Unfortunately the title of this blog is not just an expression, like "the elephant in the room". It's only too real.
As far as we can surmise, it all started with a hole in the roof. Several holes in the roof, to be entirely honest. I mean real, honest-to-goodness holes--one was the size of a baseball, maybe a little bigger. The moment I saw them I was immensely grateful for the drought, although I understand if you don't share my enthusiasm. In any case, the holes were patched easily enough (although Aaron might debate my casual use of the word 'easy'). Little did we know that the drama had just begun.
The hole incident was dealt with on Monday, and we thought all was well. Tuesday night about 11 it became very clear that that was not the case. Now we have a history of problems with rodents; we had a rat in our house in Tyler, and we've dealt with squirrels in our attic ever since we moved into this house. But never before had we heard such a persistent, determined scratching and clawing and chewing--right above our bed. "Stupid squirrels", we thought, and Aaron dreamed of adding another notch or two to his BB gun. Wednesday night the scratching was even worse. After several vain attempts at scaring the creature off by banging on the wall and ceiling, Aaron decided to investigate. He came back downstairs a few minutes later with the news. "It's not a squirrel. It's a raccoon, and it's bigger than Molly".
All we could figure is that the raccoon came in through the hole(s) in the roof, and now it was clawing and chewing in a desperate attempt to get out. Armed with this information, and the aforementioned gun, Aaron returned to the attic door to try to locate the animal again and assist its escape attempts, albeit in an entirely different manner than the raccoon had in mind. He was unsuccessful, and we woke to several more scratching episodes that night.
Thursday afternoon, however, he actually crawled inside the attic and came upon the raccoon while it slept. More drama, this time involving a wild raccoon in a small space with my husband and his gun, but Aaron was able to shoot the animal...who promptly fell down a hole in the wall. And then power tools got involved (thank you Clint!), walls were cut, a search ensued, but the wily raccoon was nowhere to be found. Was it dead? Was it alive? Only time (and our noses) could tell!
We received our answer last night around 1:30, and again at 3:00. At one point I fell asleep as Aaron was upstairs, again searching for the immortal raccoon, and I dreamed he had caught it in our cat carrier, took it to the backyard, and shot it. Alas, it wasn't so, as I was reassured around 4 a.m. So the drama continues as we are on a waiting list with Animal Control, who have promised they will come to our house with a trap as soon as they "get to us". In the meantime, I can only assume the raccoon is still an unwelcome and unwilling guest in our home, plotting his next nocturnal escape attempt as I type.
>
Saturday, January 28, 2006
Thursday, January 26, 2006
Too Good to Keep to Myself
I was actually going to blog some about Noah and his growing independence. Today, for example, he is refusing to drink out of his cup and, instead, taking Abbey's and drinking from it while he runs from me. Then I found this article, and thought it conveyed what I wanted to say, but better than I could say it.
A Boy and His Yogurt
by Kristopher Kaiyala
It was one of those nights. The whining, the crying, the persistent standing and staring at the refrigerator—I’d had enough. So I caved. I gave my son the yogurt. Green yogurt, to be precise.
My resolve to keep him from his favorite dairy product had nothing to do with diet and everything to do with his desire to spoon it out of the container all by himself. At 18 months old, he's developed a taste for the flavor of key lime pie and the desire for a little autonomy.
Being home with him most of the time, it's not as if I don't already spend half my days cleaning. Keeping the spoon and the yogurt in separate hands was my selfish way of drawing the line—No More Messes. The problem was he'd grown stubborn and refused my offer to spoon-feed it to him. It was mano a mano, my son and me, and we'd come to a rather noisy impasse.
So I relented and decided to give him a chance. Just him and the six-ounce container of yogurt, in the high chair, with no interruptions from dad.
The first minute went rather well; the spoon made it into the mouth on most attempts. But then the yogurt hit the fan (almost literally). The spoon soon forgotten, he began shoveling yogurt into his mouth two handfuls at a time. Shortly thereafter, his arms and face were plastered in green. I lost sight of his eyebrows. His shirt, the eating tray, the floor—all part of the playing field. With his final two scoops of yogurt he decided to style his hair.
I gave him a warm shower and put him in bed. I think the whole experience made for some of the best minutes of his young life.
A Boy and His Yogurt
by Kristopher Kaiyala
It was one of those nights. The whining, the crying, the persistent standing and staring at the refrigerator—I’d had enough. So I caved. I gave my son the yogurt. Green yogurt, to be precise.
My resolve to keep him from his favorite dairy product had nothing to do with diet and everything to do with his desire to spoon it out of the container all by himself. At 18 months old, he's developed a taste for the flavor of key lime pie and the desire for a little autonomy.
Being home with him most of the time, it's not as if I don't already spend half my days cleaning. Keeping the spoon and the yogurt in separate hands was my selfish way of drawing the line—No More Messes. The problem was he'd grown stubborn and refused my offer to spoon-feed it to him. It was mano a mano, my son and me, and we'd come to a rather noisy impasse.
So I relented and decided to give him a chance. Just him and the six-ounce container of yogurt, in the high chair, with no interruptions from dad.
The first minute went rather well; the spoon made it into the mouth on most attempts. But then the yogurt hit the fan (almost literally). The spoon soon forgotten, he began shoveling yogurt into his mouth two handfuls at a time. Shortly thereafter, his arms and face were plastered in green. I lost sight of his eyebrows. His shirt, the eating tray, the floor—all part of the playing field. With his final two scoops of yogurt he decided to style his hair.
I gave him a warm shower and put him in bed. I think the whole experience made for some of the best minutes of his young life.
Thursday, January 19, 2006
Rare silence
It's quiet at my house. I've been reading blogs for a while, checking email, laughing at Bob as he climbs in my lap and stares at the computer screen. I need to fold laundry. I need to spend some time with the Lord. I need to work in my copyediting workbook. But I really wanted to blog--I've wanted to for several days now, but have had nothing "interesting" to say. So I figured I'd just tell you what's up, interesting or not.
I haven't had to cook dinner for two nights now, and it's been lovely. We had dinner with the Srirams on Tuesday and the Moores last night. It's been a breeze keeping my kitchen clean, and that's half my battle most days. I've also enjoyed having the evening "off", as it were, not having to prepare dinner and clean up after it.
I also realized I didn't "tag" anybody to do a weird things list, so, if you're reading this and are previously untagged or un-listed (you know what I mean), consider yourself tagged.
And, finally, some Christmas pictures (an idea shamelessly copied from Amanda's blog).
Christmas Eve at Nana's house.
Four generations--Aaron's granddad and mom, Aaron and Noah
Christmas Day at Gomi's
Aaron's having soooo much fun
I haven't had to cook dinner for two nights now, and it's been lovely. We had dinner with the Srirams on Tuesday and the Moores last night. It's been a breeze keeping my kitchen clean, and that's half my battle most days. I've also enjoyed having the evening "off", as it were, not having to prepare dinner and clean up after it.
I also realized I didn't "tag" anybody to do a weird things list, so, if you're reading this and are previously untagged or un-listed (you know what I mean), consider yourself tagged.
And, finally, some Christmas pictures (an idea shamelessly copied from Amanda's blog).
Christmas Eve at Nana's house.
Four generations--Aaron's granddad and mom, Aaron and Noah
Christmas Day at Gomi's
Aaron's having soooo much fun
Thursday, January 12, 2006
5 Weird Things
Brooke tagged me to list 5 weird things about myself. I don't think she knew what she was asking for.
1. I have specific ways I eat certain foods. This one comes across as a little OCD and requires some explanation, because I do have reasons why I do the things I do, so bear with me.
a) Sandwiches with a crust, or hamburgers (not, like, a Subway sandwich) - I eat the outside, or crust, first. This rule doesn't necessitate strict following; I can eat parts of the middle before I've finished the outside, but the last several bites are ALWAYS from the middle. My reasoning is that the middle is where all the good stuff is, and you want your last bites to be the best.
b) Apples - I eat around the middle, then the top, then the bottom, then eat whatever's left of the "meat". I'm not sure if I ever eat the bottom part before the top, I haven't paid that much attention. The original reasoning was that I didn't like the peel as much as the inside part, and, again, the best part has to be eaten last. But it's really just more of a habit now. I do occasionally slice up my apple, and there's no specific way I have to eat it then.
c) Tacos - I start from one end, eat about halfway through, then eat from the other end. This way the last bite has all the good stuff in it.
d) Pie - This one is actually old, but since I'm on the subject, I thought I'd mention it to you. (My mom still gives me grief over it.) I used to eat my pie in segments. Like if I had a piece of lemon meringue pie, I'd eat the meringue first, then the filling, then the crust. This one defies all reasoning, because the filling is actually my favorite part of the pie. But I also couldn't bring myself to scrape the filling out of the pie so that I could eat the crust before the filling. But I just eat it all together now. Oh, well, I do sometimes eat the end of the crust halfway through so it's not the last thing I eat, but not all the time.
2. This one's related to the above, but not entirely. I don't like my foods to touch on my plate, unless I'm eating Mexican food, then it just doesn't matter. Juicy or runny foods (like fruit salad) often get quarantined to a separate dish from the main meal. I just don't want my pot roast tasting like fruit salad, and vice versa. I'm not entirely opposed to eating certain foods together--I'll sometimes dip my garlic bread in my spaghetti sauce. I just want it to be at MY discretion.
3. When I go to bed at night, all closet and/or bathroom doors that are in my bedroom must be shut. They don't have to be latched shut, but I shouldn't be able to see inside them. I don't want to be able to see a dark gaping hole when I'm laying in bed (lying in bed? I never got that one). This does not apply to the bedroom door, which can be left ajar. It's not that I'm afraid of the dark, I'm just afraid of what might be IN the dark.
4. I like to take the quickest, most direct route to wherever I'm going. If I realize that the way I'm going is even a little bit longer than another route, it bothers me. I don't develop an eye twitch, or break out in hives, it just peeves me. The only exception to this is if I'm trying to burn time or just driving around for fun.
5. Oh, another food one. If I am eating something sweet for breakfast, I drink milk. If I'm eating something with egg, meat, and/or cheese for breakfast, I drink juice. I WILL NOT drink juice with peanut butter, ever; it has to be milk (or water if we're out of milk). I will not drink milk with cheese toast in the morning, but I will drink milk with a grilled cheese sandwich for lunch. I don't know why.
So, there you have it, 5 weird things about me. I sincerely hope you will all still claim me as your friend.
1. I have specific ways I eat certain foods. This one comes across as a little OCD and requires some explanation, because I do have reasons why I do the things I do, so bear with me.
a) Sandwiches with a crust, or hamburgers (not, like, a Subway sandwich) - I eat the outside, or crust, first. This rule doesn't necessitate strict following; I can eat parts of the middle before I've finished the outside, but the last several bites are ALWAYS from the middle. My reasoning is that the middle is where all the good stuff is, and you want your last bites to be the best.
b) Apples - I eat around the middle, then the top, then the bottom, then eat whatever's left of the "meat". I'm not sure if I ever eat the bottom part before the top, I haven't paid that much attention. The original reasoning was that I didn't like the peel as much as the inside part, and, again, the best part has to be eaten last. But it's really just more of a habit now. I do occasionally slice up my apple, and there's no specific way I have to eat it then.
c) Tacos - I start from one end, eat about halfway through, then eat from the other end. This way the last bite has all the good stuff in it.
d) Pie - This one is actually old, but since I'm on the subject, I thought I'd mention it to you. (My mom still gives me grief over it.) I used to eat my pie in segments. Like if I had a piece of lemon meringue pie, I'd eat the meringue first, then the filling, then the crust. This one defies all reasoning, because the filling is actually my favorite part of the pie. But I also couldn't bring myself to scrape the filling out of the pie so that I could eat the crust before the filling. But I just eat it all together now. Oh, well, I do sometimes eat the end of the crust halfway through so it's not the last thing I eat, but not all the time.
2. This one's related to the above, but not entirely. I don't like my foods to touch on my plate, unless I'm eating Mexican food, then it just doesn't matter. Juicy or runny foods (like fruit salad) often get quarantined to a separate dish from the main meal. I just don't want my pot roast tasting like fruit salad, and vice versa. I'm not entirely opposed to eating certain foods together--I'll sometimes dip my garlic bread in my spaghetti sauce. I just want it to be at MY discretion.
3. When I go to bed at night, all closet and/or bathroom doors that are in my bedroom must be shut. They don't have to be latched shut, but I shouldn't be able to see inside them. I don't want to be able to see a dark gaping hole when I'm laying in bed (lying in bed? I never got that one). This does not apply to the bedroom door, which can be left ajar. It's not that I'm afraid of the dark, I'm just afraid of what might be IN the dark.
4. I like to take the quickest, most direct route to wherever I'm going. If I realize that the way I'm going is even a little bit longer than another route, it bothers me. I don't develop an eye twitch, or break out in hives, it just peeves me. The only exception to this is if I'm trying to burn time or just driving around for fun.
5. Oh, another food one. If I am eating something sweet for breakfast, I drink milk. If I'm eating something with egg, meat, and/or cheese for breakfast, I drink juice. I WILL NOT drink juice with peanut butter, ever; it has to be milk (or water if we're out of milk). I will not drink milk with cheese toast in the morning, but I will drink milk with a grilled cheese sandwich for lunch. I don't know why.
So, there you have it, 5 weird things about me. I sincerely hope you will all still claim me as your friend.
Monday, January 02, 2006
Blue, as it relates to crayons and jazz
Noah ate a blue crayon last night. He didn't technically eat it, because there was quite a bit left when he was done. But, as Halle put it, "his teeth were blue, his tongue was blue, even his spit was blue!" It's true; he had blue spit spots on his shirt. We tried to get a picture of the blue teeth, but you can't very well tell a 16-month old to open his mouth and show you his teeth. Well, you can tell him to, but that doesn't mean he will. Sorry, no visual aid this time.
Speaking of blue, I've recently started reading "Blue Like Jazz" by Donald Miller (how's that for a segue?). It's made me think about the origins of my faith. I really like what Miller has to say, but I don't identify much with his early conceptions of Christian spirituality. He struggled (struggles?) with the way Christianity is presented much of the time, like something on a midday infomercial. God and Christianity were introduced to him by impersonal pastors and churches, and so God seemed very impersonal and irrelevant to him. I've certainly seen my share of pastors who didn't really care too much about me, and churches that weren't involved in my life other than the obligatory "How are you today?". But these people are not the ones who shaped my ideas about God and Christianity--it was my mom who did that. My mom and I have a really good relationship, and even though it hasn't always been that way, I think it's the consistency I saw in her walk with the Lord, and of course the way she truly wants the best for me, that shaped my beliefs in a way that is vastly different from Don Miller's early experiences. I think it was because I came to know the Lord as a result of this relationship that most negative experiences with the church were able to roll off me. I've heard my share of legalistic teaching, but, for the most part, I was able to take the truth (if there was any) and discard the rhetoric. I've also known enough Christians who genuinely cared about me and shared the Lord with me to know that He is real and very personal and relevant. Very few of my convictions and beliefs have changed in the course of my life, but I have made them my own, through defending them, questioning why I believe this way, and my life experiences. But what really prompted this whole line of thinking was thinking about how others have reacted to this book as opposed to how I'm reacting to it. Again, I really like what I've read so far (4 chapters), and there are some great perspectives and ideas that push me a little, and some I identify with, and there are some great pictures of Christian spirituality. But I've encountered people who have been totally blown away by this book, so I want to know, especially from you who've read the book: how have your encounters with the church/preachers/Sunday school teachers/religious people/whatever-you-want-to-call-them affected the way you view God, the church, Christianity, etc?
Speaking of blue, I've recently started reading "Blue Like Jazz" by Donald Miller (how's that for a segue?). It's made me think about the origins of my faith. I really like what Miller has to say, but I don't identify much with his early conceptions of Christian spirituality. He struggled (struggles?) with the way Christianity is presented much of the time, like something on a midday infomercial. God and Christianity were introduced to him by impersonal pastors and churches, and so God seemed very impersonal and irrelevant to him. I've certainly seen my share of pastors who didn't really care too much about me, and churches that weren't involved in my life other than the obligatory "How are you today?". But these people are not the ones who shaped my ideas about God and Christianity--it was my mom who did that. My mom and I have a really good relationship, and even though it hasn't always been that way, I think it's the consistency I saw in her walk with the Lord, and of course the way she truly wants the best for me, that shaped my beliefs in a way that is vastly different from Don Miller's early experiences. I think it was because I came to know the Lord as a result of this relationship that most negative experiences with the church were able to roll off me. I've heard my share of legalistic teaching, but, for the most part, I was able to take the truth (if there was any) and discard the rhetoric. I've also known enough Christians who genuinely cared about me and shared the Lord with me to know that He is real and very personal and relevant. Very few of my convictions and beliefs have changed in the course of my life, but I have made them my own, through defending them, questioning why I believe this way, and my life experiences. But what really prompted this whole line of thinking was thinking about how others have reacted to this book as opposed to how I'm reacting to it. Again, I really like what I've read so far (4 chapters), and there are some great perspectives and ideas that push me a little, and some I identify with, and there are some great pictures of Christian spirituality. But I've encountered people who have been totally blown away by this book, so I want to know, especially from you who've read the book: how have your encounters with the church/preachers/Sunday school teachers/religious people/whatever-you-want-to-call-them affected the way you view God, the church, Christianity, etc?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)