The ever burdensome lawn

We don't have a farm and we don't live in suburbia. We are in-between.

Our lawn is probably supposed to look really green and nice because of the subdivision behind us, yet, if we were just 2 houses further down the road, we could have whatever kind of lawn we wanted and not have guilt.

And now, in addition to problems we have with:

1.) bag worms

2.) green shiny rose-eating bugs

3.) crab grass

4.) clover

5.) dandelions

6.) misc. plants that may be either weeds or items planted purposefully for lawn beautification by the previous owners

7.) rabbits (which I like to watch and haven't yet determined the danger that they pose to the green and lovely lawn)

WE NOW HAVE A MOLE INFESTATION!


*Note:
I did not take this picture, but I am SURE if I had the time and gumption to sit and watch any of the 19 molehills that I counted tonight, I would have been able to capture an image very similar to this.

*Note number 2:
The builders and previous occupants of the house drove by the other night and saw F. They were courteous enough to tell him that it looked like we were really making an effort with the place. "Making an effort."
Bless them.

Cast Iron Chef!

In reverse chronological order:

Cast Iron!

The big day has arrived. Tonight, I am going to attempt to use my Mom's cast iron skillet. I can hardly wait.
Yesterday was going to be the big day, so that Jake could participate. He's always up for an adventure in the kitchen. However, J and F had other things to do that took them to the Subway sandwich shop for dinner last night.
And so, now, tonight, it is finally GO TIME!

I'm cooking meat in it. I've been told that at the end of the cooking, I'm going to have to just wipe it out. No soap. No scrubbing.

I'm worried about this. I don't cook often with meats and when I do, I am extremely paranoid. Meat juice sort of sickens me, and when I cook it, there is alot of scrubbing and bleach involved. Not tonight, though.

I hope we don't die of food poisoning.

On a more hopeful note, I believe the cast iron skillet that I have is made by Griswold!

This should mean that the cooking surface was sanded out at the factory and will be a bit easier to cook and clean up.

We shall see.

Drilling, Drilling

Here I sit, with my new fancy CPT rank on. And I've put in my letter of resignation, so that I can be with my family more. And I find out I have to drill until November to keep this rank.
Of course I do.
How could it be easy or straightforward to resign?

She Came in Through the Bathroom Window

A certain little boy got locked in our bathroom on Sunday night.

Let's call him "T".

He went in there by himself just before bedtime, and pretty soon I heard, "Can you open the door, Mommy?" You know, he just can't turn doorknobs quite effectively yet.

I wasn't worried, but I couldn't open the door either. I told him to quit touching the knob while I was trying to open it. I still couldn't open it, so I told him to turn the knob himself. "I'm not supposed to touch the knob Mommy!"--How helpful.

"You can right now," I said. "Try to open it now."

I heard a little jiggling of the doorknob but no little boy came rushing out.

"I'm still in here, Mommy. Can you open the door for me?"

I wasn't worried. I hadn't even realized that our bathroom door had a lock, but surely I could open it. Growing up, I could get my sister's lock picked in under 2 seconds.

I went and got a variety of little tools. I was still holding Mardella and I wasn't worried. I could see small wiggling fingers poking out under the bottom of the door.

Turns out, I couldn't get the lock open with my little tools.

"Mommy, can you open the door? I can see your toes Mommy. Can you let me out?" The little boy's voice was getting a bit higher in pitch and a little more frantic.

"Mommy, what are you doing? Can you let me out? Can you open the door? I'm just in heeeeeere Mommy."

I wasn't worried. I would just have to take the door off the hinges. I looked at the door. The hinges were on the inside of the bathroom. I put Mardella in her crib.

I took another stab at unlocking the door. Now there was a constant refrain of, "Can you let me out Mommy? Can you open the door Mommy? I can see your toes Mommy." from the bathroom as well as a "Waaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh!" from the crib.

I could not get the door unlocked. Like many things in our house, it seemed to have been g-rigged to the point of uselessness.

I was a little worried.

"Moooooommmmmmmmmmy!"

"I'm coming." I said. "Just wait in there for me."

"Mooooooommmmmmmmmmy! I want to come out now."

"Go play in the tub."

"I'm not supposed to play in the tub. I'm just not supposed to go in there." --How helpful.

"You can right now." I said. "Go play in the tub while I get the door open."

"Waaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh!" from the crib.--How helpful.

I knew that the bathroom window was open a bit, so I took our step stool around to the side of the house.

It was too short.

I went and got our bigger ladder. I hauled it over to the window. I climbed up and could see the little boy. He was not playing in the tub as I had instructed but was still laying on the floor and peering out under the door.

"Mommy?" he was saying. "Mommy, Mommy? Where are you Mommy? I can't see your toes. I'm just in here Mommy."

I went ahead and jimmied open the screen and storm window. When I tried to open the actual window pane, it opened about 8 inches and stopped. 8 inches of space is just not enough for me to climb through.

I remembered that I had covered the top of the window with little framed photos and knick knacks which were now preventing it from opening further. --How helpful.

"T!" I shouted through the window opening. "Climb up and get the stuff off the window! Take the vase off the top of the window! Take the pictures off the top of the window! T! T!"

"Mommy, Mommy, where are you? I can't see your toes! I'm not supposed to touch the vase Mommy! I'm just not supposed to!"--How helpful.

I shook and shook the window pane, trying to shake loose all my lovely and fragile knick knacks. One by one they fell to the floor. I reassured T the whole time. He still hadn't figured out where I was at and he was still on the floor peering under the door.

I opened the window wide enough to squeeze through, all the while reassuring him that "I'm coming. I'm going to help you." I was partway through the window when I realized how cool this would look to him...how neat to climb through the windows...how fun...how exciting...how he won't realize how horribly dangerous...The moment I stopped talking and started trying to be quiet and sneaky, he turned around. He saw me climbing awkwardly through the window, one leg through and the other still outside.

It was like he had seen Christ.

His whole face lit up. Big smile. Big giggles. Big shouting voice, "MOMMY! MOMMY! ARE YOU UP THERE? ARE YOU UP THERE? ARE YOU CLIMBING UP IN THE WINDOW? MOMMY! WOW! YOU ARE UP THERE! YOU ARE UP IN THE WINDOW! IF YOU ARE UP THERE, THERE MUST BE COOKIES AND CHOCOLATE UP THERE!"

What the?
[insert screeching record sound effect here]
What the?

If I'm up there, there must be cookies and chocolate up there? What does that even mean? And more specifically, what the heck does that say about me?