Forest Creatures

The Forest Creatures

It started two weeks ago when we caught a hissing opossum in a trap.  The children stared at his beady eyes in fascination.  The very next night, something dark swooped over our heads as we were watching reruns of Monk.  Silently, swiftly it navigated the room, never once bumping into anything.
             "It's a bird."
             "No, it's a bat!"
             And it was a bat.  Armed with a yoga mat and a badminton racket, we managed to direct out of one of the sliding glass doors.  But all was not finished in the war between the wildlife and us.
This week, we heard a loud scratching directly above the sinks in our first floor bathroom.  It was a desperate scrabbling noise, and it lasted a long time.   "Squirrel," my husband said, gritting his teeth.  These tree rats, as he calls them, have become his nemesis.  They chew through hoses, knock over plants and are constantly trying to move into our house. He has, on occasion and much to my chagrin, tried to shoot them.
              Yes, it was a squirrel.  Trapped in our sewer gas pipe, doomed to die a long, drawn-out death and smell if we did not do something. After two days, my husband decided to tie a heavy metal round thingy (technical term) to a rope and lower it down the pipe. The very acrobatic and resourceful squirrel, who by now had to be getting pretty panicked, did his duty and climbed out.  The house is quiet again, the children safely at school, and I am left to list chores and accomplish them without the benefit of a child to throw me off task.  It is not as delightful as it sounds.  I find myself watching the squirrels race around outside; is it just my paranoia, or is that one glancing at me a little menacingly?

Out of the mouths of babes...

School lunches have changed.  And the children are noticing. 

Yesterday, plates were inspected for the number of vegetables and fruits both on the plates and consumed.  Finally, the lunch lady came out to tell the fifth and sixth graders what was happening and why. 

"Michelle Obama has created new rules for school lunches.  You need to make sure that you take at least three fruits and vegetables everyday and eat them.  We are revising our food choices to fit the new guidelines.  We won't have parmesan cheese on our spaghetti anymore, and we will no longer put cheese slices on the hamburgers.  You won't be allowed seconds, and we will have whole wheat buns and rolls whenever possible."

One sixth grader shouted out, "So you're saying, I should tell my parents to vote for Mit Romney?"

Not the response Mrs. Obama would have wanted!

Crazy things children do.

I sit down to do some work at the computer, and there it is:  the mangled, operated on contents of my favorite orange calculator.  My boy always has to find out how something works, and this usually involves a screwdriver or tool of some sort. There are such differences between raising girls and boys.  Sadie wouldn't sleep in her bed last night because she saw a spider up in the corner (and I have to agree with her), but Finn threw a fit when I crushed an eight legger because he wanted it for a pet.
Cece, who at three eschewed the outdoors for books, "There are bugs out there, mama," has become a fearless exuberant lover of all things animal.  She, unaware of personal space, will shout in your ear, "There's a wild turkey!" at any large bird she sees.  Whenever I worry that I don't know how to be a mother to a boy, I realize girls are just as challenging.  But at least with girls, you don't have to worry that the chair you are about to sit in has been stripped of its screws.

The impossibility of finishing things. 

I am convinced there are two types of people: those that finish things and those that don't.  Those that do finish things must have at one point finished something, and then they thought that wasn't so bad, let's keep on doing this.   They become successful, accomplished people even if what they produce is brilliant or just mediocre.  Those Magic Treehouse books remind me of this. A formula that works, now I know how to finish, let me keep producing! 

Some, like J.D. Salinger produce a few good things, but the pressure gets to them.  There, I did it.  Can I ever finish anything again?  I doubt it, so leave me alone. 

Many of us just produce and never finish.  Let me start something new, and I will never have to finish anything ever.  The never-ending novel blog-- a writer with conclusion block's dream. 

First post

What I have determined:  this blog will not be about food.  Like most American women, I have in incredibly complicated, antagonistic relationship with food, so I will not be posting gluttonous recipes. 

I could wax glorious about coffee, however.  I used to say that I did not trust people who didn't drink coffee, and then I met my best friend who did not.  I had to change my tune. 

I know what my husband's blog would entail: the dangers of plastics, vermiculite, and other environmental hazards.  I have really become quite a paranoid person after living with him, and my daughter is developing quite an alarming hand washing habit. 

My daughter's blog would be about fairies.  She is currently tracking their existence in a very detailed notebook.  Shells, pebbles, half-eaten acorns-- all proof of those mischievous beings. 

My son's blog would be about Lego's, the most ingeniously designed toy, ever.  Put them together once, perhaps twice at the most, and it's all over.  Time to buy a new one.  I actually aim at Lego pieces now with my vacuum. 

My youngest daughter's blog would be about clothes.  She is into the Kardashian look, and she is only four.  It is really quite alarming for a Gap jean and white shirt momma.  (Buttoned all the way up please.  Although I do love a ridiculously high wedge sandal or two.) 

Maybe tomorrow I will find my theme, my voice-- right now, I'll just post.  You can erase these things, right?