Wildlife encounters.

I'm beginning to wonder what kind of wild critter I will encounter tomorrow. And under what circumstances.

Today I was picking up a few things in Walmart and as I turned my buggy down one aisle I saw a bird fly from one side of that aisle to the other - from the TP to the paper towels. I looked at Rachel: "Did you see that?!" She hadn't. So I went about my business and about the time I reached for some tissues, Rachel said "there it is!" and sure enough, there was the bird watching me from atop a box of Kleenex.

Nice. And a little creepy.

Yesterday - or rather, last night about the time we were all getting ready to go to bed - our encounter was with a mouse.

Yes. In the house.

I know. Finding how it got in is on my list of things to do. Straightaway.

So ... can I just say? One of our cats is worthless in the mousing department. He thinks mice are great toys and he will catch them and play with them until they outsmart him ... which honestly, doesn't take much. It's funny to watch when you see him do it outside, but in the house? Not so much. I'm relatively certain the mouse got in somewhere under the kitchen sink, and I'm pretty sure Patch The Kitty batted that mouse around until it found someplace to hide IN MY BEDROOM. (Which would explain why I woke up to the sound of that crazy cat racing around the perimeter of my bedroom a couple nights ago.)

In the interest of keeping the story short, I will tell you that our encounter with the mouse involved me squealing at least twice, me and Rachel hopping on top of my bed, Sam with a flashlight, broom, and knee-high boots, and two cats who didn't know which way was up for all the screaming, laughing and scrambling.

That mouse ran across my bedroom floor and hid under the bed, then through the front room and hid under the cat scratcher, then into the kitchen and under the oven. All of this took probably a half hour with us tearing things apart - carefully, none of us wanting it to jump out at us - in each room. You can just imagine the chaos.

And all of that excitement came after my up-close-and-personal encounter with a 'possum Friday night.

Short version: hound dog slipped her collar after dark, ran out into the swamp and cornered a 'possum, barked (and barked and barked and barked and barked and barked) until I got concerned she might be in trouble, I trekked through the swamp with a flashlight and a leash to see what was the matter, saw angry (and VERY LARGE) rodent hissing at dog, grabbed a big stick and tried to distract dog, rodent tried to make a run for it, dog grabbed rodent by the neck and shook until it curled into a ball either dead or playing dead, I held the stick over the 'possum with one hand and grabbed the dog by the scruff of the neck with the other.

Y'all, that was the biggest opossum I have ever seen. I have known 18-lb house cats, and this animal was bigger. And my 45-lb dog showed no fear. I know she was a hunter in her former life, but knowing she can do it and seeing her in action are two different things. I couldn't believe she came out of there without a scratch on her.

Nevermind that I wanted to beat the crap out of her for making me go out there ...

And nevermind that she's supposed to hunt raccoons. (As far as I know.)

Whatever. I hope that's all the excitement I have around here for a while. Whew.

The Family Jokester.

Rachel joined her Girl Scout troop to ride in the school's homecoming parade last night. There was a Disney theme and the girls chose "101 Dalmatians" for their float. They were so cute - they all had white t-shirts that they painted with black spots. I met Rach at the end of the parade route.

Me: "Did you have fun?"

Rachel: "Mhmm."

Me: "Can I get a picture of you?"

Rachel: "SURE!!!!! Nyah! Neener!"

Me: "Come on. Can I just get one good picture of you?"

Rachel: "Yup!! Here!"

Me: *sigh*

"Let's go."

 Ya' know, if she had stood there and smiled nicely I would have taken the picture and probably e-mailed it to her dad and then made it the wallpaper on my phone or something. But no. These beauties go on the Interwebz for all the world to see.

When she graduates from high school I'm just going to print out my blog for her scrapbook.

Except she probably won't care, and then the joke will be on me.

*sigh*

The Incredible (Dis)Appearing Bullfrog*.

So I was sitting pretzel-legs on the ground at the edge of my flower bed, enjoying the sunshine and pulling tender little weeds out, when out from under one of the plants crawls Billy The Bullfrog.

Actually, it was more like sproing!, hop, plop, "fe-fi-fo-fum, who the heck has disturbed me?"

I? Squealed like a little girl and flung myself into a backwards crab crawl.

I didn't hang out to see what it was, I just knew there was something moving in a space where nothing was supposed to be moving.

Well. Upon realizing what had startled me, I had a good laugh. I laughed and laughed and laughed. Rachel came rushing over. (OK, rushing might be an overstatement.) I was laughing so hard I could only point to the creature that had come from the depths to reign terror over my flower beds.

We were making such a ruckus my future-sister-in-law came over from next door to see what was the matter. Frogs don't really bother me, but I have a feeling I'm never going to live this one down.

Look at this guy! He's got muscles!

Now check this out ...

Every time the Mighty Amphibian found some cover he'd burrow himself right down into it until he disappeared.

Kinda' neat to watch.

Oh, the things we learn when we hang out in the garden.

Fun!

* Out of curiosity, I looked up frogs and toads on the Michigan DNR web site. I learned Billy is probably a toad - rather than a frog - because of his bumpy, "warty" skin. Sightings of Bullfrogs have been recorded in our area of the state, though, so I'll keep my eyes peeled. Interesting factoid: true Bullfrogs can be up to eight inches long and will sometimes eat small birds. Yikes! 

We can't do everything.

The other day I was blog hopping and found a post from a mom who has gone scratch-cooking-gluten-free-no-sugar-and-I-can't-remember-what-else, and the gist of her post was this: we can't do it all. And ya' know what? She doesn't feel so bad about that.

It was a relief to read this from another mom. She has made the choice to feel good about the positive changes she and her family have made, and to not feel badly because they choose not to do other Potentially Really Good things. I totally dig that. Because for heaven's sake, who are these people who make us feel all sorts of guilty because we don't recycle our glass bottles or cloth diaper our children or make homemade bread from sprouted grains (whatever the hell those are)?

I read that particular post at the same time I was kicking around the idea of writing a sort of stream of consciousness post here. I thought I'd set a block of time, like "preparing dinner" and jot down every(unrelated)thing that came to mind while I did that one seemingly simple task.

Uhh. I decided my somewhat ADD self didn't need one more distraction while I'm cooking. But I couldn't get over the idea, so I thought I'd try a "virtual" stream of consciousness. (Does that even make any sense? Ha!)

OK. Imagine I'm making banana bread. Which I really am going to do today.

Here's what's happening in my head:

Banana bread. Good way to use up the bananas we didn't eat. Score one for not wasting food. Too bad we can't grow bananas closer to Michigan. That whole "eating local" thing. Too many bananas, need to double the recipe. Two cups times two is four cups. Rachel needs some help with her multiplication. Add flashcards to the shopping list. No, we have 3x5 cards, we'll make some. We don't need to buy things we can make ourselves or do without because eventually everything ends up in the trash. I wish we didn't create so much trash. I wonder how much of a difference it makes that we burn our paper instead of putting it in the trash. Definitely a good choice to toss all the fruit and veggie scraps outside instead of in the trash can. Maybe someday I'll actually have a compost pile again, to use on the garden. Deer ate it all last time; bad location. Deer ... I'm so proud of Sam for bagging his first buck. Venison will be back from the processor in a few days. I wish Steve was here 'cause he'd cut it up himself and save the cost of processing. But at least we have the cash to pay to have it done. We have the cash because Steve is working, and having a job is a good thing. Do I miss working? What am I talking about? I still work every day, just not "out there." I work for my family. Part of what I do is home cooking and making shopping lists and following a budget so we can live on one income. Add flour to the shopping list. I should probably start stocking up on baking supplies with the holidays coming. Lots of flour 'cause I want to try my hand at making pies. With crusts from scratch. How can I be 35 years old and never made a pie? There are moms out there teaching their 5-yr-olds how to make pies. Mmmm, apple pie. Do I have enough apples for pie? What are the best kind of pie apples? Note to self: look up pie recipes next time I get on-line. Or maybe I should forage for apples. We have lots of trees around here. Then they'd be free(!) and we all know the best kind of apples are free apples. I'll check into that. Even if they're not good for pie I can make some applesauce and freeze it. Freezers ... I really need to make an inventory of what's left in the freezers and make sure there's room for venison. Make sure to add cinnamon to the applesauce if I make it, 'cause Rachel loves cinnamon. I'd love some nuts in the banana bread but the kids don't care for nuts. Maybe some with chocolate chips and some with nuts? I should just make it how I like it and if the kids don't like it they don't have to eat it. But this is what I planned for an after-school snack. What time is it? Will these be out of the oven before the kids get off the bus? Hey! I bet I can find a flashcards app on my phone. I really need to cut back on the kids' TV time. Some people live without TV and survive just fine - better, even. So they say. Ah well, my kids love TV and it's a great reward after they do their chores. Chores? When was the last time I paid them for their chores? I need to make a new chore list. Maybe it should include helping make dinner. But I'm home all day, I can make dinner. And breakfast, too. I should do a menu plan and do once-a-month cooking. Then we'd definitely need freezer space. Where's the damn dog? On my bed again. I give up! She needs a bath, though. Has she had her heartworm medicine this month? Check the calendar. Crap. School pictures coming up. Another check to write. What a racket. I really want to have family pictures taken sometime. I'd like to lose some weight first, and I'll never do that if I eat this banana bread. 'Cause I like mine with a lot of butter. But it's so much better than buying boxes of snack foods at the store; at least I know exactly what goes into this bread. Sugar. Like my kids need more of that. Maybe we should try cutting back. I can't control what they do when they're not here, though, so they're gonna' get sugar anyway. What time is it? They'll be home an an hour and a half. Should I be driving them to school? I'm not crazy about some of the things they hear on the bus. But it would be crazy to use all that gas when they can ride the bus for free. Man, I really wish I had a stand mixer. Definitely need to invest in one before we start making our Christmas cookies this year. Gotta' stock up on those supplies. Wouldn't it be fun to do a cookie exchange with some girlfriends? I'd really like to have a get-together. Need to do some cleaning, though. Put spray bottles on the shopping list so when I use up all the cleaning supplies I have I can make my own. Natural cleaners are a good thing. But I'm not crazy about the smell of vinegar. What's that candle over there? I should swap out summery scents with fall scents. I like these candles that are made in the USA. Pumpkin pie candles make me want pumpkin pie ... hmmm ... maybe I can teach myself how to make pumpkin pie. And make several, and put them in the freezer, for the holidays, when we'll be making cookies, and budgeting so we don't spend too much on stuff we don't need, and I'll be using that new mixer (hopefully) to whip up some bread dough but I'll be damned if I'll use sprouted grains. I can't do it all! Oooooh, warm banana bread.

And it goes on like this all. day. long.

Aren't you glad you're not inside my head? You'd probably get motion sick, or at least a little dizzy.

I hope all that blather helps me demonstrate a few things.
1. We can't do it all. Most of us have to make choices about how we're going to contribute to saving the planet and/or humanity. Are we going to go "green" with our choices in building materials, household cleaners, transportation, food consumption? Are we going to become activists for wildlife? Are we going to focus on the political aspect and encourage others to only elect leaders who make the environment and/or high moral values their focus? Will we homeschool our children? Start a farming co-op? Fight the power?

2. Parenting is tough. Mom, dad, single, married, co-habitants, alone, surrounded by family and friends, whatever. It's hard. A few years ago I flooded a social worker with questions upon questions about raising children and you know what I was told? Just the fact that I was thinking about how I parent and questioning some of these things was a pretty good indicator that I'm a good parent. Whew. Hello, validation. My children are fed and clothed and have a roof over their heads. And they eat red meat. And boxed cereal and chicken nuggets. And they drink Kool-Aid and juice boxes sometimes. And milk! And I don't make them wear bicycle helmets. But I let them use power tools and occasionally drive my pickup down the driveway. I say "I" because for the most part I do the parenting while Steve is away. *shrug* I think we're doing fine.

3. Perfectionism can be incapacitating. I like to call myself a recovering perfectionist. In the past, if I didn't have time to do something perfectly (or whatever my vision of perfect was), I wouldn't even get started. Dieting, hanging pictures on the wall, writing a letter, folding towels ... any number of things I wouldn't do because I didn't have the time or energy to make it perfect. I have learned that it's OK to do some things "good enough" and save the pickiness (is that even a word?) for the things that really matter to me. Bonus: this has freed me from being judgmental of others' imperfections. *ahem* Mostly. What can I say? I'm a work in progress.

4. Don't take it personally. If I don't see you stopped next to me at the light, or I don't look up from my list when you walk by me in the grocery store, I'm probably having one of those stream-of-consciousness moments. Go ahead and nudge me. (Well, not with your car, but tapping me on the shoulder in the grocery store is alright.) I might just appreciate the escape from my own brain.

Aaaaand, this seems like the perfect spot to stop rambling for the day! At least publicly. Rest assured it will continue in my head. And I really do need to get baking. Ciao for now!

Did somebody say "awkward?"

I was shopping. Looking for a few basic items to add to my wardrobe. I stopped at one of my favorite stores - one geared toward women of larger-than-average size - and whatever do I see upon entering the store? A man. A thin man. And he's not just there helping his bootylicious girlfriend pick out a new pair of jeans. No! He's working there!

I made a beeline for the clearance racks in the back of the store, but he stepped away from the display he was working on to cut me off at the pass and ask if I needed any help. "I'm just browsing, thank you, " I said casually. And then I remembered that this is the store where I usually buy my undergarments and they happened to be on my list today. Good lord.

No problem. I'll just pretend this guy is Clinton Kelly of What Not To Wear fame (though it was a stretch) and make him my new best girlfriend (not as much of a stretch). Ummm ... use your imagination.

I'm not gonna' lie. I was so glad that when I was in the dressing room he was busy helping someone else. What would I say if he asked "how are those working for you?"

"Well Derek, this blouse hugs the rolls in my tummy too tight, and that one isn't long enough to cover my fat butt, and these pants look great but only from the knees down. Take a peek - what do you recommend?"

Uhh, no.

I tried on four blouses and three pairs of pants and got them back off and my own clothes back on faster than my kids can find the chocolate bar I've hidden behind the pork chops in the freezer. Of course I was incredibly embarrassed when I opened the dressing room door and there he was with one hand on his hip and the other hand in the air with one finger sticking out and he said, "I'll take the ones that didn't work for you."

Oh, rub it in why don't you?

One pair of pants worked for me. ONE. How discouraging. And I still needed to choose those undergarments I came for. I managed to get through that without the gentleman asking me if I preferred bikinis or briefs or high cuts or boy shorts.

Guess who was at the counter waiting to help me check out? Yep. Skinny Boy. Call me crazy or immature or sheltered or whatever, but something about this 20-something, hemp bracelet-wearing dude folding the underwear I so carefully hand-selected gave me the heebie jeebies. Furthermore, while I stood there trying not to watch him fold my new undergarments, a female clerk came over to ask this young man for advice for another customer. Apparently said customer was falling out of her bra in a couple of ways - from the sides in the area under the armpits, and in the front over the tops of the cups. I would expect any woman on the planet to know what I'm describing here. I would expect very few men to understand, much less be able to give suggestions on alternate cuts and/or materials for this woman. But that's exactly what the female clerk asked of the male clerk.

I'm pretty sure by that time my brow was all crinkled up and I was breathing out of my mouth.

After exchanging a few pleasantries and punching in the code for my debit card, I grabbed my bag and hightailed it out of there. Because, ya' know, I had to get home to pick up my kids from the bus stop.

Then came awkward interaction with Strange Man No. 2.

I approached my vehicle in the parking lot to find a man leaning against my pickup smoking a cigarette. I didn't feel at all threatened, so I cheerfully approached him with my keys in my hand, smiled and said "excuse me!" expecting him to step out of the 1.5-foot space between our vehicles and let me through.

Strange Man No. 2 barely acknowledged me, continued leaning on my pickup, and sucked that skinny brown cigarette in short, quick bursts like his life depended on it. I noticed there was a woman with him, standing outside their minivan with the passenger door open and looking around as if she had lost something under the seat.

"EXCUSE me!" Puff puff puff puff puff. No response.

Then from the other side of the vehicle I heard a woman's voice say "close the door!" and shortly afterward she came around the end of the van, grabbed the cigarette from between the man's lips, and stomped it out on the ground.

She looked at me, chuckling, and by way of explanation for her fellow travelers' behavior said, "Clients!" and then told both of them to get into the van, which they did, and then to close the doors, which they did.

Uhhhh. OK. That was fun. And about as many awkward interactions with strange men as I can handle for one day, thankyouverymuch.