Armadillo Tails

Yeah, you read that right. Not tales. TAILS.

As in, one of my dogs, right now, is carting around the back shell and tail of an armadillo in his mouth, and it's creeping me OUT.

It all started Tuesday, when I posted to Facebook that "any day without a dead possum in the yard is a good day." Because, yes, we've had a spate of those, thanks in part to our wonderful canine companions.

My sister responded and asked if armadillos counted, because if so, all bets were off. I didn't realize how serious she was until I got home that night, and Anna Marie and my mother told me the tale of coming home from school and seeing the dogs playing - PLAYING - with the carcass of an armadillo. EEEK!

(And yes, someone has enlightened me to the connection between those animals and leprosy. And it's not helping the creep factor, let me just tell you.)

When Jason came home, he disposed of it like he does most things they drag up - by getting a shovel and throwing it into the cow pasture next door. Because we're good neighbors like that. But apparently, the dogs are able to get back there under the fence because remnants of the beast appeared back on the front lawn that night.

Once again, we tried to dispose of it.

Later that night, after Jason and AM had gone to bed, I heard a ruckus outside and looked to see that same object on the front porch. I start screaming uncontrollably, but does anyone get up out of bed to see about me? NO.

(But that's another post for a different day, my friends.)

Our male dog, Lucky, was a rescue dog. I happen to know how he came to the shelter, because he belonged to a man I knew who had passed, whose wife had cancer and couldn't care for him or their other dog so she surrendered them. The other dog had a tumor and was put down, but we adopted Lucky. He's a great dog, but he's got this habit - when you come near him, he picks up something - anything and brings it to you.

It could be a food bowl, or a stick, or a bone he's found - but he never shows up empty-mouthed.

Tuesday night on the porch, he was headed straight for the armadillo. I knew what his little doggie mind was thinking, and scolded him to stay away.

Then, I got desperate. I couldn't stand the thought of them messing with that thing all night, so I went into the kitchen and grabbed some hot sauce - and from four feet away, I flung it towards the remains, screaming at the dogs to stay away all the while.

It worked, at least for a bit, because much later when I checked it was still in the same spot. I was NOT going to stumble around in the dark of night to find the shovel and try to dispose of it myself! I figured that Jason could do his manly duty and get it done in the morning.

By morning, though, I guess either the hot sauce had worn off, of they decided they liked the taste of it, because it was back in the yard. Again.

Again, it was disposed of, or so I thought.

Again, after another ruckus just now, I checked and Lucky was defending our property from some dogs who live around the corner. When I called him, he came running - and ran straight for the armadillo shell, which was lying in the yard. Again.

Sigh.

I wonder how long it takes armadillo shell to burn to a pile of ashes? Because at this point, I'm thinking cremation is the only way to go.

Life with [hogs]

(Technically, I guess these aren't hogs, are they? They're more along the line of "pigs." However, since my recent post was entitled "Life with dogs" I decided to continue the theme. Impressive, huh?)

(But I digress.)

So, what would you think if your mom sent you the following, cryptic text message one afternoon:

"Pigs are here. Call."

Wow. Um, yeah. Call, I did.

It seems that some of the livestock out back (which includes alpacas, a donkey, some goats, and who knows what else) were now, out front. In my mom's yard.

(My friend Jesse has instructed me to make a joke about Legion, but I'm not really sure how. So, I'm inserting it here.)

I told her (from experience, I knew this) that she needed to call the Sheriff's Department. There are no animal control laws in the unincorporated areas of the county, so the law couldn't do anything forceful - but they could help locate the owner. No one lives on that property - they only keep their animals there, and come through every couple of days to feed them and check on them.

Except, no one had apparently done that in a few days, because some neighbors told mom that they'd seen the pigs sauntering around the day before. That leads me to know two things:

1. Whoever is supposed to be taking care of those animals, probably isn't, and

2. We have lazy, lazy neighbors who apparently don't care that there are farm animals wandering around their homes, because NO ONE had called the authorities.

Ahem.

When I got home, no one in my neck of the woods had called either, so I took it upon myself to do so. I found two LARGE adults (one of them obviously nursing piglets) and five babies. They were tearing up my mother's yard, looking for acorns, and tormenting my poor dogs.

The dispatcher was asking me all sorts of questions, like "Who do they belong to? Who owns the property?" And so on, and so on...

Um, if I knew the answer to any of those questions, I would not be calling!

They sent a deputy out. He attempted to figure out who the land (and, by extension, the pigs) belonged to. In the end, he told my dad that he was free to shoot the swine if he felt the need to - the officer can't, because, again, NO animal control laws means he has NO authority.

My dad, just having had open heart surgery, was reluctant to shoot. Also, we pondered who would dispose of two huge adults and five babies once they were dispatched!

(Although, I'm sure Jason would not have minded setting up a spit and smoking a whole hog, in the yard, for Easter.)

I wish I had some grand, glorious ending to this saga. Really, I do. I'm assuming the owner was located, because I haven't seen anymore pre-bacon wandering around. I can only hope so - my three hunters haven't brought back any little piggies, unlike the dead possum they kept retrieving a few weeks ago.

Yuck.

Until I find out for sure, I'm keeping my eye out for any wayward, curly tails.

P.S. My mother (great caretaker that she is) allowed Anna Marie to get this close to those things with her video camera, but I haven't laid hold of any of her top secret swine footage.

Success!

(Sorry for the lack of a picture, folks. It goes against everything in my newspaper page designing background not to have one, but seriously - I'm pretty sure we don't need to see some deceased rodents up in here.)

When last we met, Jason was trying to figure out a way to out-fox a wily mouse.

Turns out, he was trying to out-fox wily mice. PLURAL. As in, there has been more than one varmint roaming around my kitchen.

Saturday night, he decided to put a trap in the small gap between the refrigerator and the stove.

Sunday morning, I heard a very, very nice sound: SNAP. As in, the death knell for the mouse. As in, music to my ears.

He re-set the trap, you know, just in case. After church yesterday, we found out just what that case was: Mouse #2.

I thought it was over. Really, I did. I mean, come ON - what were the odds that we had more that one mouse, let alone, more than two? Once again, we left the trap there, on the off chance that another mouse might show its little mousie head.

(Did I mention, he's RE-USING the traps? GAG. He says they are made to be re-used, and I'm sure he's right. It seems like what all those super-exterminator shows he likes to watch recommend doing. He also says that mice are cannibalistic, and that if they smell a dead mouse, it will draw them to that spot.)

(EWWW.)

So tonight, we came back home late after a meeting at church, thanked my mom for watching Anna Marie, and started getting ready to turn in for the night. And then my eye caught an odd sight: the mouse trap beside the stove was upside down.

I will give you three guesses as to why that was, and the first two don't count.

Jason is taking heart, though. He says they're getting smaller.

"This one was itty bitty," he proclaimed, a little hopefully.

He checked the dryer vent hose to see if that was the point of entry, but it doesn't appear that way. He's working tomorrow in Memphis, so we'll have to move the stove out tomorrow night or Wednesday and investigate that situation more fully. It is quite possible, or so he tells me, that the mice are living in an open space at the back of the stove, but we still don't know how they're getting in.

In the meantime, guess where that trap is. Yep, you got it.

And the saga continues...

I wish I could report to you, gentle reader, that my shock-and-awe campaign had rid our house of its unwanted guest.

But that would not be the truth. And I am nothing if not honest, y'all.

Oh, sure, we started out going easy on the little guy with the glue traps. One under the cabinet where he'd taken up sky diving on Tuesday morning, and one behind the refrigerator, where he had taken refuge after his descent from on high.

Nothing. Well, I guess I should be more precise: Jason spied some, ahem, evidence that the mouse had lighted on one of the glue traps, but apparently he wasn't stout enough to actually get stuck on the board.

So, we set out an old-school trap under that cabinet. A day or two passed, and we still didn't catch the little booger. Finally, Jason figured out what part of our problem is: this is no ordinary mouse.

I know, I know. We all like to think that our mouse is something special, but the one who is interloping here on Tate Street really is a cut above. You see, while most mice play it safe and run along the perimeter of a room, this mouse goes for the gusto and runs right straight ACROSS the room.

This makes it nigh unto impossible to place a trap where he will be tripped up by it. I'm beginning to understand all those bumbling idiot vs. mouse movies I've seen over the years. They aren't that far off base. Jason has threatened to litter the kitchen floor with traps, just like in one of those movies - but he's afraid he'd come through at 2:30 a.m. to go to work, forget about the traps, and set off a chain reaction.

So, four days in, we're still no closer to catching the mouse than we were last week.

Next stop: KING SNAKE.

Oh yeah, it's on.

Dear Little Mousie that fell out of my kitchen cabinet,

(Yes, I'm breaking a nearly two-month blogging hiatus with a post about a mouse.)

Ahem, as I was saying,

Dear Little Mousie that fell out of my kitchen cabinet this morning,

I don't know who you think you are, or how you got in there. We run a clean establishment around here. But I'm issuing a cease and desist order right now.

I did not appreciate it when you very nearly gave me a heart attack this morning, falling out of my high cabinet and scurrying across the floor that way.

Why can't you just meander peacefully across the floor? It isn't so much YOU I'm frightened of, it's your scurrying-ness. You STARTLE me.

There is a difference, you know.

So, here is the deal. I am offering amnesty, good for one day only. If you leave the way you came, and inform your little mousie friends that the Turner house is not one to be reckoned with, I will let you go on your merry mousie way. No questions asked.

If you refuse, be forewarned that I went to Walmart this morning and stocked up on an arsenal of mouse-fighting devices. I will come at you with a quickness. You will not know what hit you.

(I would make a GREAT Dread Pirate Roberts, by the way, little mousie. Just so you know.)

Furthermore, be advised that I will be sending you a bill for the lunch money I had to give Anna Marie today (because packing her lunch would have meant opening the refrigerator, the same appliance behind which you were lurking); the $5 worth of wooden and glue traps, along with the $2 in peanut butter to bait them with, that I had to buy this morning; and the $7 for the shirt I bought on clearance, just to make myself feel better. Because I totally wouldn't have bought THAT if you hadn't traumatized me so.

Also, I will be sending a bill for whatever we eat out for dinner, because I am totally not cooking in that kitchen while you're still around.

For your convenience, I accept cash, credit cards, and PayPal. I've been burned by too many rodents in the past, so please, no checks.

Sincerely,

Melissa

Do do do, lookin' out my back door . . .

Boy, do I feel dumb.

My house, in case I haven't told you before, backs up to the businesses on the south side of Main Street. There is, quite literally, a used car lot in my backyard.

Well, there is a drainage ditch which separates the two plots of property, but still, CAR LOT. BACKYARD.

There is a car detail business near there too, and on a sunny day the sound of a power washer just permeates the neighborhood for hours. Really adds to the charm of the place, no?

But back to the car lot. You know, the one in my BACKYARD?

That car lot hasn't been there long. In the five years we've been in this house, there has been a pet store, a home improvement business, and a different used car lot back there. Or maybe two car lots. I've lost count at this point.

The current car lot (which uses as its business name some generic "your credit is good here" sign which I'm pretty sure is copyrighted) has been there about six weeks.

About a week ago, Anna Marie complained that she couldn't sleep because a car horn kept going off. I figured one of the neighborhood cats or possums had triggered a car alarm, and that was par for the course.

But then - we came home Sunday night, and something like an 18-wheeler horn kept going off. I looked around for one (there aren't supposed to be any parked on the residential streets in town) but saw none. And then when I looked out my back door, I noticed lights on in the RV at the lot. And people moving around. And that horn kept going off, but I didn't call it in because I feel like I'm the only one who ever complains about such things in town.

(I know I'm not the only one who complains. I'm just sayin'.)

It stopped. And I thought maybe some teenagers had broken in there, but then this morning as we were leaving for school, I looked back there to find KIDS. With BACKPACKS. Also, I assume, leaving for school.

Someone is living over there, y'all. In an RV in a commercial zone. With kids. So I'm torn, because it's totally against the law to do that here, but there are KIDS. I don't want to put people out, not in this economy. I resolved to just let it slide, since maybe it was a temporary arrangement.

As long as there were no more horns involved.

So tonight, it started back up as I was trying to get Anna Marie down for bed. You know, in the room at the back of the house, just a few hundred feet from the car lot in my BACKYARD. And when I got finished tucking her in, I called the Sheriff's Department, and as the phone was ringing, I looked out my back door.

They were gone. GONE. I had not a clue what to tell that poor dispatcher, except that I was sorry I'd taken up his time. It wasn't the 911 line, just the regular number, but still.

OF COURSE THEY WERE GONE.

*Irony alert - part of my job is to go get the 911 dispatch logs and put the calls in the paper. Guess what I have to go do in the morning? I can't WAIT to see what they write about this call.

So, I feel really, really dumb. They were there, and now they aren't. And I've wasted a call to the dispatch office, which I now have the indignity to relive tomorrow morning when I read the log books.

It's like David Copperfield got all Las Vegas on that RV, and poof - thin air.

At least I called anonymously from my cell phone, so they won't know I was the crazy RV horn lady who called.

Edited to add: As I was finishing this up, guess what? THEY'RE BACK. And honkin' that horn like a boss! Boo-yeah, validation! Heck yeah, I called back. God a different dispatcher too. Guess I'd better go look out my back door one more time.

II Cor. 4:8-9

I have a friend at church named Holley who has a pretty neat thing she does every morning: she has an enormous list of text message contacts, and she sends everyone a Bible verse every day, about the same time of morning.

More often than not, it's kinda eerie how well the verse lines up with what I'm experiencing. Today was no exception.

I started to have trouble with my car last week, and yesterday, it actually ran hot - despite the fact that it was about 40 degrees out, and we were headed down the interstate at about 75 miles an hour.

Turns out, it was completely out of coolant, which is odd - it's leaving the system somewhere, but we haven't figured out where.

This morning, though, I think I figured out where it's going.


As I went to the gym, I noticed that not only did the "check engine" light BLINK, and continue to BLINK, the whole way there, the amount of white smoke pouring from my exhaust pipe was just not normal. The car wasn't running well at all.

For those of you who don't know, there are basically two places that coolant could be going - either onto the ground (which we couldn't find any evidence of) or through the engine and out the tailpipe, as the result of a problem with one of the heads, like a leaky gasket or - GASP - a blown head.

I tried to work out (thank God for my iPod, not only for the uplifting music it provided, but also because I could turn it up and drown out the 98 lb. guy grunting on one of the weight machines) and headed home. I noticed the "smoke" had an odd smell.

After I summoned Jason from a warm bed to check on the situation, he said, "It doesn't smell like coolant, it smells like oil."

Um, I'm just the daughter of a humble mechanic, but in my experience, OIL isn't any better smell for exhaust than COOLANT is.

Houston, as it is said, we have a problem.

I walked to work, as Jason took the only other automatic-transmission vehicle we have to Memphis to pick up supplies for the auction. I was feeling really, really down - I even cried when I was feeding the dogs - and then my office mate, Amber, placed a red velvet box on my desk.

It contained a really cute pair of pearl drop earrings - we had our office Christmas breakfast this morning, and we were supposed to give money to the animal shelter instead of buying gifts for each other, but Amber must have been feeling generous because there they were.

And something about her gesture just totally lifted my spirits. I'm ashamed to admit that, because somehow I should be able to get out of the dumps without jewelry, but hey, I'm human. I like shiny things! It wasn't just the jewelry that did it, though - I guess it was her thinking of me.

And then I remembered Holley's verse for today: II Cor. 4:8,9 -

"We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed."

I may be hard pressed in the transportation department right now, but I'm not crushed. I may be perplexed because I'm having these difficulties, but I'm not in despair. I feel persecuted, but I'm not abandoned, and the weight of my circumstances may strike me down, but I'm not destroyed.

I've got the van-formerly-known-as-the-amazing-technicolor-dream-van to drive, and after Christmas, we'll see what kind of hook-up my dad can get me for a good deal on machining those heads.

And I'm going to look back on this day as a testament that even though not everything goes right all the time, God can still help us get through it.

Donut be sad, part deux

Y'all.

Y'all, y'all, y'all.

Those of you FB peeps already know this, but I had ANOTHER tire go flat on the interstate this week. Back passenger's side.

Wednesday night, to be exact. Just like last time. Except this time, it was dark, and getting cold, and Jason wasn't with me.

And instead of choir practice, I was on my way to Courtney's visitation.

Thankfully, I was able to pull off at an exit and into a well-lit gas station parking lot, and not have to sit on the side of the dark highway.

Let's be clear - I am not completely incapacitated when it comes to doing things on my car. I have had knowledge of how to change a tire, but since I've never had to actually do it, that lesson that was given nearly 18 years ago has tarnished a bit with age.

So, I call Jason, hoping to have him walk me through the process. No answer. His phone goes straight to voice mail.

I called my dad, and he said it would just be easier if he came up and helped me. We were about 15 minutes from where he was.

Since his stroke, his physical capabilities are not what they used to be. So, I tried to get the car jacked up and the lug nuts loosened before he got there.

Thanks to the inferior, factory-supplied tire iron, however, that was just not meant to be.

Thanks to a nice young man named Scott, though, it did get done - he and his wife and three kids were getting gas, and saw me, and he came over and changed my tire - before my dad even got there!

(Not to worry, though, it's a good thing he was coming, because we left the plastic lug nut covers there, and I remembered about the time he was getting of the exit to turn around, so they were not lost after all! Hooray!)

Anna Marie was crying about being late to her Missionettes class for the first time, but given the circumstances, they didn't even have a lesson - the teacher had the girls each make a card for Courtney's five-year-old daughter Madison, who isn't even in that class.

(Anna Marie's had horses. I have no idea why.)

Courtney's visitation was incredible. Pink flowers were everywhere. I stood in line for nearly half an hour to get to where she was, and instead of sorrow, I felt an incredible sense of peace once I got up there. This sounds so odd, but seeing how good she looked - and she really did look good - made me realize she was at peace, so I was too.

Jason and I went to the funeral yesterday, and I left both inspired and ashamed of how petty I can sometimes be.

Courtney was so sick over the past five years, yet she never wasted one minute asking "why me?" or getting bitter. She had a newborn when she was diagnosed, and she spent the next five years savoring every minute she had left and making sure Madison had good memories. I am so thankful she lasted this long, so that her daughter would be old enough to have some recollection of her. One of the most touching things I saw yesterday was at the end, when Courtney's husband Robert walked out of the sanctuary with a sleeping Madison on his shoulder. She was wearing the most beautiful pink poofy dress.

(Did I mention she's a red head too? Yeah, that makes me just a little more biased!)

Jason figured out yesterday upon closer inspection that I do indeed need a new tire. Not only am I thankful that Scott helped me, but I'm also thankful that we had that flat over the summer so that I knew what that awful sound was, and so that the spare (which had been flat the first time) would be in better shape.

I started to worry for about half a second yesterday. Do I have the funds for a new tire right now? In the words of that sage teacher Whitney Houston, "HECK to the NAW." But after witnessing Courtney's courage and faith over the past two years, how can I get upset about driving on a donut tire for another few days? If she can leave such a legacy that the pastor pulled out a pair of boxing gloves at her service, saying that they reminded him of her spirit, surely I can let God help me figure something out about a stupid tire.

I mean, really, y'all.

Donut be sad!

Just when I was lamenting to myself that I didn't have anything to blog about, this happens.

It all started when I came home last night, and Jason said, "Let's go get some chicken."

Now, you have to understand - our local KFC has a reputation for not actually having any chicken. And last night, they did not disappoint.

First, Anna Marie ordered the popcorn chicken.

"That will be three-and-a-half minutes, because we have to cook it," she said.

Fine. That wasn't so bad. Then I looked at the pitiful amount of grilled chicken under the heat lamp, and asked about the prospects for, say, some white meat.

"We don't have any," she said. Would they have some coming in a few minutes? No - it would be 20, she said, which is how long it takes to grill.

Which means they hadn't even started cooking any, and it was the dinner rush.

I selected a honey barbeque sandwich, Jason asked for some chicken strips, and we ate.

(Half an hour later, when we left, there was STILL no new grilled chicken, meaning that they hadn't started any even after we'd asked for it.)

Fine. We still had plenty of time to make it to church. Or so we thought.

Thanks to the American Recovery and Reinvestment Act, it took us 45 minutes to go 15 miles. We were already late for church at that point, but I didn't think we'd be too late.

Once again, I was wrong.

Since Jason had discovered at KFC that he'd forgotten his wallet, I was driving. And just south of our exit, I heard a terrible noise. I stopped the car, and Jason got out to investigate.

Yes, from the picture at the top of this post, you can gather that we'd blown a tire. No problem, I thought, but I was about to be wrong YET AGAIN.

After Jason put the "donut" spare on, he got back into the car and said, "We aren't going anywhere."

Why? Because our spare was flat too, of course! Lovely!

I did what any girl would do in my position. I called my dad. He came and brought a small air compressor to air up the spare, and we started home.

Of course, by this point, church was over. A wasted trip! Or was it…

God taught me a lesson, which I wish He could've gotten though to me without the whole flat-tire incident.

I realized when I got home that I hadn't really freaked out. Why? Because I knew Jason was with us, and he could change a tire. If I had tried to do it myself, it would've been a great big EPIC FAIL because I have neither the expertise, nor the physical strength, to change a tire. But Jason? He had both.

I would've been an idiot to try to push him out of the way and do it myself.

(Yes, my dad did teach me to change a tire before I started driving, but that was a LONG time ago, and I haven't really had to use that skill. Ever. And have you ever tried to break free a lug nut that was put on with an air wrench? I have. Not fun.)

Why can't I seem to trust God like I do my husband? Why can't I realize that when I try to fix my problems myself, when I don't really have the means to do so, that I royally mess things up.

I'm thankful that I wasn't alone, that we're experiencing unseasonably cool weather, that it was daylight, and that it was not raining. I'm thankful that the flat was on the passenger's side, so Jason wasn't against the interstate traffic.

(And I'm really thankful that Anna Marie had brought her Game Boy, so she barely noticed the hour we sat there slip by.)

So that's why I "Donut be sad" (Get it? Do not, and that tire is called a donut? I slay me!) about this situation. I'm forcing myself to play the "glad game" and look on the bright side, and see how blessed we really are.

And I'm planning on sending the bill for tire repair to the federal government, since I'm blaming the whole mess on them.

I just realized, I haven't cooked in four days.

Not since lunch on Sunday have I had to cook.

Brilliant!

Here's the rundown of my week, so far:

Sunday night, we went to our small group meeting. We had hamburgers, graciously donated by Peasnap Catering, and I didn't have to cook them! WIN!

Then, on Monday, my dad was at my house using the internet when I got home, and he and Jason were in the middle of something, and I realized that I had just a few minutes to get Anna Marie to Vacation Bible School at our friend's church. Since they feed them at VBS, and Jason and I hadn't eaten, he had me pick up some Kentucky Grilled Chicken.

(Side note: that stuff is really good, so don't go telling me that it isn't as healthy as it pretends to be, because we're eating it at least once a week now. LALALALA I CAN'T HEAR YOU!)

Tuesday, I worked late, and my mom took AM to VBS. Jason ate popcorn for dinner in my absence - since I didn't know what time I'd be home, I told him to go ahead and eat - and I heated up some fat free refried beans in the mircowave.

(Microwave does not equal cooking, people.)

Today - oh, what can I say about today? What can I say about a day that really started at 10:30 last night, when my friend at the Sheriff's Office sent me a Facebook message to check my work email, because there had been an incident with a deputy, and I had a press release waiting. Except I CAN'T check my work email from home, because it includes some odd username/password combo that I don't have memorized for the webmail login. So I spent the next 30 minutes combing the websites of my competitors up north, and pieced together what had happened.

What had happened was: a guy freaked out, assaulted someone, stole a car, and left. Then, he killed a guy in a car on the side of the road. Then, he robbed a convenience store at gunpoint. After that, he kidnapped a relative, ran from a deputy, and tried to kill that deputy in two different ways before being shot himself.

He's facing at least half a dozen charges when he gets out of the hospital.

So anyway, after waiting two hours on a press conference to start today, and having my car run hot on the way back, and working through lunch, and then having a really, really long staff meeting, and then working overtime to finish a special section that had to go down today - well, let's just say I didn't argue any when Jason had brought home some grilled chicken salads.

And will I have to cook tomorrow night? Nope. It's our weekly trip to Backyard Burger. And I may not cook Friday either, because Anna Marie is spending the night with a cousin so we may take advantage of another date night.

So folks, the moral of this story is - sometimes, when the world is crumbling around you, at least you won't have to spend what little time you have left slaving away in the kitchen.

Need a laugh?

Yeah, well, so do I.

The 23-year-old daughter of my friend Stephanie from church was killed in a wreck last night. She leaves the most adorable 3-year-old daughter this side of Anna Marie at that age.

(I never met my friend's daughter, but she brought her granddaughter to church with her on a pretty regular basis.)

And, I got some reminders about Anna Marie's upcoming summer camp trip in the mail today, so I was reminded that MY KID IS GOING TO OKLAHOMA FOR A WEEK THIS SUMMER. WITHOUT ME.

And, well, there's just a lot of funky junk going on in the world in general, and in my life in particular.

So, in honor of Stephanie, I present you with a YouTube video we all watched during a break in choir practice about a month ago. (Stephanie is one of the altos, like I am, and we rely HEAVILY on her leadership of our section.)

Our music pastor referenced this video in conversation, and when we took a break, Stephanie went into his office and found it so we could all watch.

Enjoy. And I hope that you aren't in such need of a laugh today as I am - and that if you are, this little clip will provide it for you.

Notthatfunny.com

(That was what Amanda text-messaged me when I told her some of this story.)

Well, you know how Jason works on Tuesdays, and doesn't get home until about 5 p.m.?

And how Anna Marie normally rides the bus to First Baptist Church for their choir and handbell program?

Well, that program ended two weeks ago. So I've been having to bring her to my office after school.

Most of the time, she comes in, she does her homework, and she plays on the extra computer. This Tuesday, however, she decided to make trouble.

And lots of it.

When she got into the car after school, she said one of her friends had asked her to decorate a pencil for her. I don't ask questions, folks - it doesn't make any sense to me either, but I'm not seven.

Anyway - after she did her homework, she started on the pencil decorating part of her afternoon.

She had her watercolors with her, and used them to make some lovely, colorful designs on the wooden writing instrument. I'm working away, when she comes in, gets my scissors, and asks:

"Mom, how do you make confetti?"

Look people. I may have been born in the morning, but it wasn't that morning. I knew that she'd get to cutting, and soon there would be small scraps of paper all over the floor of my place of business. And guess who would be cleaning it up? Yep. Me.

Not going to happen.

So I told her that. And she was unhappy. And she went to another girl in our office and asked her how to make confetti.

After I'd told her no.

See where this is going yet?

When I got on to her about it, she ran through the glass door into the back part of the office where the kitchen is. A few minutes later, she comes back up to the door and hands me a note. I have left all spelling, diction, and punctuation intact.

Dear Mom, I have went to the back so I won't get in t-r-o-u-b-l-e fo cutting out confetti. I am not going to cut out cofetti. But I'm using my science skills to build a machine. So farewell. Goodbye. Love, Anna Marie.

P.S. (Bring me your pack of popcorn eggs.)

Editor's note: I had a pack of popcorn eggs on my desk, picked up at half price that morning at Walmart. Guess she wanted provisions while she was inventing.

She then called our GM, Shirley, into her "office." Shirley then returned with a paper reading "No moms allowed!" and taped it to the glass door, per Anna Marie's instructions.

(Wait! It gets better!)

When I went to the back anyway, she threw a small fit. Luckily, it was time to go home. In the car, I told her that although the others in the office may have been laughing, she had disobeyed and disrespected me, and there would be no TV for the rest of the evening.

She didn't like that last part. Not one little bit.

When we got home, she again ran into her room and closed her door. While I was in my room explaining to Jason what had transpired, here is the note she brought me:

Sorry that I acted bad at your job. But God already forgot about it. Love, Anna Marie!

(Insert pictures of the two of us, with rays of light emanating from our persons.)

I still (heart) you!

The part about God forgetting about it? Apparently she must have been listening when I told her that when we ask forgiveness, that's what He does - He forgets all about what we did.

What do I say to that? I'll tell you what I said.

"I love you too. You still aren't getting to watch TV."

Guess what - she did everything else I asked her to the rest of the evening. She made her bed. She put her plate in the sink. She did something else, too, but it escapes me just now.

So, I did end up letting her watch the last 30 minutes of the Food Network Cupcake Challenge with me. You know, so she can get ideas for the next time she bakes something with her Aunt Manda. And, it wasn't "her" TV, so technically it didn't count, right?

Right?

Y'all, after Tuesday, I know this much - if that which doesn't kill me makes me stronger, I'll reach superhero status before long.

Just the facts, m'am.

This blogging thing has gotten really difficult as of late, because so much of what is going on in Melz World I'm not at liberty to share.

Here's a hint on part of it - it starts with a "w" and rhymes with "jerk."

And after a meeting I had last Wednesday, I have a lot of decisions to make about, ahem, jerk. Let's just say some changes are being made, and they are no good/very bad/perfectly awful.

(I'd say more, but once I get started, I won't be able to stop, and I don't need to end up like dooce any time soon. Ya dig?)

So, I'm sorry I've not been present around here lately. I will tell you that I didn't weigh in on Thursday morning, because I got my bad news on Wednesday afternoon and I was still trying to process it - as much as anyone can process being told that, among other cutbacks, they were having a week of vacation that they'd already earned taken away -oops, did I just say that? - and I couldn't take the chance of a bad outcome.

Yes, I'm supposed to be honest with myself, and with you, but when you've had a week like I did - and I didn't eat poorly, and I did exercise, but sometimes even that isn't enough - well, I didn't need to add another thing to my (proverbial) plate.

The weather here has been just absolutely dreary, to the point that I think it's been affecting my mood as much as anything else. No offense to those who live in the Pacific Northwest, but several months a year of gray, chilly weather would really do me in.

Thankfully, I did spy a bit of blue sky this afternoon. I just wish the weather guys would have told me that it wouldn't get near today's expected high of 67 until nearly 5 p.m., so I would've been a bit more prepared for the chill.

We had a great couple of days over the weekend - choir practice on Saturday, and two fantabulous services yesterday - and I was feeling much encouraged today.

And then, Monday began in earnest!

I found out about more cutbacks in our operations at work, and then Jason called to say that he'd just gotten a speeding ticket!

He plans on contesting it, by the way, because he sees no way he could've gotten to the speed they clocked him in from a dead stop in the distance he'd traveled. He's sure to go all "Speeders Fight Back" on them in court. I can just see him now with his laptop and projector, showing how that it was scientifically impossible for him to have been going that fast.

Or, we could just pray that the cop doesn't show up - especially since the ticket comes close to one week of his pay!

Either way, it looks like I'm going to have to work a little harder to hold on to that ray of hope I'd found over the weekend - and pray a little harder that Monday sees itself right on out the door before it does any more damage.

No, we're not ignoring you

Have you been anxiously awaiting your Turner Family Christmas Card, that pantheon of photographic greatness?

Yes? No? Maybe?

Well, you've been waiting in vain.

Sorry, folks, but there will be no Turner Family Christmas Card this year.

Heck, we haven't even managed to put up all of our Christmas decorations this year. There are no icicle lights gracing the front of my house - mainly because the edges of the roof are rotten, and Jason posits that when he goes to take the clips down, he'll have to go ahead and replace the whole bunch at once, or risk having another raccoon taking up residence in our attic.

I know this won't be a surprise to those who have read this blog - and my descriptions of the funk in various shades of blue which I've been experiencing. That is topped only by the extremely dark blue shade of funk being experienced by some of the people in my life, and with which I am being forced to grapple.

(Keeping everyone encouraged is hard work, y'all.)

Add to that the general business of the season - parties, practices, and work obligations - and you have a recipe for no card photo.

What's that you say? I can send a card without a photo? Poppycock! With a photographer like Amanda at my disposal? And a kid with no front teeth? That would be wasteful!

This year has been all about keeping it together and rolling with the punches. And a photo Christmas card is one punch with which I have not rolled.

Sorry, gentle readers. We'll have to make double-time on this next year.

Frustrated

That's how I feel right now.

This has been a very frustrating day so far.

I started out frustrated, because of some comments made by someone I was having dinner with last night. The comments were ignorant, and hateful, and concerned our new president-elect.

I will go ahead and admit, I did not vote for him. But, I am not as "devastated" as I have heard some folks describe themselves. I am at peace with the outcome of the election. And, my reasons for not voting for him had nothing whatsoever to do with the color of his skin, or whether or not he is a "secret Muslim." I understand, though, that scripture teaches that those who are in authority are put there by God, and that we have a responsibility to pray for them.

I will also admit that I have not prayed for our current President nearly enough, and that is a situation I intend to rectify immediately.

Also, I am frustrated because my very best friend in the world is going through a very difficult time, and while I can comfort her with my words, there is nothing I can do to take away the pain she is feeling. Time will mend it, I know because I've been there, but that knowledge does little at present to fill the emptiness she's experiencing.

And now, my own Darling Daughter has misbehaved so badly that I just got a phone call from her teacher. And I'm frustrated, because, like her teacher, we've tried everything we know to get her to see the importance of following the rules. We've talked to her about how it helps everyone learn better, and makes the teacher's day better, and just generally makes things run smoother.

We've set consequences in place for not following the rules, in addition to the ones that are set in place at school, and have followed through with those consequences.

And yet, here we are, with her having gotten into as much trouble as she possibly can without a trip to the principal's office. And here I am, racking my brain to think what else can be done to get through her thick red head.

(And seriously, I wasn't sure if the teacher was listening on the other end, so I didn't want to tell her that I was going to beat the fire out of her when she got home.)

(I kid! I kid! I'd only half beat the fire out of her. Maybe 3/4.)

Jason and I have a game plan for the evening, including the ever-popular "Come to Jesus Meeting" of which I am a big fan.

(Also including locking her Game Boys up in our lock box. No, I'm not kidding about that one.)

I'm about to leave to get her from school. On the phone, I told her she'd better not make a SINGLE SOUND the rest of the day. Unfortunately, there's only so much of the fear of God I could put into her on the phone, but fortunately, I can do a pretty good job when I get her in the car.

And fortunately, tomorrow is another day, for politics, and my precious friend, and my smart-yet-talkative daughter.

Trapped in the attic

(When I told Amanda this story, she asked me if "trapped in the attic" was anything liked Trapped in the Closet. I told her that I was unsure if there was a midget or a cell phone involved.)

Y'all, the fun never stops here at Melz World.

Earlier in the summer, we noticed a hole in the trim around the front of our house. It's an older house, and we need a new roof, so it isn't a stretch to think that it needed replacing too. Jason told the landlady, who told him to take care of it and send her a bill.

That was in July. He went out of town, and never got "around to it."

Last week, he saw some squirrels scouting out the hole (which is, of course, attached to the attic) and decided it might be a good idea to take action before winter set in.

So, this afternoon, after we served lunch at the auction, we bought some materials and he came home to fix the hole. My dad came over, and in about an hour and a half, the job was done.

Now, as I was fixing my coffee this morning, I thought I heard something in the attic. I told Jason, and he said he'd experienced the same thing but when he'd checked, there was nothing. He said it was just something on the roof.

(Note: roof is not the same as attic.)

Dad and Jason had worked through dinner, trying to use up all the daylight, so they left to grab a bite. A bit later I was in my room folding clothes, and I heard the most awful racket up above me. It sounded like scratching, and pounding, and something throwing itself against the wall!

(Note: the hole was above my bedroom window.)

I called Jason, and told him I was 99.9% sure there was a squirrel trapped in the attic.

He came home, took a shower, and started working on the computer. When I went into Anna Marie's room to put some clothes away, I heard it again!

This time, he went up to investigate - and I've never seen him exit a space so quickly in my life.

"It's not a squirrel," he said.

"Oh, no - its a rat!" I exclaimed.

"No, it's not a rat. It's a raccoon!"

Oh, yes, dear friends, there is a real live piece of wildlife living above my humble home.

Jason said the thing just stood there and looked at him!

I called my mom, to see if my brother had any friends in possession of a raccoon trap.

Nope.

I called Amanda, to give her the chance to photograph this real life wildlife - and she immediately thought of the parallels to a certain R&B singer's wildly ridiculous opera.

I finally called Cathy, one of my co-workers, because I knew her boyfriend was a die-hard hunter.

The boy has a digital camera hooked up where he hunts, so he can count the deer.

I think he was intrigued, because a few minutes later she called to ask me if we needed them to come over.

They showed up with a giant fishing net.

Jason showed Jamie where the animal was, but he was unable to get it into the net. At one point, I heard Jason's saw, and the next thing I knew, Jamie was going up the attic steps with an angled piece of wood.

"I'm gonna spear me a raccoon," he announced.

Fortunately for the raccoon, that plan didn't work either. He had wedged himself into the overhang area, and he wasn't coming out.

They left, sans raccoon. (Cathy said Jamie wanted to mount it if they caught it.)

We figure the thing is nocturnal, and woke up and tried to get out the same way he got in. Jason left the light on up there, and Anna Marie and I prayed that God would tell the raccoon to go to one of the vents in the overhang and burrow his way through the mesh.

When we get up, we'll see if anything looks like he got out - if not, we'll either be stopping by the Home Depot on the way home (did you know those traps cost $50?) or calling the law. It's been suggested that, with the threat rabies, they may have a trap.

(And yes, we have a wildlife rehab outfit, but I don't know if they only take injured animals.)

(And no, I WON'T be traversing into the attic to get a picture. Are you crazy?)

What a week, what a week!

(Did you catch that, in The Wizard of Oz? As the Wicked Witch is melting, her last words are "What a world! What a world!" I love it!)

Once I recovered from the outrage of last Saturday's failed trip to the farm, a whole new crop of nastiness sprung up in it's place. But enough about that - let's get to those pictures I promised you, oh, about a week ago!



This is Macy, my brother's three-year-old stepdaughter. Cutie Patootie! Also, not used to getting her picture made, unlike Little AM who has been getting hers done since she was about five minutes old.



Two years ago, we brought Anna Marie to this same park, and had her picture made in the same place. One day when I'm not feeling so lousy, I'll grab that from Amanda's Flickr photostream.

She spent a lot of her time at the park swinging…





While Macy, well, she ran around. She's three. That's what she does.



Obviously, those two had a spectacular time. I was still a little put out about the previous unpleasantness, but at least the girls enjoyed themselves.

The rest of my week has consisted of meetings, and sickness, and a "perfect storm" of events which ended in Anna Marie sleeping on top of me on the couch during a thunderstorm.

At least she slept - once she quit talking to me.

I don't know what I've got, but I feel achy and yucky, and my throat is sore. No fever, and not really "stuffed up" either - and let me tell you, it's darn near impossible to figure out what will make you feel better when standing in Walmart's Health and Beauty Aids in that condition.

I made an Executive Decision to stay home from church and rest last night - I hated doing that, and Anna Marie hated missing, but I felt so awful I didn't feel safe driving up there and back.

There will also be no Official Thursday Weigh-In today, because I've made a second Executive Decision to skip WW tonight. I have good reason - one of the boards I cover has had to change their October meeting to 6 p.m. tonight, and trying to weigh in, eat, and get to work in 30 minutes or less is just not some stress I'm about to put myself under. I've come this far - I'm not dropping out, and I know I'm not going to gain five pounds in a week because I didn't know exactly how much I weighed.

(Yes, I've come a long way in the last three years.)

To top it all off, my coffee maker died. Yes, I know, I've sounded that alarm before, but I think this is it this time. Now, it won't even take the water out of the tank to pretend it's going to make coffee. Thankfully, I have a stash of Target-brand pods for my Senseo to get me through until such time as my budget will allow for a replacement.

This is one of those weeks which I'll be glad is over - and not the least because next week is fall break, and I'm thinking I'm going to take a little vacation of my own.

Not exactly how I pictured spending my Friday night

Anna Marie had an appointment at her eye specialist yesterday. The office is about 30 miles north of here in the next county. She and Jason left straight after school, while I still had to finish my pages at work.

I left work a little early, since I'd taken a short lunch break; stopped at the grocery store; and was about to start dinner when I got a call.

"I need you to come get us," said the voice on the other end.

"Why?" I asked, inquisitively.

"I think the clutch cylinder on the Jeep is out."

The Jeep. The vehicle that was just fixed two days ago. That a friend helped him put back together in exchange for his looking over a computer. The Jeep that not only ruined a pulley and the water pump with its little stunt last month on the highway, but also locked up the new alternator that was put on it in South Carolina.

(Did Jason tell the nice lady at the auto parts store HOW the thing locked up when he exchanged it? No, he did not.)

I turned the oven off, put the muffins I'd mixed up in the fridge (we were to have breakfast for dinner) and drove up.

Since we were all starving by that point, we went to Zaxby's (where the nice manager lady agreed to let me have all celery with my wings instead of fries!) and on to the parts store to get some brake fluid. My dad had suggested that Jason put the fluid in the cylinder and try to get the Jeep back home.

Problem was, the fluid went in the top - and right out the bottom.

We called for my dad, who was eating dinner. He and my mother arrived on the scene about 45 minutes later, which would make it about 7:30 by this point.

Somehow, my dad got the Jeep home by switching gears without using the clutch. Jason drove dad's truck (because my mom had forgotten her license) and we three girls rode home in my car.

Oh, and of course, when we took the Jeep to mom's, Anna Marie stayed.

(Oh, and she wore that striped shirt to school for her pictures. And discovered that one of her friends had the exact same shirt.)

I've just finished baking the mini muffins, so maybe we can have them with dinner tonight. If Jason doesn't eat them all when he wakes up, that is. I need to get in the shower, because it looks like I'm going to be driving my mom to the chiropractor this morning.

Is that how I envisioned spending my Friday night? Nope. But like I told Anna Marie, it could've been much worse. We were in a parking lot, not stuck on the side of a road like I've been so many times. We had just eaten dinner, so we weren't starving. I had my car, so we could leave and get the stuff we needed. And she and I took a lovely walk in the cool fall weather around the shopping center, where we saw multi-colored appliances, and a baseball game playing on the TV in a sports bar, and the most paint samples that she'd ever seen.

And, most importantly, we were together - which I guess is what really matters after all.

Official Thursday Weigh-In

Well. Here we go again.

Tonight's weigh-in was actually the bright spot in my evening - I lost 2.5 pounds this week, taking me down to 146!

My WW leader told me that in just 11 more pounds, I'd be at the top for my weight range, and I could make lifetime - the most important part of which would be that as long as I didn't gain more than two pounds, I wouldn't have to pay!

It would be like getting a raise!

That was the BEST news I'd had all day - especially since I'm trying to work on an assignment which I seem unable to complete to my boss's satisfaction, and I thought TODAY was picture day, so I sent Anna Marie in her favorite red polo, only to learn that TOMORROW is picture day, and I seem unable to find a shirt that is up to her high standards.

Folks, I even went to far as to go to Walmart after my WW meeting to buy her a NEW shirt, because she was crying so hard when I left. Except, she was STILL crying when I showed her the new shirt, because it wasn't what she wanted.



(I don't know if you can tell, but it's striped, and it's shimmery, and the buttons are rhinestones. What's not to like?)

And I'd apparently promised her that she could wear the red polo in her pictures, and that wasn't happening.

And she's made no secret of how upset she is with me.

And she's been crying for the past hour and a half.

And at this point, she'll wear whatever I present her with in the morning.

And she'll LIKE it.

Just wish I could say the same for my boss.

Coffee crisis - AVERTED!

Those of you out in Blogland didn't know that this week, I've been wrestling with my own private coffee crisis.

Saturday morning, I awoke to the realization that I was out of coffee pods for my beloved Senseo machine. And I was out of my Gevalia coffee for my tricked out grinder/coffee machine. And I was expecting a shipment of Gevalia at any moment so I didn't want to go buy more coffee.

In other words, on Saturday morning I awoke to NO COFFEE!

In less than a year, I have become a coffee fiend. So you'll imagine my delight when, after pawing through my kitchen cabinets, I emerged with a bag of ground coffee which Jason had been given at a food service trade show a few months back.

Crisis averted! Or, so I thought.

I have become a coffee fiend, it is true - unfortunately, thanks to my choice in coffee makers (the Senseo and the grinder which tells me with wee small marks how many beans to insert for my four cups) I have become a coffee fiend without knowing how to brew a cup of coffee.

Go ahead. Point and laugh.

So, I found the scoop that came with my coffee maker, and, trying to remember what I'd been told by Alton Brown, I scooped one scoop for each cup of coffee.

(I was later told by some folks at work that it was one scoop for every three cups. That seems a bit weak to me - I guess I should consult my friend LaJuan, who is the most serious coffee drinker I've ever met. Well, next to my friend Barbara, who never goes anywhere without a cup in tow.)

The coffee was pretty good, even if it seemed to be a bit less than the machine should've made for the amount of water I poured in.

Sunday, I repeated the procedure. I got a little less coffee in return this time.

Monday, I got less coffee still. By now, I was getting a bit concerned.

But Tuesday, oh, Tuesday was the worst - for the four cups of water I poured in, I got maybe a half-cup of coffee in return.

Needless to say, I left my house yesterday sans coffee. I substituted a Coke Zero - Breakfast of Champions.

My Gevalia came in yesterday morning (the Mail Guy brought it by my office, to save himself the trip of getting out of his truck at my house) and I was determined to figure out what was going on.

At lunch, I prepared the coffee maker as usual, with the whole beans. I got about a half cup of coffee again. After I ate, I looked inside the coffee maker and saw a good bit of water left in the reservoir. Like any enterprising journalist, I unplugged the unit to investigate further.

(Also, to dump the water into the sink.)

It poured. And it poured. And it poured. And I have NO idea where all this water was coming from! But at the bottom of the reservoir, I spied two rogue coffee beans, perhaps refugees from my loading the grinder while it was still in the unit.

I decided to run water through the already-ground beans, because they didn't appear to have had very much run through them the first time. I got more coffee, but it took forever - like 30 minutes - to finish brewing.

After dinner last night, I found a flashlight. At the bottom of the reservoir, in the drain, I thought I saw a coffee bean - perhaps an explanation for my water woes.

I tried several different mechanisms for getting at the suspected bean - coffee stirrers linked together, a bendy straw, and, finally, a wire coat hanger with a paper clip attached at the end.

What did I get? Big fat nothin'.

Jason suggested that I take the machine to my dad, but my coffee addiction centers started screaming - "No! That'll take DAYS! I need my fix TOMORROW!"

I decided to take my chances. Last night I loaded the unit up, set the timer for about 15 minutes before I was scheduled to get up, and held my breath.

(Not really - that would've made it really hard to sleep.)

And this morning - success! I don't know what I did last night, but I had my coffee waiting on me when I stumbled into the kitchen!

Now, I'll poll The Internets about the proper coffee-to-water ratio. I received some mocha coffee in yesterday's shipment, which is already ground, and I don't want to waste a drop.

Because mail-order coffee is a terrible thing to waste.