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.

A Disclaimer May Be Necessary: Blame The Coffee If It Helps

If my life were really a book, I think I would have closed it up by now. You can only repeat the same thing so many times before it becomes so predictable that it makes even me weary. The things maybe worth mentioning I don't mention because I've got too many people who really know me and love me that read this. (Okay, technically like maybe TWO people that I know of for sure family-wise, but you get the idea). No need upsetting the fans.

And that was a joke.
A lame one maybe, but I'm running on fumes here.

Even if I wanted to put into words what is in my heart right now, I don't think I could. Defeat is a hard emotion to express. Needless to say, I had one of the worst experiences of my adult life last night and all I could see was a flashback to a naive nineteen-year old girl who didn't know how to just walk away. I still don't know how to do that. I may never learn. My biggest problem has always been digging my nails in too tight and holding on for dear life. I seriously don't know how to let go, and somehow I always end up being the one hurt.

Don't they make a pill for this? Something I could just take to muffle the noise? I don't want to shut down; I just want to step back. I have no problem with being part of the background, but for some reason, I'm always trying to make it to center stage. How's that for making sense? Didn't Paul say something like that? Something along the lines of I know what to do and what I should do but I end up doing everything opposite? I don't know if it's pride or stubborness or just plain bad timing. What I do know is that my stomach feels sick and my eyes won't stop watering and this coffee is too darn weak.

I'm gonna push my re-start button today if I can find it. Hopefully it's still in operating order. One thing is for sure... if you have learned anything about me, my house will be spotless by the end of the day. I may not have a pill to take, but I've got enough furniture polish to see me through yet another crisis. We all have our ways to cope. Mine just happens to include a vacuum and about twenty dust rags.

And coffee.
I definitely need a better cup of coffee.

 

 

For I know that nothing good dwells within me, that is, in my flesh.

 I can will what is right,  but I cannot perform it.

[I have the intention and urge to do what is right, but no power to carry it out.] 

 

For I fail to practice the good deeds I desire to do,

 but the evil deeds that I do not desire to do are what I am [ever] doing.

 

Romans 7: 18-19, Amplified

 

 

Goodbye, World

Goodbye, Laura Bush. I'm just not going to be able to finish your book which I love. You all just made it to the White House (the first time) and you were talking about gowns, I believe. I get a little teary-eyed knowing that I won't be visiting with you anytime soon, but back to the library you must go.

Goodbye, Mitch Rapp. You are my all-time favorite spy, even if you're not real. Book number four was next in line after Laura. It's just not gonna happen. I'm going to hide my nook in the closet so I won't be tempted. Don't worry, you are forever in my dreams.

Goodbye, Kathie Lee and Hoda. You're my favorite mid-morning pleasure, but you're going to have to go, too. I get too easily distracted with your talk of weekend travel and white wines and celebrity gossip. It's best if I just leave the television off.

Goodbye, Facebook.

Nevermind that one. No sense in going overboard here, but the farm may very well have to go into the dormant mode for now. Heavy, heavy sigh.

Just when I thought I might be getting a handle on this middle eastern nonsense that I've been trying to learn (no offense to my middle eastern friends, mind you)... but just when I was getting caught up on the reading and writing and somewhat understanding, I started a new class today.

Traditional Russia.
Fourteen initial chapters to read.
One hefty assignment to kick things off.

This in addition to my assigned four chapters regarding the middle east and war.
And two assignments to go with that.
All due by Sunday.

I love history.

Good thing I also love coffee.
You all pray for me, okay?
This too shall pass.

Being A Girl

My tummy hurts and I think I might be seriously close to overdosing on Midol. I've apologized to my husband a gazillion times today for... well, I how no idea except for just being the way I am. I'm usually not like this. I have a serious problem with girls/women that take the whole monthly thing to the extreme (and come on, we all know some ladies use this as an excuse for everything). This has just been some day.

I cannot concentrate on anything. I'm staring at a paper I have to write about Russia and the Ottoman Empire and I'm thinking Russia? Where's Russia? I feel seriously out of touch with reality at the moment... and yet, I can still focus long enough to write this blog. Okay, okay. I know where Russia is; I just have no desire to write this stupid, stupid paper on European influence and blah, blah, blah. I would rather go take everything out of the kitchen cabinets and wash and dry them twice before I would want to write this assignment.

I'm such a fine role model for my children.

I've shut myself in my room so as not to scare any of them. My daughter had sympathy for me in that knowing way and was quick to supply me with a cup of hot tea, refusing to take no for an answer. The boys, whom I'm pretty sure don't pay much attention to my blog entries anyway, are most likely wrapped up too tight in their cyber worlds to notice I haven't been seen for a while. My husband accepted my last apology with a quick hug and has since made himself scarce. Poor, poor man. Even the cat is avoiding me.

And so goes my day in the life of a girl.
Surely tomorrow will be better.
Today had to have been some kind of a fluke, right?



P.S. I'll go ahead and apologize now to my dad, brother, and any other male figure who stumbled upon this sad, sad entry... just be glad you're not here. This probably wouldn't have been a good time to visit.

I think I just saw the cat nod his head in agreement.
Yep, I've had one Midol too many.
Time to break out the heating pad.