Ratted out by bugs

I absolutely love early spring. It's the time of year when you can wear sweatshirts and shorts outside in the evening. You get an occasional thunderstorm. The grass turns green. The calves and lambs start running across the hills in the sunshine. You leave the windows open on the house to let the winter must and dust clear out.

Driving home last night, I smacked my first windshield bug, and thought, "Aw, peas. That awesome two-week window between Winter and Bugs is over already." And that realization instantly brought to mind a time long ago when I got grounded for not recognizing the power of those bug-free two weeks. Here goes.

One Friday night, my sister and I took the 'stang out on the usual cruising route around town. Nothing was happening, so we decided to go to a neighboring town, 10 miles away. Not a big distance, but we weren't really supposed to go there without notifying the parentals. We did it anyway. Whee! Subterfuge! Flash forward to later that night, when we pulled in the driveway, crept into the house, and sank into our beds with our smug cleverness.

But we were awakened in the morning by even smugger clevererness. Mom. Says she, "Did you girls have fun last night?" Yep. "What'd you do?" Oh, we just messed around town. "Really?" Yep. "You didn't go anywhere else?" Uh, no ... "Because I think you went to the City of G." Crap. Busted. "Yep. Grounded."

HOW DID SHE KNOW?!?! DANG! I mean, we knew our mom was terrifyingly intuitive. But we didn't know that she was Sherlock-flippin-Holmes. The woman had gone out to do the chores, and determined that the squished-bug population on our car hood/windshield was so high that it could only have come from driving the round trip to the City of G. I also think she had the local CSI come and analyze the angle of the squishes to verify that we had indeed been going highway speeds when the bugs met their demise.

Ah, that two-week window in between Winter and Spring. Two very special weeks without bug spray ... and without boundaries.

It's a bird, it's a plane ...

no, it's a bird. In our living room. Flying around like he owns the place.

He got in through the flue, and after we, er, did a little convincing, he got out through the door. Bye, bird.

Stay out of my chimney.

Speaking English

My nephew, Cary, is 3 1/2 years old, and he likes to talk. And talk. And talk.

So it seems odd to him that there is someone - anyone - out there who does NOT talk. But, he is working on coming to terms with BBQ and her inability to make the conversation. As he is working through this crazy non-skill, he had this to say:

"So, how come Baby Q doesn't talk?"
"Well, because she's just a baby. She can't talk yet."
"I can talk. I speak English, like this. I say, "Hello!""
"Hm. One day, maybe you can teach Baby Q how to say, "Hello" too."
"Oh, sure I can!"

Baby Q, when you're ready, you're going to have one heckuva teacher.

And now for the traffic report ...

Ah, living in the country. The wide open spaces, the big skies, the expanse of grass and trees ...

and the humongous trucks going 45 miles an hour carrying windmill parts(?) on windy two-lane roads. Honestly, I think traffic reports would be pretty sweet in rural areas. If you just had ONE guy with a whirlybird flying around telling people where the jams were happening, it'd be so helpful! He would get to say things like, "We've got a combine with a corn head on, headed south on Route HH. Looks like the Taylors are getting their crops out." and, "Be on the lookout for a convoy of pickups along Hwy. 5. Looks like the Hayley boys are runnin' their bird dogs today." and, "There's an ol' boy who's lost his load of square bales out by Pickering's Bottoms. Anybody in the area might stop by and help him get 'er loaded again."

Of course, with the sparseness of asphalt in this area, it's not like you'd be able to avoid whatever obstruction. But it'd be nice to know about it all the same. :)

Spa Day

I gave BBQ a bath and mani/pedi tonight. TREACHEROUS and TERRIFYING experiences. I'm pretty sure I didn't breathe the entire time. Babies in bath water are the most priceless pieces of wiggly, slippery, soapy porcelain, and I wish they came with handles. Or maybe a sprayer nozzle that's safe for babies - like a cross between a pressure washer and a water gun. Yeah.

And then there was the mani/pedi. I reckon the precision it takes to gently-yet-effectively cut a baby's fingernails and toenails runs parallel to the skill necessary for brain surgery. (And should probably require at least residency-level training as well!) Squinting and clipping, all while holding these teeny hands that just got the burnin' desire to DANCE (even while there's no music - she IS her mother's daughter) ... and knowing that you're going to have to do it again in a week or so ... it's the kind of tormenting task Sisyphus could identify with.

Rarely have I been so completely out of my skill set. But hey, if you can't stand the heat, don't have the baby. Can't wait till the next Spa Night!

Wastin' Away Again ...

did I really just blow an entire hour staring at BBQ while she was sleeping?

Cross-Section of My Stomach

BBQ (still giggling over this one) was surgically removed today! And what a GORGEOUS little girl, if I do say so myself. We even made the papers, as the first baby the hospital had in 2010. Famous already - how is she gonna keep up this celebrity? I hope she doesn't develop a 'tude. :)

Whoa, though. C-sections. I've never had major surgery like that before. I'd totally do it again to keep the Q from being stressed or harmed during birth, but wow, it's a pretty big scary deal. They prep ya - a series of rather unfortunate events in a woman's subterranean region. Ick. Ouch. Then you're wheeled into the OR, which is arctic, and given a spinal tap. Bonus: my anesthesiologist said I had 'a textbook back' for the procedure. Go me. Blink once or twice, and you can't feel your feet anymore. They slap you on your back, hang a drape, and go to work. I'm still torn on whether I would have liked for them to remove the drape. I don't know if it would have made my nerves worse, or would have been totally enthralling. Maybe if there's a next time.

I had awesome treatment the whole time - the people in the OR were even listening to a homemade 80s CD - that took some of the edge off, for sure. The other operative incident that made me giggle was the sound effects behind the drape. Not long into the surgery, there was a POP! SPLISH! Water sounds on the floor, and a nurse: OH! GOODNESS! Then giggles all around and comments about the condition of someone's shoes. Upon inquiry, though, I did NOT, in fact, inadvertently ruin someone's shoes. I was told it was no big deal; that's why they all wear boots in the OR! Excellent. Hopefully they won't add on to my bill for the cleanup in aisle 6.

Ah well, how many people get to sing, "Wicked Game" while they're having a beautiful child extracted? I mean, honestly, if I could've written it, I'm not sure I would have done it any differently.