Things That Go Scratch In the Night

Normally, I am the last one up in our house.  Most nights, you can find me sitting at the dining room table, where I have the laptop with a heater turned on, browsing the web, replying to emails, working on some project, or otherwise just waisting time on the internet.  From my seat, I can hear all the doors open, and my children moving around.  Its a good place to sit, most of the time.

However, it not only lets me hear my kids, but also anything else that goes scratch in the night.  

We have a lot of little wild life around us.  We do live in a more rural than urban area.  We have about a billion squirrels that live in our front and back yards.  We have the most beautiful birds like robins, cardinals, and blue jays, that will just land somewhere in our yard so that you can watch them.  We have found a turtle, and often see neighborhood pets out who have gotten loose.  Once, a horse even made its way into our front yard.  No.  Really.  It is actually really great for The Littlest One.  She loves to watch the animals.  So far, squirrels and birds are her favorites.  After all, the horse doesn't wander by every day or that would be her favorite for sure.  

With all of those animals, you often hear things running across the roof.  It is a little weird at first, but you get used to it.  Occasionally, a bird or squirrel wanders onto our screened in back porch somehow, and we have to help them out.  Little things like that are no big deal.  What is a big deal, though, is when those little animals make their way inside our home.  

I'm not sure if I've posted about this before, but I HATE mice.  Hate them.  Can't handle them.  It isn't so much a fear, but the fact that they gross me out beyond all belief.  Just looking at one makes me want to bleach my entire body.  If I know a mouse touched something, I throw it away.  No amount of washing will ever take that knowledge out of my head.  

Late, late one night, right after we moved in, a saw a little tiny mouse run across my kitchen floor while I was sitting in my dining room seat at night.  I freaked out.  The next morning, my husband caught it and took care of it.  It took me days to calm down, though.  We also called our a pest control guy, the one who explain how deer hunting worked to me, to make sure the problem was taken care of.  I wouldn't open up the cabinet under my kitchen sink, where it had been hiding, without being totally prepared to jump and run for quite a while.  Eventually, though, it did get better.  I even keep just a couple of things under there now, at the front of the cabinet where I can easily grab them, of course.  

Then, last night, it happened again.  

I was sitting in my chair and I heard something.  At first, I thought it was one of The Girls stirring, and that I was about to see one walk in and tell me they couldn't sleep, didn't feel well, etc.  No one came in, though.  I kept working.  Then I heard it again.  This time, I realized it was more of a scratching sound.  I got up, walking into the kitchen quietly and listened.  There was total silence.  Just when I thought I was imagining things, I heard a very distinctive claw on wood sound of scratching from INSIDE one of my cabinets.  I immediately flew to my bedroom, not caring that The Littlest One was asleep in there, and begged my husband to come to my rescue again.  I told him there was an animal in the house and he had to come.  Had to.  He started to laugh and somehow sign at the same time, but he got up.  

He came in and heard nothing.  He opened the cabinet under the sink, scene of the last crime, and saw nothing.  He checked under the drawer where the last offender had also lived, and saw nothing.  He hit the cabinet, and nothing moved.  He hit the cabinet harder and still nothing moved.  

He told me I was imagining things and went back to bed.  

I knew what I heard.  

I left the room to close the computer, after all, there was no way I was sitting in there by myself anymore last night.  

Then, I tiptoed as well and as quietly as someone of my age and size can still do back into the kitchen, and I didn't move.  It took a few minutes, and I heard something again.

I knew I wasn't crazy.  At least not in this instance.  

I took about one tiptoe step a minute until I got the the kitchen sink.  I could hear it.  

My husband heard me trying to be stealthy, and he came back in to tell me to give up.  

I restated my case.  This time, he got out a flashlight.  We opened the cabinet again.  In the back of the cabinet under the sink is a big hole, larger than a softball, where someone who has no real know how of anything construction related tried to cut a hole for the pipes.  The hole goes all the way into the sub floor and makes a great little hiding spot.  That was where we found him.  My animal was a tiny field mouse.  He was little and gray, and freaked me the hell out.
  

I started backing away, but not slowly all while yelping "I told you!"

The field mouse was stuck to a sticky trap we had left in there from the last time.  He was still very much alive, though.  After a lot of poking fun at me, and a little bit of discussion about how the mouse needed to go or I was, he ask for the cheapest set of long barbecue tongs we had.  I didn't even flinch.  I told there where they were, because they were located in close proximity to the now diseased cabinet, and nearly started to cry.  Not for the animal, but because I knew he was going to carry that thing though my house, and I was terrified he would try to torture me with it.  

Instead, he got a bag, got the mouse out, and carried the whole thing outside.  I have no idea where he put it, or what he did with it from there, and i don't want to know.  

The tongs are in the trash, where they will stay.
I just can't handle the mice.

Today, I will be going out for more traps, lots of bleach, and new BBQ tongs.  It will take a long time before I can open that cabinet again, without flinching instinctively   I will be checking for scratching sounds for days when I first walk into the kitchen.  Ugg..

I suppose, if there is any upside to this at all, after all the cleaning today, my kitchen will be sparkling clean, even if it will all smell like bleach.  

Teaching Our Children To Stand Up To The Man

There are days when I am definitely My Father's Daughter.  Granted, I am always biologically his, but some days, I act just like him as well.  My Father is a grouchy, mean old man, whom I love.  He taught me a lot of things.  Some good.  Some my mother doesn't appreciate.  One of the best lessons he ever taught me, though, is to stand up for what you believe in, no matter what or to whom.  He taught me that elected officials put their pants on one leg at a time, just like the rest of us, and their door, or email inbox, should always be open to us.
Right now, I am going through the process of trying to get the great city of Chattanooga to change a city code that will disqualify many of our recently retired veterans from serving as police officers or fire fighters.  Basically, to be employed for either, you mist be totally through training and hired before you turn 40.  When a person enters the military at 18, they can retire 20 years later at the age of 38, possibly very closed to 39.  The hiring process is very long, often taking up to, or even longer than a year for police officers.  That means, you will be 39, pushing 40, by the time you are even approved for a police academy.  Then, you have to wait for an academy to start.  In all that time, most recent retirees will age out of eligibility, since the training itself take yet another 5 months, and you must be done before you turn 40.  I find it absurd that the city would toss aside so many people who would be invaluable to them in either department.  Turing 40 doesn't mean you can't still be a vital member of the police department.  Far from it.   In fact, with the experience that many people walk away from the military with, they would only make the police department better for it.  Where else are you going to find so many people who are completely prepared to make tough decisions under extreme pressure?  They are generally all very familiar with small arms, something a police officer needs to be very comfortable with.  I could go on, and on about how their experience would be beneficial to the department, but I think it is really very obvious.  They would make great police officers, especially those who have any military police training.
However, this city code will preclude so many of them from being up to get into the department on such a tight time frame.
So, I want it changed.
I also have a special drive for this because it does affect my family directly.  I don't want to go into that right now, but I think you can figure it out.

I've already started contacting the mayor and City Council members.  I've started a petition that I plan on taking to a council meeting as soon as I have enough signatures.  Please, sign it.  Sign it.  Share it.  Send it to anyone you know.

As a side goal in this whole process, and something that gets me all worked up in a good way, I want to involve my children.  I want them to watch their mom in action and see that anyone can try to change the way things are run.  "We the people.." isn't just in our governing documents for great literary effect.  It is there because regardless as to how they make us feel sometimes, we need to remember that we elect people.  We should drive policy, not the policy makers themselves.  I want my girls to see it, and feel it.  I want them to stand up for what they believe in, and work to change what they don't.

I want my Girl Scout troop to participate with me, too.  I want them to sit in on the council meetings that I go to.  I want them to watch me speak, and learn that they can do anything and be anything they want to.

This is one time where my dad taught me everything just right.  Thanks, Dad, and I promise to pass the lesson on to the best of my ability.

It Is Not Stage Fright

The Biggest One and I have been sick.  Really sick.  We had the flu.  It was u-g-l-y.  I really felt that needed spelling out.  It was that bad.  Anyway, while neither of us were really back to full strength yet, I thought it was time she went back to school today, especially since today was Girl Scouts and she had a music performance.  It may have been a tad too soon.
Apparently, when she was standing on the stage today practicing, she got very sweaty, started seeing black spots, turned super pale, and couldn't see well.  She started to pass out.  They made her sit down, and then go to the nurse.  I'm not sure what caused it, but I can bet she just didn't have enough fluids today, and over exerted herself her first day back.  Anyway, The nurse, who is really very sweet, listens carefully to The Biggest One about what happened.  This is my girl who tonight, on stage in front of everyone, shimmied while she sang when no one else was really dancing, sang so loud that another child turned to her and told her that everyone could hear her, who gave the best show of the evening on her own, just because of her enthusiasm   If you know her, you know exactly what I mean.  She is a ham.  A showman though and though.  Straight drama runs though her blood.  So, the nice nurse listens to her, sweetly, then proceeds to tell her that it was just stage fright, and that often causes people to feint.
Say what?
Stage fright.
No.  Not her.
I burst out laughing.
The sad thing is, again if you know her, or have read about her with me before you know where we are about to go, she believed it.  She came home and told me she had stage fright.  I tried to reason with her.  I tried to explain that she had anything but stage fright, but since The Nurse told her, it must be true.  I finally got her to see reason when I told her it was possible she locked her knees.  I explained how lots of people feint because of that.  She thought that could have been possible.  However, she still felt it could have been stage fright.
So, we went, and she shimmied and sang.  She begged to the the example and come to the mic every time the music teacher ask a question.  She was all over it tonight, without ever batting an eye.

At the end of the performance, we get her and start walking out.  We talk.  I tell her how great she was, and discuss the program for a minute.  Then, we get in the truck.  The moment we were all belted, I stopped, looked at her, and ask "Now, do you think, you who sang the loudest and danced the most, that you still have stage fright?"  This time, she laughed.  She knew it definitely wasn't that, and remembered how much she loves being in front of people.  I can't believe she ever forgot it.
So, no, it wasn't stage fright.  She may need more rest, and I'll be forcing more water down her, but I'm sure we can put at least that bit to bed, for now.

You Have Value As A Mom

In all my time as an organizer of a moms group, I learned a lot.
Right now, one of the most valuable lessons for me personally, and one that I am struggling with myself, is that being a mom doesn't mean you are just a mom, you have value no matter who you are and what you do, or don't do.
When people would request to join our group, they are required to fill out a profile sheet of a few questions. The first thing on the list is an introduction.  It can be simple, but we do request that you actually put something about themselves.  So many times, women would come in and their introduction would read something like "Hi.  I'm Jane Doe, and before I was a Mom, I was a ...." It wasn't simple a way to let us know their interest.  It was as though they needed to let us know that they did something before becoming a mom, that with out that, they weren't a valid person.
I realized, after talking to so many moms over the years, that we so often lose ourselves when we become a mom, and forget how important we are.
When you become a mom, everything changes, especially if you quit the work force to stay home with your children.  When you do that, you lose touch with so many people, and what could easily be called "the outside world", meaning anything outside your home, or the scope of what revolves around your child.  Your day to day life is determined by the child's needs and schedule, not what you necessarily want.  If you let it, it can become very overwhelming to find your life so turned on it's ear.  Especially because, though you are raising a child, probably keeping the home, and all that, you often don't feel that you make a real contribution.  Your life feels like an endless cycle of the same thing.  It's like the old Dunkin Donuts commercial, and every day you wake to make the donuts, except your feeding the baby, changing the baby, cleaning the house, making lunches in the morning, etc.

For me, when we moved, I left everything behind.  I had a great moms group I ran.  I had a Girl Scout Troop I loved.  I had friends that are really more like family.  I loved the area.  I could go on, but I might cry.  So, I find myself back in that position, as if I were a new mom, just at home, with the baby.  I live by her schedule again, and end up cooking, cleaning ,and doing those kinds of things all day.  Part of me hates it.

The thing is, even if what you are doing is just feeding the baby, changing her, etc, you are making a contribution that is more than you can possible understand in that tired moment.  You have a job, though often a thankless one.  You are the toilet paper fairy, the dinner fairy, and every other fairy that makes things seem to magically happen for everyone else in your home.  You are the reason it goes on.  Without you, the house wouldn't run, the baby wouldn't be happy, and life would be even more chaos than it already is.
So, don't feel like you aren't making a contribution, because you are.  You will get your own outside life back.  Search online for groups of moms that you can hang out with, with baby.  Take her to the park and hang out.  Take her shopping and play with her.  Enjoy this moment because it won't last long.  There will be a day when you aren't needed at home in the same way anymore.   There will be a day when you long for the moments where you were "just" taking care of things inside.
Until, know that your contribution is invaluable.
You are awesome.
You are a mom, and there are few jobs in this world as hard and yet as wonderful and rewarding as that.

I Am The Car Lane Jackhole

School pick up and drop off are never, ever fun for me.  Even if it means getting the kids out of the house after a long winter break where they have been fighting with each other since the moment I picked them up at the start of break, I still don't look forward to taking them back.  It isn't just because I will miss them, which I will, but it's because I hate the actual pick up drop off process immensely  and it causes me great anxiety.
The school, which I am slowly learning to love, is a pretty good about most things, but they are very particular about pickup and drop off.  They want any parent not using the bus to use the car rider lane for pickup and drop off, and they strongly discourage walking your child in or personally picking your child up unless there is a special reason to do so.  We get notes about it all the time.  We are not even allowed down the halls in the morning.  We are to go no where near the class rooms.  They say it is all for safety reasons.
Ok.  I can live with that idea, though I'm not exactly sure how letting the kids go by themselves, without adult supervision, is much safer, but I am trying to get with the program.  I think for the most part, it is just a huge change from CA schools, and I'm not handling the change too well.  In CA, the schools were outdoor schools, more like shopping malls with no interior hall ways, and you just walked right up to the classroom door.  Here, the school is much more traditional with a main entryway, then hallways going left right, or to the back.  Also, the parking lot is honestly terrible.  You park on a lower level and have to walk across the road (the pickup/drop lane really not so much a real road) to get into the school.  So in that regard, it is much safer to just drop them off than walk through all the cars trying to drop off in the mornings.

Regardless, I hate it.

Aside from it being different, the reason that I hate it would be that we suck at the process.  We do.  I know it may sound odd to say that I suck at dropping my kids off at school, but trust me, we do.
I am that parent who always, nearly every single day, holds up the line, doesn't move when the other cars do, etc.  I screw up the whole thing.  Even the crossing guard lady gets confused and irritated with me sometimes.  She has to hold the walkers crossing the lane while the cars move, but I take so long, she starts letting them through, but just as soon as she has given up on me, and starts letting them through, I'm ready to move, and now were all holding up the line of traffic.  Yes.  It's like that nearly every single morning.  The only hope I have of not screwing up traffic is to be in the back of the line, giving me more time before all the other cars go.
I know you must think I'm nuts, I mean, how long can it take to get the kids out.  Currently, all of The Girls are in some sort of car seat or booster.  Even The Biggest One, at 9, has yet to hit the hundred pound limit of her booster.  So, I make her sit in it.  It is safer, until she outgrows it.  Middie is a in an extended use 5-point harness, which she still can't buckle on her own.  Of course, The Littlest One is still rear facing at 21 months, now that the official recommendation from the American Pediatric Board is a two year minimum, in a 5-point harness, which she will keep for a long time yet.
So, how does having kids in seats that make us suck?  We are the only parents who do that, as far as I can tell.  Middie, in all honestly, usually can buckle her self, unless she is wearing a coat (No discussions about coats and car seats now, thanks.  I'll be glad to post about that later.)  The problem here is that she is super, duper, maddeningly slow.  The kid moves at a crawl.  Two years ago, I gave her The Pokey Little Puppy for Christmas because I tell her all the time she is my Pokey Little Puppy.  This year, I got her The Pokey Little Puppy's Christmas.  You may note that means the theme lasted for more than a year, as she has always been, and will probably always be the slowest kid ever.  She just can't do quickly.  She dawdles.  You get it.  So, getting her out of the car, or into it is painful.  Someone has to assist to get the process moving, or she won't move.  Right now, we have a system down.  As we are shifting in to the drop off position, I tell the girls to get ready.  On the word "Go", The Biggest One unbuckles, opens her door, jumps out, runs around the front of the truck to her sister's side.  While she is running around, I unbuckle, turn behind me, and unbuckle Middie.  We get her arms out of the straps, too.  By this time, The Biggest One gets her door open, and grabs Middie's back pack, so it won't be in the way or an issue.  Trust me, if I let Middie get her own backpack, we would be there until lunch time every single day.
This is generally the point that I realize break lights are going off in front of me, and the line is getting ready to move.  I start yelling "Go! Go! Go!"  Middie takes a moment to stand, get her grip on the truck, and finally, jumps out. At this point, The Biggest One starts yelling, "The Door!  Shut the door!" as Middie has yet to do so.  It takes a moment, but she eventually gets it shut.  The Biggest One starts handing over the backpack.  I do not allow Middie to put the backpack on for the sake of time.  She must simply hold it by a strap until she is near in the front doors of the school, if there is time.  If not, she can carry it like that to class.  That saves several minutes.  Once the hand over is made, they clear the the car, and I can see them both on the sidewalk, I can start rolling.
If we are at the very back of the line, I make it just in time sometimes.  If not, I screw everything up.  I'm sure there are parents yelling at me.  Always.
Pick up is a little better.  We are in a double line for that, with a sign that has our child's name on it in the windshield.  Someone comes walking down the middle of the rows, calling out names for each car.  As soon as they call The Big Girls, I unlock the doors, jump out, run around, and wait on Middie.  The Biggest One always gets to the car and gets in quickly. As soon as I see Middie sort of plodding her way toward me, I start yelling "Backpack off!  Backpack off!"  Sometimes she has it slid off so that I can grab it when she gets to me, sometimes she doesn't and I have to slide it off as quickly as I can.  Her door is already open.  I pick her up, put her in, strap her in as fast as possible, and run back around to the driver's door.  I jump in and a immediately put the car in drive so that I can roll while I buckle myself up.  WE don't usually hold up the line as badly this way, unless of course Middies doesn't hear her name, and she has to be called twice, or I am the first or second car in my row.  The bad thing here is that I'm not just holding up a few cars in one line, like in the morning.  They won't get any other kids started until both lanes have finished moving all the loaded kids out, and have empty cars.  So, if we take too long, I'm holding up like 16 cars or a so at a time, plus all the people waiting behind them.  Its awesome.

I have to wonder how many times I have gotten the finger, been called ugly names by people running late for work, etc.  I;m sure it happens.  I don't, though, ever get mad.  On the off chance that one of them has a bad day, and holds up the line, I just go wit the flow and totally get it.

I don't expect this to change for a while, either.  I don't plan on changing the car seat situation in our car anytime soon.  I'm happiest when they are safest, regardless and what other, possibly finger waving, people in in front of or behind may think.

My Annual Cookie Plea

So, every year since I think I started blogging, I have blogged about the woes, and sometimes the highs, of the Girl Scout cookie selling process, all the while, really hoping that someone will jump up, feel the strong pull of the spirit of giving, and contact me asking to help out.  I fully expect to share a woe filled post later, as I am again being the cookie mom for my brand new troop, of all most all new kids and parents who are scared to death of selling cookies.  However, I'm not here to cry, yet.  I'm here to get rid of the thin veil usually covering my plea, and just come right out and beg.

If anyone who reads this would like to help out our troop, I have a great, tax deductible  way to do so.  This year, brand new to our Council, is a program called Building A Mountain of Hope.  It is a long and rather confusing name for a program that is really pretty great, and simple.  You can purchase a box of cookies that we will donate to the Tennessee National Guard.  The Guard can then send them to their troops who are deployed over seas or use them for Disaster Relief, etc.  I think it is awesome, and nearly as great as Operation Thin Mint back in San Diego.  Nearly.
Anyway, if anyone would like to support my troop, and Girl Scouts in general, while getting a nifty little tax deduction, please, please (see the begging) contact me.  Along with your tax receipt, I'll send you a very nifty little thank you note hand made by one of The Big Girls!
Thanks for at least reading this, and hopefully thinking about it.

When We Get Our Own House

One of the big upsides to moving, and the whole uprooting our entire lives, is that we hope to soon buy our first house.  I don't want to put the cart before the horse, or jinx ourselves in anyway, but we hope to be in a new home of our own before the next school year starts, if everything goes according to plan.  Big if, but still, that is what I am hoping for.

My husband and I have been married for twelve years, and we have always been renters.  We are renters, though, who have always dreamed of being owners.  We do dream, a lot.  We talk about what we would do to every home.  Now, I dream with The Girls, too.  I would consider myself at least a little crafty, and there are a thousand things we want to do to our own home, together.  The Biggest One and I often make trips to paint departments just to look at color samples and get more ideas for her room.  We see tons of aqua and turquoise things headed her way.  While it is true that we could have done many of these things before we buy, I don't want to put a lot of time, effort, money, and especially love into things that we may not be able to fit into her room once we actually buy.  She has a very large room right now, once the master of this house when it was fist built.  So, if we create for her room, it may mean pairing down when we move to our own house, and i don't want that.  Instead, we build ideas.  Pinterest is getting going to get a ton of pins from me in regards to ideas for each of their room, because for the first time, I actually feel like we may be close to a real dream.  

I will say I am scared, but not of being a home owner.  I realize that comes with a lot of responsibility and work, but I am totally up for that.  I'm scared of having the dream taken away from us, again.

We all want to finally find a house that we have have to make do with as home, but a real home of our own.