The Father to His Calvin

May 16, 2013 by Kelli 4 Comments

Not long ago Landon came running into the bathroom as I dried my hair.

“Mom!” he yelled over the noise. “Where are toofbrushes made?”

“What?” I yelled back.

“Where do the toofbrush makers make the toofbrushes?”

“Why don’t you ask Dad, buddy,” I called back. “I’m busy.”

He spun on his heel and rushed into the bedroom where Lee was changing. I couldn’t hear the conversation over the hairdryer, but seconds later Landon came tearing back into the bathroom.

“THEY’RE MADE OFF THE COAST OF MADAGASCAR!” he screeched. “TOOFBRUSHES ARE MADE OFF THE COAST OF MADAGASCAR!”

And then he disappeared as Lee collapsed in hysterical laughter. Score one for Dad.

Not long after that, I stood in the kitchen preparing dinner as Lee and the kids sat on the back porch.

“Daddy?” Tia asked, her voice all sugary and sweet. “How did you learn to pop your pecs?”

It could have been worse. She could have asked him how he learned to “wiggle his nipples,” which is what she and Landon said for a long time before we finally put a stop to it. It’s cute and funny in the comfort of your own home. Crying out “Wiggle your nipples, Dad,” in the cereal aisle of the grocery store, however, is embarrassing and slightly inappropriate…

One of Lee’s better parenting tactics does indeed involve popping his pecs when things get tense or dicey around here. If arguments break out, he does a little pop here and there and suddenly everyone is laughing hysterically. Brilliant…

So they sat on the back porch and Tia wanted to know how he did it because for her life, she cannot make her pecs pop.

“Well, baby,” Lee answered, “I actually went to a special college to learn. It’s not something you should ever try unless you’ve been properly trained. There’s a special technique that you have to learn and it could be quite dangerous to try without being taught. That’s why I made sure I got a degree from the Pec Popping Institute of America.”

Never a dull moment…

Do the dads in your life give brilliant, if slightly skewed, explanations for some of the workings of life?

Image Credit

Filed Under: Family, funny stuff that happens, Lee Tagged With: Calvin and Hobbes, Dad explanations, Fatherhood, humor

Join me at The MOB Society

April 26, 2013 by Kelli 2 Comments

Crickets.

That’s what I served my oldest and his motley crue of buddies at his 9th birthday party. Crickets. C-R-I-C-K-E-T-S! Now before I move forward with this story, I must tell you I have a history with crickets. It’s not happy, my cricket story.

It involves a college-age me in 1999 when the plague of crickets descended upon Waco, Texas where I was a student at Baylor University. Literally, crickets fell from the sky like rain. The horror of it all still leaves me nauseous.

And in the midst of that time, I got engaged to the man who would soon become my husband. A regular date during our courtship involved him accompanying me to Barnes and Noble for late night study sessions and this is where the cricket story really takes off.

Friends, as we sat in the hushed bookstore one evening, a cricket FREAKING CRAWLED UP MY PANTS! Do you know what happens when you realize a cricket is in your pants?!

You freak out right there in front of God and everybody.

Once I dug the little Peeping ~~Tom~~ Cricket out, I sat down flushed and embarassed as my future husband laughed hysterically.

“A cricket…was in. my. pants!” I hissed.

Lee wiped his eyes, leaned forward and raised his eyebrows. “Oh yeah?” he grinned. “Lucky cricket…”

…..

So you see my conundrum with crickets. I’m not a fan of the wily little buggers. And yet my boy wanted them for his birthday…as a snack. He wanted to eat crickets because he wanted a Bizarre Foods birthday party.

We watch Andrew Zimmern regularly around these parts. My boys ooh and aah and think he’s the coolest person in the whole wide world. My daughter and I wrinkle our noses and gag.

But, I’m a boy mom and boy moms find a way to make their boy’s dreams come true and my boy wanted to eat bugs so I tracked down edible crickets, larvae and scorpion lollipops and became the coolest mom on the block.

I’m over at The MOB Society today sharing a post about the day that my son, thankfully, did not poison us all. Join me over there to read the rest!

And Happy Weekend to you all!

Filed Under: funny stuff that happens, Guest Post, Kids do the darndest things, Sloan, The MOB Society Tagged With: Andrew Zimmern, Bizarre Boys, Bizarre Foods, Friday Funnies, The MOB Society

The Thrill of Annihilation

April 2, 2013 by Kelli 8 Comments

These three children, all of whom were born of the same two parents (as if that wasn’t obvious enough – they were clearly cut from the same mold), could not be more different from one another.

One of the unique privileges of motherhood is the ability to know another human being with a depth that is nothing short of miraculous. I remember distinctly the first time I held Sloan and looked at his face and thought, “There you are.” His face was so familier to me, I felt I had known him my entire life. It’s as though he was buried inside my soul for a lifetime and we were finally reunited.

And now, as they grow older, I am so intimately connected to them, it almost leaves me breathless. I mean, sometimes they surprise me with their ability to love one thing one day and hate it the next (socks are my nemesis), but the innate fabric of their beings are familiar and I know exactly what they struggle with and how they will succeed.

When it comes to competition, they are all very much their own individuals. Competition is woven into the fabric of our family. My husband was a collegiate basketball player – sports and competition make him feel as if the world is still spinning rightly on it’s axis.

If there were a child that I could pinpoint being most like his daddy in personality, it would be my bubbly thirdborn. He lives for sports and is ready at any moment of the day to play a game of baseball or basketball or football or anything that allows him to hold a ball in his hands.

He does not like to lose. Oh my, how he hates to lose. The thrill of the victory is what keeps him moving each day. Defeat is not readily accepted and tears are shed often. Even an innocent game of UNO can leave him desperate if victory does not come after the first round. The last time he and I played, he refused to put down his card, because he knew I was going to win.

He has yet to acknowledge my win because technically we never finished the game, therefore technically he did not lose.

The firstborn is a lot like me when it comes to sports. He doesn’t like to lose, but he doesn’t necessarily care about winning either. He’s there for the social aspect of it all. He is not overly competitive and aggression is not in his makeup. He just wants to play and talk and have a good time.

I love that about him.

And then there’s the girl. She, like her younger brother, is hyper competitive but for different reasons. While Landon loves to win for the thrill of the victory, Tia likes to win for the thrill of annihilation. She doesn’t just want to win – she wants to destroy her competition.

Case in point:

Last week, she and I were doing some ab work. She has this freaky love for all things fitness, which keeps me in decent shape, so I’m not complaining. Lee came in and watched us working and challenged Tia to a tuck up competition. Tuck ups are when you lay on your back and crunch up, pulling your knees to your shoulders.

They’re hard.

Tia did 40 tuck ups, then sat on the couch and looked at her dad. “Beat that,” she said with a grin. So he did. He did 50 tuck ups. This did not settle well with the girl who refuses to lose.

She slid to the floor and started again. “You only have to do 51 to beat Dad,” I told her but she did not acknowledge my presense, her face intensely focused on the wall in front of her. She hit 50, then 60, then 70 and she began shaking and sweating. Her arms trembled and pain washed over her face.

“You won, Tia,” Lee and I laughed. “You can stop.”

But she didn’t. She kept going to 80 then 90 then 100 and finally 101. She collapsed on the floor and laid there panting and shaking. Lee leaned over her and grinned. “So I guess you beat me, huh?” he said.

“Dad,” she gasped. “I wanted…to…crush you.”

We can only hope that this attitude will one day keep the boys at bay a little bit. Here’s to hoping she intimidates them just enough that they’ll know how hard they’d have to work to keep up…and maybe they’ll stay away.

We can dream, right?

Are there unique traits that you see in your children that leave you shaking your head in wonder?

Filed Under: Family, funny stuff that happens, Kids do the darndest things, Lee, Tia Tagged With: Kids and competition, Kids and sports, winning vs. losing

As long as he doesn’t mutate, we’re good

March 22, 2013 by Kelli 10 Comments

Weeks ago, I looked in our bathtub and found a small lizard wandering around. I laughed because, you know…only in Florida, right?

Also, it was way better than finding a cockroach in my bed.

I briefly considered relocating the little fella, but decided against it mainly because picking those things up freaks me out. I know they can’t hurt me, but they’re wily and quick and I’m a coward so I left him there and figured Lee could deal with it later.

Only when we came back later, he wasn’t there anymore. Which disturbed me in other ways, but I pushed the thoughts of a lizard crawling in my ear or up my nose in the middle of the night deep into the recesses of my subconscious and went on with my life.

Until I noticed that he continued to show up here and there, always in the bathtub. And I finally figured it out – he lives there. Everyone, I’d like to introduce you to the newest resident of the Stuart House: Bernard (“Bernie”) Stuart - our lizard in the drain.

Yes, my bathtub is atrocious. It has been since the day we moved in. It is nasty and disgusting and I’m waiting (not so paitently) for the day when we can rip that sucker out and put in something functional.

We’ve never used our bathtub, but Bernie seems to have found a home there. He hangs out in the drain. Some nights, we even walk in to find his little head laying just outside the drain, eye closed, snoozing.

So far, we are all living peacefully together. Bernie stays in the tub and the rest of us leave him alone. It says a lot about just how disgusting our tub is that he can apparently live there comfortably. It’s like the friggin spa for lizards with all the crap that he can apparently feed on.

The only thing that gives me pause about the whole situation is my overactive imagination that has, at times, envisioned him mutating from the grossness on which he feeds. If he starts growing at an alarming rate, we’re going to have to move.

Bernie: Teenage Mutant Ninja Lizard.

It could happen…

Filed Under: Florida, funny stuff that happens, Life Tagged With: Florida living, Lizard in the bathtub, Random, This is my life

Mom of the Year 2013 – Not Looking Good

March 21, 2013 by Kelli 20 Comments

Alternately titled:

I’m here to make you all feel better about yourselves

Photo by Avodah Images.com

We’ve had a blustery couple of weeks here in the Sunshine State. I love Florida in March simply because it’s unpredictable…but unpredictable in a good way. It can be warm and sunny one day and cold and windy the next, but by warm I mean 85 degrees and by cold I mean 55 degrees.

In case you were wondering, that is the perfect range of temperatures. It means that many days we have stretches of time where we hang out in the upper ’60′s/lower ’70′s, which I’m fairly certain is the temperature heaven will be set at. An eternity of 75 degrees.

Yes, please.

But this story isn’t about the weather. Oh, no. It is about my stellar mothering skillz. I spelled skillz with a ‘z’ so you’d really get a feel for just how much I’m rockin’ this Mommy gig.

Like any good mother, when the temperature dips below 60 degrees, I insist on pants and at minimum a light sweatshirt. This is becoming increasingly more difficult to keep up with because my kids don’t own many pants anymore since we only need them about 15 days a year.

But this post isn’t about pants, either. Well…not entirely.

It was a cold morning a few weeks ago, so I grabbed a pair of sweat pants out of Landon’s drawer. He is my child who hates wearing pants…and shoes…and underwear. He likes freedom. You can’t fault a kid for it, right?

We put on his pants and a t-shirt, then did all our morning activities. I had to actually get myself ready that morning as I was meeting a friend after I dropped Landon off, so it was a little more hectic than usual. We finally hopped in the car and drove quickly to his preschool.

Just as I pulled into the preschool parking lot, Landon pipes up from the back. “Oh no! Mommy! My pants!” I pull in and park and turn around to see what the problem is and almost choke on my own spit.

The crotch of his pants was caked in dried Nutella. It was half an inch thick and ran from the middle of his crotch down to the middle of his thighs. Dark, dry chocolate.

Now, after I got over lamenting what was an apparent waste of perfectly good Nutella, I asked Landon how on Earth that happened…and when.

“‘Member the other day when you gave me Nutella on bread and I accidentally sat on it?” He asked. No son. I DO NOT REMEMBER THIS!

“Well why were your pants in your drawer, then?” I asked.

“You told me to clean my room,” came his answer. “I just was putting everything where it goes like you said.”

People, this kid. This child of mine. Between his round face, his freckles and his love of snuggles, I’m pretty sure he will get anything out of me that he wants. Ever. I can’t get mad at him. Plus, he had a point. I did tell him to put everything where it goes.

Clearly I need to be more specific about where dirty clothes go.

I jumped out of the car and searched frantically to see if I by chance had a spare pair of pants or shorts anywhere inside. I had a half-empty bag of Cheezits, four single socks (of course), three pairs of shoes, a tennis ball and what I think may have been a ham sandwich at some point, but no pants.

School was about to start and I had to meet my friend, so I walked Landon in and told him to sit on his knees, not sit cross legged. As long as he kept his legs together no one would see. But as I left, I knew I couldn’t leave him in those pants all day. All it would take was one forgotten Criss Cross Apple Sauce and I had visions of him forever labeled as Poopy Pants Landon.

Because Nutella looks delicious on bread, but dried and crusted on a pair of grey sweatpants is a whole different story.

Thankfully, mercifully, Lee was in town that day and on his way home from having his oil changed. I called him and tried to be all cool and casual. “Hey Babe. So, can you swing by Target and buy Landon a pair of pants…and then drop them off at school?”

Lee: “Do I want to ask?”

Me: “Probably not.”

And THAT, my friends, is the day I lost my place in line as Mom of the Year. I think I solidified my low ranking this week when I got a text at 6:55 from Sloan’s baseball coach asking if we were going to make it to the 7:00 game.

See? Skillz.

Filed Under: Family, Florida, funny stuff that happens, Kids, Landon, Motherhood Tagged With: Bad Mom, Because I'm That Awesome, MAd Mothering Skillz, Mom of the Year 2013, Nutella on Pants

Wordless Wednesday: I Pity Da Fool

March 6, 2013 by Kelli 7 Comments

Everyone, meet Mr. Tea.

Mr. Tea…everyone.

Hot tea has never looked more relaxing. *wink*

Happy Wednesday!

Filed Under: funny stuff that happens, Photography, Random, Wordless Wednesday Tagged With: Fred and Friend, Funny, Mr. Tea, Photo

Monday Musings

March 4, 2013 by Kelli 6 Comments

Well hey there, friends ! How is everyone on this fine and lovely Monday morning? Me? I’m cold. Yes, I am. Apparently Mother Nature has gotten her geography mixed up and has dumped a bit of Midwest weather on my beloved Florida and I’m officially not a fan.

Of course, it’s supposed to be 88* on Thursday, so I can’t complain too much, but still… My feet are cold right now and in general cold weather clothing isn’t my favorite. I want to wear dresses and sandals so C’Mon Florida! Get it together!!

(Two exclamation points mean I’m super serious.)

I had a total OMG I’m a parent moment this weekend as we huddled under blankets on the bleachers at both boy’s baseball games. I remember my parents sitting on the sidelines of the soccer field when I was a kid, sipping coffee and hot chocolate and cheering me on through numb, frozen lips.

Except we lived in Wisconsin when I was a kid, so my parents definitely suffered more for the cause of parenthood. Northern parents get an extra jewel in their crown for frigid mornings on the sidelines.

Nevertheless, as I sipped my hot chocolate and cheered my boys on to baseball victory, I had to laugh. I’m a friggin’ parent! This is what parents do. Come rain or shine, hot or cold, we’re on the sidelines banging our hands together because the smile that comes across his lips when he hears you call his name is totally worth a little frostbite.

Plus hot chocolate tastes better at the ball park. Silver linings…you can always find them.

TRANSITION

I updated our adoption page this weekend. If you don’t mind, take a moment to hop on over there and check it out. God is good, friends. I’m still struggling with this place we’re in. I am on the verge of tears at any moment of the day so if you happen to call at one of the bad moments, I am so sorry!

But I know and believe my God is good. I believe that He loves the orphan more than I do and I believe that He has given me a heart for orphan care for a reason. Though He feels quiet and distant right now, I believe without a shadow of a doubt He is doing a good work that I cannot see or understand and when the time is right, He will reveal it.

I believe this and I am clinging to this belief.

I still wish He would send me an email, though. Gosh, that would make this easier.

TRANSITION

I’m sitting in Barnes and Noble right now as I write this post. I love book stores – even big, impersonal commercial ones like this. The books that surround me just smell of imagination. Sometimes I look at the shelves and imagine my own book sitting up there.

I don’t know if that will happen or not, but I have hope and dreaming is always fun.

Speaking of my book, Lee and I are heading to Naples this weekend. He has a conference to attend there for work and I’m tagging along because HELLO a weekend at the Waldorf Astoria in Naples, Florida?!

Lee told me the other day that he was afraid I’d be bored while he was working during the day. When I stopped laughing hysterically I assured him I would not be bored. I will be working on my book and when I’m not writing, I will be laying out by the pool reading a little Jane Austen.

“Bored” is not written anywhere on my to do list for the weekend.

And I mentioned that it’s supposed to be 88* this weekend, right?

CLOSING PARAGRAPH

Okay, friends. I think that’s enough chit chatting for today. I’ve got a few topics rolling around in my head, but I can’t seem to get them to translate onscreen yet. Lee and I are leading a study right now on the Character and Nature of God based on C.S. Lewis’s The Screwtape Letters. Well, to be clear, Lee is leading the study. I am setting snacks on the table for everyone who comes over.

We all have a part in life…

The Screwtape Letters is rocking me pretty significantly, especially right now with all that is happening in life. I want to share some of that with you.

Soon.

For now, I’m off to tap out a few more pages on The Novel which, by the way, I have titled. I love the title. I think it’s perfect. I hope I get to keep it.

Happy Monday, folks! Anyone have good news to share today? I would love to hear it.

Filed Under: Adoption, books, faith, Florida, funny stuff that happens, Life, Random Tagged With: Life, random blog post, that and the other, The Screwtape Letters, This

Not for the faint of heart

February 25, 2013 by Kelli 17 Comments

Photo by Jenni at Avodah Images.com

I walked in the door after a beautiful weekend away and kissed their sweet, sweaty faces. They’d been outside running, playing, relishing in all that is childhood. They looked like children who were having a grand old time.

In short, they were filthy. So I suggested a shower. Crazy, right? I know!!

Here’s the thing – generally we do not make our children shower every night. It’s a pain, they don’t like it and I can handle a little bit of dirt and slightly crusty hair for a few days in a row. However, when they play outside for hours without shoes on (yes, I am raising those kids) I generally think it entirely reasonable to have them jump under the running water long enough to bring their feet back to a normal peachy color and less…blackened by mud.

But I was unaware of the fact that showers were taken the night before and the night before that and oh you’d think I’d come home with a whip in hand and walked through the door cracking it. There was weeping, gnashing of teeth, glares that could easily turn one into a pillar of salt. The horror of suggesting a shower for a third night in a row.

BOOOOOO MOMMY!

Welcome to parenthood, right? You attend a conference established to encourage and refresh you in the journey, you come home armed with loved and gratefulness for the small ones lent to you for this lifetime and you prepare yourself for a sweet reunion complete with kisses, snuggles and giggles. It will be a beautiful time as they gather around you, sitting quietly with hands folded sweetly in their laps, their hair clean and slicked to the side.

“Tell us about your weekend, Mother,” they will say, all sugary and precious. “Tell us more about how truly wonderful you are going to be from here on out. Tell us how magical life will be now that you have been blessed with so much knowledge and wisdom.”

(Side note: You should read the above dialogue in a British accent because it sounds a lot cooler and gives a better dramatic punch. Just give a try…)

(See what I mean?)

You imagine that surely your job will be easier now, because you’ve just learned how to be a better mom. You’ve just learned how to love them more graciously. You have new tools in your arsenal to build them up and point them toward their full potential.

Unfortunately, the kids don’t get the memo about all of that. They go on acting like…kids. They haven’t become the perfect little robots that will make your job a walk in the proverbial park. It’s like a cruel, cruel joke.

Does this happen to anyone else? Is it just me? I hope not, because within fifteen minutes of being with my children last night I was already completely fed up. It was all I had in me not to point my finger, grit my teeth and mutter, “Look, kid. I just learned how to be the best mom I can be and you’re in here making it difficult. Be nice so I can be AWESOME.”

I didn’t say that, of course.

Out loud.

We finally got them in bed (with only two actually showered and one with clean feet after we comprimised and wiped them down with a wet rag) and I collapsed on the couch and looked wide-eyed at Lee, my eyes conveying every emotion and frustration I felt. I’m home fifteen minutes and I already want to cuss? Hellooooo real life! Thanks for smacking me in the face.

Lee smiled, winked and patted me softly on the shoulder. “Welcome home,” he said with a grin and I could hear the chuckle in his voice.

Parenting. Not for the faint of heart. At all.

At. Freaking. All.

Can I get an amen?!

Filed Under: Family, funny stuff that happens, Kids, Life, Motherhood Tagged With: Motherhood, Motherhood is hard, parenting, Raising children

I’m all out of awesome

February 6, 2013 by Kelli 17 Comments

I had two great posts rolling through my head today. Seriously, they were so good. They were sure to have you rolling on the floor in laughter (ROFL?)

(NO!)

You would definately laugh out loud. (LOL?)

(*groan* PLEASE NO!)

It’s just too bad I can’t remember what they were. No kidding. I had two entire posts almost completely composed in my head. All I had to do was get them from my brain to the computer, but something sucked them out into the void of nothingness before I could make that happen.

I blame the kids.

And the song Gangnum Style, which Sloan sings 24/7 right now. And the dog because she stares at me all day long with her ears pinned back and her eyes all big and cartooney, which she knows leaves me in a heap of guilt until I finally walk her.

I can literally walk from one room to the next these days and forget why I was headed there. Should I be worried?

Don’t answer that…

You know what’s awesome when you have fried mom brain? Third grade math home work. FRACTIONS! That’s what I need, folks. I need fractions to cure my inability to function in life.

NO I DO NOT NEED FRACTIONS! I DO NOT!

Sloan brought home his homework today and was all, “Mom I don’t get it and I’m going to get a bad grade so heeelllllppppp meeeeee…”

I took one look at the paper and then my head exploded. Fractions?! I didn’t cover those until sixth grade and even then, I never really learned them. We moved from Wisconsin to St. Louis toward the end of sixth grade. The school I left was just starting fractions. The school I started had already covered them.

Guess who never quite got it?

Did you know that 5/8 is a fraction greater than 1? Well its not. I thought it was, but I’ve been informed in the comments that it isn’t, which was originally what i thought but then Sloan convinced me it WAS. I am in math purgatory…I had to text a photo of the problem to Lee (who is out of town) and my dad with an SOS because Sloan was all OMG (NONONO!!!) I’m going to get a bad grade. And the math paper was all “Write a mixed number AND a fraction greater than one for the part shaded.”

And I was all “Where’s the liquor?”

Just kidding. I didn’t say that out loud…

It would be super duper if they would send home the books in cases like this. If I just had an explanation of all of this written down so I could see what exactly they mean when they say “mixed number” it would help immensely. When I homeschooled last year, I slept with the teacher’s math manual. We spooned at night. It was all that got me through the year.

Well that and wine.

I’m kidding!

(sort of…)

But now? Now they just send home obscure pieces of paper with problems meant to twist and turn this mom brain all to pieces and make me want to write in large red letters across the bottom of the page:

YOU KNOW THAT STEREOTYPE OF GIRLS NOT EXCELLING IN MATH SIMPLY BECAUSE THEY ARE FEMALE?! THAT’S ME. I AM THE STEREOTYPE! HELP A SISTER OUT!

But I don’t write that. I simply write the teacher an email asking her to go over this a little more with Sloan at school and oh by the way, can you explain it to me? LOL…

(Just kidding. I didn’t write that. I just can’t bring myself to do it…)

And now I’m sitting here on the couch telling you a story about how I almost had an awesome post for you to read tonight. But I lost it because the truth is, I’m all out of awesome. There are only a few brain cells firing and they aren’t operating on all cylinders.

I think I need Lee to come back to town. 4COL

(For Crying Out Loud)

(I looked up texting acronymns for the purpose of writing this post.)

(You know what I learned? Text language is stupid.)

(Says the girl who can’t remember what she ate for lunch today.)

I think it’s time for bed, yo? AAK (Asleep At The Keyboard)

Okay seriously, I need to stop.

Filed Under: funny stuff that happens, Kids, Motherhood, Random, School Tagged With: Helping Kids, Mama's Brain is Fried, Math Homework, Motherhood

Hide Yo Kidz. Hide Yo Wife.

January 21, 2013 by Kelli 18 Comments

Let’s lighten things up around here a bit and discuss roaches, shall we? Let’s dicuss roaches and HOW I FIND THEM ALL THE FREAK AROUND MY BEDROOM AND BATHROOM!

That’s sounds like fun, doesn’t it?

Join me in my horror. It’s super duper over here.

Remember when we lived in St. Louis and we had a problem with Cave Crickets, or as I like to affectionately call them – Satan’s minions? Well, I’ve officially decided that if Cave Crickets are the devil’s minions, then roaches are the verman that crawl about his feet and fetch his slippers at night.

That’s right. You read that correctly.

(Incidentally, I believe he keeps yellow flies as his pets. He feeds them and pets them and gives them pithy names like Betty and George.)

(On a related note: We clearly have issues with bugs.)

(On another related note: I’m fairly certain that I am raising neurotic children when it comes to multi-legged, scurrying creatures. You should see them run and scream at the sight of an insect. It would be funny if I wasn’t leading the pack of psychotic freak outs…)

What was I saying?

Ah yes. Roaches. They have become my nemesis. And don’t try to make them sound romantic and pretty by labeling them Palmetto Bugs. I Googled roaches to see if they provide any benefit to the ecosystem and do you know what I came up with?

DO YOU KNOW?!

This:

Actually roaches provide a huge source of food for predator insects such as scorpions, spiders, crickets (some species are very carnivorous), centipedes, praying mantises, and other carnivorous insects. In additon, some animals prey on roaches such as lizards, birds, and birds. So, they fill a gap in providing a ready food source for a variety of animals and insects. As far as a helpful role in the ecosystem (other than being prey). They do not provide any helpful benefits. Roaches are scavengers and scavenge on rotting and filthy sources of vegetation and decaying meat. Because of this, they can also be plague carriers of various diseases. Which goes to show you how helpful they are to society.

To translate the above statement - roaches serve no real purpose other than to feed the other insects that bring me horror.

Now before you roll your eyes and tell me to stop being so dramatic, I would like you to look at this picture:

So that’s a roach.

IN.

MY.

BED!

Freaking roach in my freaking bed. I’ve killed two of them there - little perverts. Shortly after seeing this picture, my friend Carol felt it necessary to inform me of one of her nursing friends who had to dig a roach out of a woman’s ear in the ER once.

“But don’t worry,” she said. “That lady was sleeping on the floor. That’s how the roach got in there.”

THIS ROACH WAS IN MY BED!!!

I now sleep in ear muffs. Lee thinks it’s hot.

(Kidding. I don’t sleep in ear muffs. I just curl up in the fetal position with my hands pressed firmly over my ears. I haven’t slept well in a month…)

Not long after that, I opened the medicine cabinet in search of…well, medicine. As soon as I pulled the door open, the roach was standing there pointing a gun at my head. He was all “Tell me about it, punk.” I slammed the door shut and ran. He was found belly up a few days later.

(While the cave crickets always took on the personality of a Japanese warrior, roaches are more like tough Italian mob bosses. No, I haven’t been drinking. This is how my mind works. Roll with it.)

Last week we saw a rather large roach high up on our bathroom wall. I think it was the Godfather of them all. He kept opening and closing his wings like he was going to parachute down on my head while I showered. We just left him there because sometimes I feel like denial is better.

If you ignore a problem, it goes away, right?

That was a week ago and there had been no sight of the Godfather since. Until last night. I made the mistake of letting Lee order me a chai tea latte at 5:30 yesterday, which means I was still wide awake at 12:30 last night. I stumbled into the dark bathroom and just as I rounded the corner, he was there.

The mob boss.

He scattered around in an effort to throw me off his trail. I think he was trying to make me dizzy so I’d stumble and fall and he could attack more easily. But what he didn’t know was I wasn’t alone this time. I ran shrieking to Lee that I’d found the leader of the pack and with shoe in hand, Lee ended the life of the roach who has been watching me sleep at night just waiting for an opportune moment to burrow into my brain.

In an effort to shake off the horror, I’m going to the beach today.

See how I did that? I turned and rolled and sifted it all around until a trip to the beach was both justified and warranted.