A Itchy, Scratchy Check-Your-Ankles-For-Bites Flea Tale

For somebody who doesn't seem too interested in what I do, that girl of mine sure keeps up-to-date on my blog posts:

Haven't posted anything in a while, huh, Mom?
I did just the other day, Daughter.
Humph. Guess I missed that one.

I think she secretly admires her mother.

We have been engaged in the Battle of the Fleas at our house. It doesn't happen very often around here, but when it does... whew! Those little pests are hard to kick. I spent my morning yesterday washing and vacuuming and spraying everything in sight while the cats were banished to the screened-in porch. When the kids got home from school, I paid two of them twenty bucks each (payday!) to wash and soak the cats in a Dawn dish soap bubble bath and remove and wash all the furniture on the back porch where they had been hanging out all day. They were glad to do it. I was glad to pay it. I call that a win-win situation.

The flea status as of this morning looks favorable. One cat looks entirely flea-free while the other one (all black) is a little harder to tell. I think I am gonna let 'em back inside to at least part of the house (no bedroom access included). I've got a couple of flea bombs lined up for later this week and I'm keeping that flea killer spray as handy as a six-shooter pistol in a hip holster. I'm wishing I had a walnut tree nearby. When we lived back in the Midwest, my grandma swore by keeping walnut branches (with the leaves) stashed under the furniture to ensure a flea-free home. I don't where she got that idea- maybe my grandpa? -but we lived in the country with a dog and multiple outdoor cats and never really had a problem with fleas.

Sheesh. I can hear the pitiful meowing coming from just outside the backdoor.
Even I can't take that kind of pressure. Release the hounds felines!

I've got my sharp-shooter ready.

And The Low-Balance Alert Says...

$17.20 in our checking account.

Chuckle, chuckle. Cry, cry.

Meanwhile, the NFL refs got what they wanted and we still can't afford tickets to see our favorite team. Same goes for George Strait. He announced his final tour and the girl and I talked about trying to see him next year. I checked out ticket prices for a venue near us... yeah, that's not going to happen either.

On the plus side, I have managed to make a $56.00 grocery trip made at the beginning of the week carry this family of five through the end of the week. Thank God for potatoes. From side dishes to soup to just a plain old baked potato to go along with chili, they can stretch out any budget.

Of course, I may want to leave potatoes out of next week's meal planning.

Even I could use a break.

For My Family. You Are Loved.

This picture isn't the best in the world. In fact, it's pretty sorry. But, if you could've seen it from my point of view- and heard the sounds that went with it... well, you would understand why I grabbed my camera and tried my best to peer out a cracked screen door while keeping the cats from bolting so I could try to capture the moment.

If you could see it clearly, you would see a girl sitting in an adirondack chair (the Lowes plastic version) embroidering a quilt block. She's in a flannel, plaid shirt with her hair pulled back in a curly ponytail. That's her oldest brother to the right. He's still in his work clothes and tinkering around on a motorcycle he recently bought. The brown and tan truck is his pride and joy and a gift from his grandpa. Their voices drift up this way (toward the house), although I can't make out a thing they are saying.

To the right of the oldest is a shed you can't see. Inside, the middle is faithfully going through his fitness regimen in which he writes down his goals on a dry erase board I bought him. Every now and then I can hear the clinking and clanking of his weights as they go up and down. The tail end of the blue truck that you see is most likely where the husband is working this evening. The fall air is beautiful, the insect repellent is at hand, and they all seem content in their world.

I was cleaning up the kitchen and thinking about Mary Todd Lincoln when I looked out the window. Odd twist there, I know, but lately I have been somewhat obsessed with the former first lady. Was she insane or was she merely a victim of the time period in which she lived? I am in the midst of one book about her now and have two more waiting in the wings, all from different perspectives. So, I was thinking of her grief regarding the death of yet another one of her children when I wiped my hands on a towel and turned off the kitchen light.

And caught a glimpse of my family,
Which produced this blurry image,
That prompted a time of gratitude.

Hope you don't mind.

Dodge Caravan Meltdown

At the request of the husband, I am posting these pics online for all the world to see. We have a 2003 Dodge Grand Caravan 3.8L Sport (?) that we bought back in 2008 with around 48,000 miles. The odometer currently reads around 108,000 thoroughly-enjoyed miles. With this vehicle, we have something of a love-hate relationship.

We love it because it's paid for and has been for some time.
We hate it because there is forever something going wrong.

Transmission.
Transmission again.

Fuel pump. Front struts. Rear shocks.

There are times when we'd like to throw in the towel and send the blasted thing into some dark, dank, caravan ravine; but for the most part, the husband does all the work himself and all we are out is the cost of parts and a steady supply of pain relievers. Besides, when all things are at the top of their game, the van runs great.

A month ago, though, that ugly gremlin that lives under the hood began to rear its head once more. A constant vibration with no obvious cause and little incentive to pull a hill at 35 mph. It has since sat useless in our driveway except for the daring run the husband made to Auto Zone one night to have it hooked up to a diagnostic computer. No real surprise there... the diagnosis revealed that there was indeed something wrong, but listed a rap sheet of possible causes.

So the man has replaced the plenum (intake, I think) gaskets, valve cover gaskets, mass air flow sensor,  oxygen sensor, throttle positioning sensor, spark plugs, spark plug wires, and the fuel injectors. Nothing changed. Tonight he came in tired and frustrated and silently ate the potato soup and grilled cheese I set before him. He walked back out after doing some reading online and five minutes later summoned me and my camera.

This is the fuel injection wiring harness. What's left of it anyway. Even a non-mechanic, non-electrical girl such as myself can guess that I shouldn't be seeing exposed wires.

He was dumbfounded and a little shocked that we hadn't experience any fire problems and kept repeating the same phrase, "I have never seen this before." I was still stuck on the word fire.

Fire?

I am so buying a Mustang once I get a job. =)

Priorities (Take Two)

In thinking about my plan for the day earlier this morning, a few tweaks were made along the way. For instance, I did have that muffin and coffee and experienced an awesome church service that made me cry for at least half of the service. (My, oh my, does the Lord know me!) We did have lunch and visited our southern grandma- which turned into a much longer visit than we had planned. Therefore, I've not done a stitch of laundry, fall stuff will have to wait till next weekend, and it's too warm to sit outside on the swing right now. I decided I would rather have a coffee than grill out that chicken, the vacuuming probably won't happen today, and the kitchen will most likely get a hit-and-miss job later. The cleaning of the bedroom might stand a chance and the reading is a definite no-brainer.

All that to say I really didn't accomplish very much.

But I was blessed this morning by the book of Job. My afternoon coffee was free. And I learned things about my southern grandma that I never knew. In fact, she may become my next favorite grandma to write about.

It's all about priorities.

Priorities

This is the day the Lord hath made, and the day that I have successfully pushed everything I wanted to do yesterday. Such a procrastinator, I am. In the next twelve hours, I am hoping to cram in quite a few things:

A muffin and coffee. Church. A visit to our southern grandma. Lunch. Laundry. Pull fall stuff from the attic. Place fall stuff around the house. Another cup of coffee. Sit on the swing. Read. Clean my bedroom. Vacuum. Grill out chicken. Clean the kitchen. Sit on the couch.

In the midst of all that, I have to mentally prepare myself for another week of substitute teaching in a somewhat challenging class, throw some bills in a hat and see who gets paid this week, and try to be a pleasant person to be around.

This is why I go to church when I could stay home and get started early.

I need all the help I can get.

Stark Reminders

A repeat of last year,
but nothing more to add.

Our country, and we as citizens, remember...

Click this link for a post from last year regarding Memories Of That Day.

I Am Surrounded By Teenage Boys

Literally.

They're in my back yard.
They're on my front porch.

I told my girl she could be the most popular girl in school if she passed the word around regarding all the guys hanging out at our house. We both had to laugh.

Three boys are working out.
Two boys are laughing.
It all kinda makes my day.

I completed the first day of a two-week substitute job today. Ironically it is for a position that I interviewed for but did not get. May I repeat just one more time that the Lord knows exactly what He's doing? May He forgive me once again for ever doubting His way or His timing or His plan.

Hey, at least I know I've got a paycheck at the end of next week.

As for tonight, I have already asked the husband for supper at our favorite Chinese place. He was happy to oblige, much to our kids' delight.

So, let's recap:

Boys.
A Smiling Girl.
Anticipated Paycheck.
Chinese.

I love today.

Ponytail No More

A long time ago, my boy began growing out his hair. He had spent his elementary years and the first few years of middle school in private schools where the hair was kept short. In the eighth grade, he branched out into the public school system and a style of his own. While my opinion of public school might be a mixed bag, my opinion of his style never wavered.

He definitely had a style of his own, and his style was all about hair.

It grew longer.
Covered one eye.
Eventually hid both eyes.

Surpassed his chin.
Touched his shoulders.
Went down his back.

He marked his last hair cut (a minor trim, I might add) around February 2010, I think. I do believe he knows the exact date. A week ago, I had just come home from an out-of-town trip when he made the following announcement,

Mom, I'm ready to cut my hair.

Now, I handled this staggering statement rather well. I didn't cry. I didn't jump up to hug him. I just sat stunned. And probably as only a mother can know, it really had nothing to do with the hair. His hair had been something of a battle in the early years... we wanted it short; he did not. We (as in his dad and me) came to realize that his long hair was something that he needed. Something that defined who he was. He was never one to blend in.

Anyway, at that moment I looked at the man he is becoming.

Ready to make a change.
Ready to make a statement.
Ready to move forward.

That's my boy.

The Kittens Have A Home (And It's Not Mine)

Well, I expected today to be a better day, and it did not disappoint.

Three hours were spent in blissful solitude as I sat tucked away in the old curator's office of the museum. My postcard assignment continues and for the most of the morning, I read through fragments of a pre-World War I era. I've said it before and I'll say it again... this is right up my alley. If only a volunteer position could miraculously transform into a paid position, all would be perfect in my world. The husband keeps telling me I should pursue a master's in museum studies and I keep telling him, "If only I were twenty years younger." I don't know. I might apply for entrance into our local university that offers such a program. I might. Things like more loans and oral exams (for acceptance) scare the heck out of me, to tell you the truth.

If only I had a job.

But then again, I was thanking the Lord this morning that I am available to take the kids to school and pick them up; that I'm available to take to them to appointments and not stress about how we're going to get them here or there; and that I look forward (for the most part) to planning meals and cleaning house and doing other mundane daily tasks.

This is the occasional pep talk that always works.

At any rate, I topped off the day with my pre-planned pumpkin spice latte and sat outside in a sticky, ninety-plus degree kind of southern, September day. I thoroughly enjoyed it. At home, my girl sat with me as I sorted through my dresser drawers and closet space (bonding time, she called it) and later served up supper to three teenage boys (of which only one belonged to me). The husband left to get parts for our tired van and I fixed a cup of decaf.

Like I said, a definitely better day.

And, lest I forget, remember our kitten dilemma from a few weeks ago? It turns out that the mama cat-  the cat that we thought was a stray all summer long and ruined our screens and filled our shed with fleas, actually belongs to our neighbor.

Doesn't take a genius to figure out where the kittens are tonight, does it?

Define Slacker

My dearest daughter recently referred to me as a slacker for not blogging in over a week.

A slacker?
Quite possible.

I could say I've had nothing new to blog about, but that would not be completely true. I have been busy lately and have even had somewhat of a life. Last week, for instance, I traveled with a good friend to a part of the Midwest that was pretty close to my parents... so close, in fact, that they made a four-hour drive and rented a hotel room for a couple of nights just for the chance to see me. Talk about making a girl feel special.

I had a great time, too. Besides having the opportunity to shop a little with my mom and follow my dad's directions to a dive of a place to eat (inside joke), I got to spend some much-needed friend time with my... well, friend. We watched strangers in the airport and talked to strangers in the hotel and listened to strangers on the plane. We laughed and talked and napped on an airport couch for no good reason. Good times.

In the back of my mind, though, has been that last job interview I went on (remember the last post with my sharpie-corrected pants?). I have yet to hear anything which I am assuming most likely means another no thank-you. In addition, my main mode of transportation decided to take an unplanned siesta and is still sitting out-of-commission in my backyard. Thank goodness our back-up plan with over two-hundred thousand miles remains faithful.

Wait a minute. I wrote about car trouble in the last post, didn't I?
See what I mean? Things have been happening, but nothing has changed.

I really do feel like a slacker.

Good thing the NFL season kicks off tomorrow night. The referee situation may be questionable, but my place on the couch is not. Combine that with the return of Starbuck's pumpkin spice latte and my day to volunteer at the museum, and and the mid-week might bring hope yet.

Thanks, dearest daughter, for keeping tabs on your mother.

You are my inspiration.