The past 24 hours have been truly terrifying. I’m not sure if I am ready to talk about it yet without a fully licensed therapist in the room. Or a large carton of ice cream.
I don’t feel safe in my own home. Or at the grocery store.
Yesterday we were hanging out at home and doing some cleaning in the morning. It was just a half day for Maggie at school yesterday, and I was going to run out and get her while the other girls stayed here with Nerdguy (he works from home, which is completely awesome). At the last minute, the girls decided that they wanted to come. Grace often likes to go for the ride, but Molly usually is a homebody, so I wondered what her agenda was. She was still in her nightgown, and her hair looked like falcons were nesting in it.
On the way there, Molly’s agenda became apparent. She began debating whether the grass around Maggie’s school would have frogs or toads (I had made the mistake of mentioning it one time).
We were out of the car for all of 30 seconds when she reached down into the grass and caught a toad.
|“Hi! My name is Toady and I want to be your friend! Or the opposite of that.”|
I have never seen one there, but the teachers have said that Maggie likes to chase them.
Is the grass crawling with them, and I have unknowingly stepped on hundreds of toads during our years there? Or is Molly the toad whisperer?
I am hoping and praying that the answer is B.
She was wearing this:
|A FROG nightgown! Advice to my readers: your choice of wardrobe really does attract the right (or wrong) kind of
And spent her morning making this:
She announced last week that she wants to be a “Frogologist”
As long as she doesn’t have to touch these:
|Poison Dart Frog. Or something like that. Clearly she does not get her “frogology” from me.|
So she will be a Frogologist specializing in non-poisonous frogs. I wish that kid would focus on some specific goals in life. Sheesh!
The poor toad traveled home with us in a water bottle, and then was setup in a cage at home. I die a small death every time I hear it hop. It dies a small death every time the girls want to hold it. Today it has been forced into the circus trade.
|These signs are now all over my house. The circus is on Sunday. I am moving on Saturday.|
|The big circus trick here is that he hops over the walls and I scream. 7 million times. I think I might secretly be the sideshow.|
When I turned onto my street I saw a black animal. I was concerned that it was a black cat. I have had enough bad luck this summer, and absolutely didn’t need a black cat run-in. It was a skunk. Running toward my house. Like it was looking for me. I found myself praying for a black cat. The grass is always greener. And the animal is always stinkier? It might be awhile before that one catches on.
I was trying to calculate my options.
How quickly could Nerdguy clean out the garage so I could actually park the damn van in there. (I abandoned that idea because there are millipedes, spiders….and I am quite certain of this…cobras in there).
Abandon the groceries in the van and cut my losses? (I was quite willing to let the vegetables rot in there, but 3 cartons of ice cream? That’s not happening.)
That lead me to my favourite option of sleeping in the van, and eating the 3 cartons of ice cream before they melted. I wondered if Nerdguy would bring me out a spoon. I had pretty much decided to go with this plan, except for one problem.
I had to pee.
And now the skunk was surely closer. Waiting outside my door. I had wasted all that time fantasizing about ice cream.
I looked (and sniffed) around. Started to run Olympian style back and forth from the van to the house in some kind of bizarre grocery relay.
To get to my house, I have to pass under a weeping nightmare tree (not the official name, but it should be) that has squirrels, attack birds and raccoons (What on earth IS the plural of raccoon if it is not raccoons? My spell checker has an issue with more than one raccoon. I know spell checker. I’m living it.) living at the top. On my last sprint to the house, I felt the horror of something landing on my shoulder.
This was it. The animals of my neighbourhood had teamed up. The skunk was either their lookout, or a very clever decoy. The raccoon had got me. My life passed before my eyes. I thought of my funeral and how everyone would be saying that they should have taken my raccoon concerns more seriously. Laws would be passed. A raccoon relocation organization would be created in my name.
Or it was just my earring.
|Earrings this big need to be sold with free sedatives.|
They might be naming a different kind of organization after me.