to say that I avoided sports entirely for the better part of the boys' early years. There was no T-Ball, no Mighty Mites hockey, not even a rec league soccer game. As a single mom it was very hard to just juggle work, day care, and the basics of keeping them alive, and while I eventually caved and put them both into a rec league dodgeball event (6 weeks, 2 times a week, same league) and Youngest experimented in Karate (made it all the way to his blue belt) I had successfully navigated my way around every "team" sport and all of the mind numbing, time sucking, soccer mom-ing that came with it.
Until 3rd and 4th grade, respectively, and the basketball rec league took over our lives. The first year wasn't so bad. Even though the boys were on different teams they were in the same league. The second and third years, Tony coached on both leagues, which meant 4 nights a week, and that from November to February the living room was fair game for running plays and faking out your opponent...from 6am to 10pm. We also had multiple snow cancellations those years, so the February end date pushed straight into mid March, where we lived and breathed the full effects of March "madness".
Youngest likes the rec. league. He can suck and no one cares, he'll always get playing time, and he can goof off with his friends. Oldest has always been more competitive, trying out for the 7th grade school team as well, knowing full well with 42 kids trying out and two spots to fill, he'd likely never make it. And he didn't. He went on to play rec. league, and when summer came, he signed up for the High School's skills clinic.
In eight grade he tried out again. About 60 kids this time, with about 10 spots to fill. He made the first and second cuts, but failed to make the final. Disappointed, he went back to rec. league where again, he worked on his skills, enrolled in the summer clinic, and joined a summer tournament league where they got their arses handed to them every. single. game. But he showed up for every game and practice, one of only 3 kids that consistently did, and it showed.
The recreational league for High School here is limited. Perhaps their is a lack of interest by that age, or a lack of gym space, but it leaves a lot to be desired. None the less, Oldest was fine with playing rec again, but wanted to tryout for the freshman team. I was less than enthused. To be honest, I just didn't want him heartbroken again, and his practice ethics from the summer tourney league were waning. I tried to prepare him for the blow.
"You're not practicing enough."
"There's a LOT of kids trying out, and not many spots."
"You don't have the stamina."
"Imagine the practices of the summer tourney league, but WAY harder."
Yes, I know... parents of the year. But we wanted him to be prepared.
He ignored us completely. A hundred and sixty dollars and an updated physical later, he was trying out, one of 30 kids for what would inevitably be maybe four not already determined spots.
He was exhausted every practice. The other kids said he'd never make it.... he'd never made a team. The coaches yelled at him every practice to work harder, get faster, stay focused. And yet, he just kept coming back, even when his enthusiasm wavered and he began to rethink his choice, he didn't quit.
And, he made the team.
We have never been so proud to have been so wrong. Season started in November, right after Thanksgiving. They practice SIX days a week for an hour and a half every day. They play a full rotation, and work their b-ass-kets off. He doesn't get much playing time, and tonight as I finally made it to an away game, he got no playing time. But he is there, working hard, belonging to the team. Slowly the team is taking shape, and while their record sucks, it is slowly coming together.
The plan was never for him to play JV. When he initially watched the tryouts they had to endure it was completely off the table. Now, it's peaking his interest. The JV coach has started noticing him, he gets along well with the other players, it's less like work and more like play...sometimes... others times it's more like "I can't move even my eyelashes, can you get me some chocolate milk?" But he's thinking about it. And this time, I am sitting quiet.
Because as much as I want to protect him from falling, I have never been so proud of his determination.
Even if all he ever does is warm the bench.
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