You have heard the phrase "winning the battle, but losing the war" right? I never really got that phrase...until today.
I am being over run by ants. They are everywhere. I have been bit so many damn times I don't have a clear spot on my feet. Ok, that's a bit of an exaggeration, but seriously I have been bitten by ants 4 times in the past two weeks. I haven't been bitten by an ant in years and now 4 times in 2 weeks? I think they are out to get me.
It all started out in the garden. I was admiring the lovely cantaloupe growing in my garden, minding my own business, when I became aware my feet were covered in ants. I got about 10 bites before I got them all off. Apparently they wanted to play rough. Well "Game On!" I say.
So I grabbed my Amdro and Terro ant poisons and bombed the heck out of their mound. "Take that you little ankle biters!" I thought to myself, maybe even muttered under my breath. Little did I know this was only the opening salvo.
I next found ants in my pantry and on the floor behind the couch (at least there is food in the pantry, I have no idea what they were after behind the couch). Not only had the ants launched a two-prong assault, but they had moved the battle deep into my own territory. I had to call in reinforcements, namely Adam (hereinafter referred to as "my big guns"). So while I put Terro and Amdro down in my pantry and in the corner behind the couch (both sealed off so the child and the dog could not get to them), my big guns launched an offensive. He sprayed the base of the our slab on the outside and treated the four (four!!!) mounds he found.
Within a day we had the enemy on the run, ok the ants were actually just moving the poison to their mounds, but you know what I mean. By the next day, we were able to pick up the poison. I felt confident we had defeated the ants. Little did I know that my enemy was simply regrouping.
This afternoon, I walked into the kitchen and noticed a long line of ants moving between the back door and the kitchen trash can (baby boy had dropped some crumbs while throwing away his muffin). The enemy was back in force! As I began blasting ants with the bottom of my shoe, I finally admitted the truth. I cannot win. I may be bigger and smarter, but they outnumber me (by a billion to one). Their diabolical queen will just keep throwing bodies at me. I may win every battle, but I can never win the war.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
The Monkey v. The Girl
As I told Adam this morning, I had a busy day planned. So, after sending the boys off to work/school this morning, I hopped into my car and set off. I stopped at Randall's to pick up a few things, the first of my six planned stops today. Go in, pick up the 2 things I needed and bop on back out to the car. Get in my lovely little car, turn the key and hear "whir, whir" and nothing else. "Well, that doesn't sound good" I think to myself. "Perhaps, I just need to try it again and it will work." Whir, whir. Seriously? I have a full day planned and I am stuck at my first stop? You have got to be kidding me.
So, I whip out my cell phone (handy little things) and call Adam. I explain to him that the car won't stop, it just goes "whir" and I am stuck at Randalls. And my dear husband says he will be right there. While I wait for Adam, I go ahead and call my car dealer (where I have an extended warranty) and get the phone number for the towing service they use. It is obvious that something is really wrong with my car (otherwise I would be headed to my next stop) and I am going to have to have it towed to the shop. My entire day is shot.
About 15 minutes later, Adam pulls into the parking space next to my car which, fortuitously, was unoccupied. He goes around to the tool box and pulls out his jumper cables. I, knowing it can be something as simple as the battery, say "I think it's the starter. Don't you even want to hear it." To humor me, I think, Adam agrees. So I turn the key and the car goes "whir whir." "It's the battery," says Adam. "How could you possibly know that?" I ask. And this is where I find out that I probably know less about cars than a monkey. "Because, my husband replies, if it was the starter it would go click click. Any other sound and it's probably the battery."
Oh. I mean, how many of you girls out there knew that? I consider myself a reasonably intelligent and well-educated woman. But when it comes to all things car-related, I know less than a trained monkey. I absolutely dread taking the car into get the oil changed because every time I do, I run the risk of getting monetarily screwed. They could say to me "You need to have your cam rotors realigned" and I would say ok, not knowing that my car doesn't even have cam rotors (admittedly I made that part up, I don't know if there is such a thing as a cam rotor). But you can see the danger. I was already to spend who knows how much today getting my car towed to the dealer and the starter replaced when all it needed was a jump and Adam to replace the battery.
So, any parents of young children out there reading this post, make sure someone teaches your daughter the basics when it comes to a car. They really should know more about it than a trained monkey or at least more than I do.
And by the way, Adam was right. It just needs a new battery. Imagine that.
So, I whip out my cell phone (handy little things) and call Adam. I explain to him that the car won't stop, it just goes "whir" and I am stuck at Randalls. And my dear husband says he will be right there. While I wait for Adam, I go ahead and call my car dealer (where I have an extended warranty) and get the phone number for the towing service they use. It is obvious that something is really wrong with my car (otherwise I would be headed to my next stop) and I am going to have to have it towed to the shop. My entire day is shot.
About 15 minutes later, Adam pulls into the parking space next to my car which, fortuitously, was unoccupied. He goes around to the tool box and pulls out his jumper cables. I, knowing it can be something as simple as the battery, say "I think it's the starter. Don't you even want to hear it." To humor me, I think, Adam agrees. So I turn the key and the car goes "whir whir." "It's the battery," says Adam. "How could you possibly know that?" I ask. And this is where I find out that I probably know less about cars than a monkey. "Because, my husband replies, if it was the starter it would go click click. Any other sound and it's probably the battery."
Oh. I mean, how many of you girls out there knew that? I consider myself a reasonably intelligent and well-educated woman. But when it comes to all things car-related, I know less than a trained monkey. I absolutely dread taking the car into get the oil changed because every time I do, I run the risk of getting monetarily screwed. They could say to me "You need to have your cam rotors realigned" and I would say ok, not knowing that my car doesn't even have cam rotors (admittedly I made that part up, I don't know if there is such a thing as a cam rotor). But you can see the danger. I was already to spend who knows how much today getting my car towed to the dealer and the starter replaced when all it needed was a jump and Adam to replace the battery.
So, any parents of young children out there reading this post, make sure someone teaches your daughter the basics when it comes to a car. They really should know more about it than a trained monkey or at least more than I do.
And by the way, Adam was right. It just needs a new battery. Imagine that.
Monday, August 10, 2009
HWIC
As anyone who knows me well can tell you, I am a worrier. I love to worry about stuff. In fact, Adam says I am not happy unless I have something to worry about. And, if I don't have anything to worry about, I will invent something. I don't know how true that is but I can tell you that I come by it naturally.
I suspect I come from a long line of worriers. I have never met anyone who can worry like my father. I am not sure Dad worries as much as I do but when he does worry about something he does it wholeheartedly. I have never seen someone get so worked up as my Dad when he's worried about something.
The birth of Andrew opened whole new worrying vistas in my life. Actually, I think when it comes to him, I control myself pretty well. I do not, in general, over-react and worry about every little bump and scrape. I would be a wreck if I did. In fact, Andrew hit his head at school one day, giving my precious baby a black eye, and his teacher remarked that as long as all of his limbs were still attached, she didn't think we would get excited. I was proud of that remark. Clearly, when it comes to Andrew, I have my worrying firmly in hand.
At least I thought I did, until last Friday. Last Monday, Andrew fell and hit his knee on the bed frame. He whacked it pretty hard and gave himself a nice big bruise. On Wednesday, he complained a couple of times that his leg hurt. Since he was grabbing the knee that he whacked, I didn't pay much attention. He complained about it again on Thursday and, finally, on Friday, after his nap, when he complained about it again and refused to walk, I decided to check it out.
So I sat him down and started poking his kneecap. "No Mommy he says, it hurts here" and grabs the back of his leg, just behind the knee. So I put my hand behind his leg and feel the biggest lump I have ever felt. The lump was the size of a grapefruit. Ok, that may be a bit of an exaggeration, it was more like the size of a really small grape. But, still, it was huge and hard. That's when my little worry gene roared into high gear. Clearly, my precious baby had a tumor! It was as obvious as the nose on my face. I immediately called the doctor and scheduled an appointment, then called Adam and informed him Andrew had a huge lump on the back of his leg and he needed to come home RIGHT NOW!
So we rush Andrew to the doctor, in five o'clock traffic (ick). The whole way there I am almost sick with worry. It is all my fault. He had been telling me for days that his leg hurt and I had been ignoring him. I am an awful mother. MY POOR BABY!
Yeah. "It's just some fluid, probably from when he hit his knee" says the doctor. When I was obviously relieved, she asked what I thought it was. I, somewhat embarrassed, admitted I thought it was a tumor. God bless her, she didn't laugh at me, just explained to me why it wasn't a tumor.
Ten minutes after leaving the doctor's office, my baby (you know, the one who couldn't walk on his leg after his nap) is crawling all over the playscape at Central Market where we stopped for dinner. So much for his tumor!
And I realized, despite what I thought, I am clearly, still, the Head Worrier in Charge!
I suspect I come from a long line of worriers. I have never met anyone who can worry like my father. I am not sure Dad worries as much as I do but when he does worry about something he does it wholeheartedly. I have never seen someone get so worked up as my Dad when he's worried about something.
The birth of Andrew opened whole new worrying vistas in my life. Actually, I think when it comes to him, I control myself pretty well. I do not, in general, over-react and worry about every little bump and scrape. I would be a wreck if I did. In fact, Andrew hit his head at school one day, giving my precious baby a black eye, and his teacher remarked that as long as all of his limbs were still attached, she didn't think we would get excited. I was proud of that remark. Clearly, when it comes to Andrew, I have my worrying firmly in hand.
At least I thought I did, until last Friday. Last Monday, Andrew fell and hit his knee on the bed frame. He whacked it pretty hard and gave himself a nice big bruise. On Wednesday, he complained a couple of times that his leg hurt. Since he was grabbing the knee that he whacked, I didn't pay much attention. He complained about it again on Thursday and, finally, on Friday, after his nap, when he complained about it again and refused to walk, I decided to check it out.
So I sat him down and started poking his kneecap. "No Mommy he says, it hurts here" and grabs the back of his leg, just behind the knee. So I put my hand behind his leg and feel the biggest lump I have ever felt. The lump was the size of a grapefruit. Ok, that may be a bit of an exaggeration, it was more like the size of a really small grape. But, still, it was huge and hard. That's when my little worry gene roared into high gear. Clearly, my precious baby had a tumor! It was as obvious as the nose on my face. I immediately called the doctor and scheduled an appointment, then called Adam and informed him Andrew had a huge lump on the back of his leg and he needed to come home RIGHT NOW!
So we rush Andrew to the doctor, in five o'clock traffic (ick). The whole way there I am almost sick with worry. It is all my fault. He had been telling me for days that his leg hurt and I had been ignoring him. I am an awful mother. MY POOR BABY!
Yeah. "It's just some fluid, probably from when he hit his knee" says the doctor. When I was obviously relieved, she asked what I thought it was. I, somewhat embarrassed, admitted I thought it was a tumor. God bless her, she didn't laugh at me, just explained to me why it wasn't a tumor.
Ten minutes after leaving the doctor's office, my baby (you know, the one who couldn't walk on his leg after his nap) is crawling all over the playscape at Central Market where we stopped for dinner. So much for his tumor!
And I realized, despite what I thought, I am clearly, still, the Head Worrier in Charge!
Saturday, August 1, 2009
Just call me a geek!
As my husband will tell you, I am something of a technophobe. Actually, I pretty much hate new technology and every time we get something new I wail and moan because I have to learn something new. For example, he wants to get a programmable remote for the t.v. I hate the idea. I just figured out the one we already have, why would I want to learn a new one. Have you ever seen the movie "I Robot?" Technology baaaad.
Well, recently, actually about 3 months ago, the battery in my laptop started going bad. In fact, it started going real bad. Unplugged, it only worked for about 7-8 minutes before it crashed. About that time, I discovered that I can not live without a laptop. I check e-mail, research my weekly meals, and write this blog from my laptop (among many other things). I needed a new laptop. ("Need? my husband asked. I thought you didn't like technology." Uncomfortable conversation. I was about to eat crow.)
So after a little research, we went last night and bought me a new laptop. Lightweight, small (smaller than a sheet of paper), and pink! I LOVE IT! Bring it home. I was humming with glee. Plug it in. I can barely stand it. Turn it on and.....nothing. It's is defective and won't turn on. DISAPPOINTED! (Have you seen the movie "A Fish Called Wanda?" Kevin Kline's character opens a briefcase he believes is full of money and it's empty and he yells "Disappointed!" He says it so perfectly that it really conveys the meaning of the word. It's how I always say/hear that word.) So I package it back up and this morning Tiger and I go to Fry's to exchange it. Come back home, open it up and plug it in and...it works! And I love it!
It is so small and lightweight. Technology is a wonderful thing. I love technology. In fact, I think I need an Iphone!
Well, recently, actually about 3 months ago, the battery in my laptop started going bad. In fact, it started going real bad. Unplugged, it only worked for about 7-8 minutes before it crashed. About that time, I discovered that I can not live without a laptop. I check e-mail, research my weekly meals, and write this blog from my laptop (among many other things). I needed a new laptop. ("Need? my husband asked. I thought you didn't like technology." Uncomfortable conversation. I was about to eat crow.)
So after a little research, we went last night and bought me a new laptop. Lightweight, small (smaller than a sheet of paper), and pink! I LOVE IT! Bring it home. I was humming with glee. Plug it in. I can barely stand it. Turn it on and.....nothing. It's is defective and won't turn on. DISAPPOINTED! (Have you seen the movie "A Fish Called Wanda?" Kevin Kline's character opens a briefcase he believes is full of money and it's empty and he yells "Disappointed!" He says it so perfectly that it really conveys the meaning of the word. It's how I always say/hear that word.) So I package it back up and this morning Tiger and I go to Fry's to exchange it. Come back home, open it up and plug it in and...it works! And I love it!
It is so small and lightweight. Technology is a wonderful thing. I love technology. In fact, I think I need an Iphone!
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