Widow Season

It's that time of year again, the time when T takes it upon himself to protect the world from the ravages of small-ish not-very-smart birds.  That's right.  It is dove season.  I mean, seriously?  A bird that is dumb enough to get run over by a car deserves to be food, right?  The question (for me, anyway) is why would you want to eat them?

At best a whole dove makes four bites - and those bites can vary from charred to raw on one tiny bird.  Not to mention the danger of ruining your very expensive dental work chomping down on a bit of bird shot. And the fact that they taste like liver.  Why do we eat these things again?

Z won T's heart forever by declaring dove meat (carefully selected by her father) to be delicious.  Between the two of them, they picked 15 tiny carcasses clean.  Me?  I am on a diet.  A diet that doesn't include liver-y teeth-endangering game birds.

As if dove weren't enough (in)edible game, duck season opens this weekend.  But only the tiny ducks (teal).  One size up from dove and just as organ-y.  Yay!  So T will head out after work to hunt dove, then get up obscenely early to go stand in the water to shoot ducks. I don't know whether to hope his hunt is successful or not!

Oh, did I mention that they have spotted a 12-foot alligator in his duck pond?  If he's not careful, I'll be more than a hunting widow!  Awesome.

Gratuitous Moose Pictures

As promised, here are some pictures from our Colorado moose encounter.  I think T took about 200 pictures (literally), so there were quite a few to sort through!  What does it say about us as parents that we take many more pictures of wildlife than we do of our kids?  Hmmm.

Adolescent pair...

handsome and...

FLIRTING with me!

Then, OMG, then, a cow and twins(!)

Who swam across the lake!  Right to us!

Moose Mama munching some grind-age.

And this little gal looks like a stuffed animal! Of course, if I tried to hug her, she would hoof me to death.

 

Critters!

To tell the truth, I could care less if I ever see another mountain. But the critters? That's what I'm talking about! I am SO in it for the critters. The list of animals we have sited includes:

a moose;

a mule deer in the middle of Ouray;

camp robber birds (real name Hudson Bay Crow). What you can't tell from the pic is that I am SITTING in the chair while that bird came to eat Fritos off my knee;

mule deer at Grandma's birthday picnic;

LOTS of chipmunks;

three spotted fawns bedded down together next to our driveway;

and MARMOTS! Lots and lots of marmots!

Our friend's yard is an unofficial animal sanctuary.
Visiting her and her herds of semi-tame marmots is the highlight of my trip.
Every year.
Z may have learned at the hands of the master (me), but she has surpassed even my freakish skill when it comes to feeding the fuzzies. She is the Marmot Whisperer.

Not pictured, but sighted: Golden mantled ground squirrels; mountain lion; grouse/prairie chicken; feeder birds of all sorts; bears (AT OUR HOUSE), weasels/ermine; pica; beavers; and swarms of humming birds that dive-bomb your head like giant mosquitoes.

Pit of Dispair 1,000.000 : Rae Ann 0

Am. So. Traumatized.

I threw open my bedroom curtains this morning to behold a dark blob floating in the pool. At first thought, I thought it was one of the retired duck decoys my hubs thought was funny to float in the pool. Upon closer inspection, I could see both of the plastic mallards sitting on the pool deck. After a quick mental inventory of the other pool toys, I had to conclude that our floater was organic. And big.

Once the sleep fog had cleared from my eyes, I could just make out a white stripe. Great. A skunk met its great reward in my pool. And to add insult to the injury of my very soft heart, it was a baby skunk. Wah. I don't know why the demise of a small mammal is so much sadder than the millions of stiff frogs I have fished out, but it is. Again, I say wah.

I fished the little guy out with the skimmer net and was hit with the disposal dilemma. What to do with a small (smelly) dead thing? I feel bad, but not bad enough to actually dig a hole. (Am spaz with shovel.) Trash? The pick-up isn't until Friday. I imagine two pounds of baby stinker would be hellacious by Friday if left in a hot trash can. In Texas. In summer.

I was left with the undignified option of the over-the-fence-fling. After a word or two by way of eulogy (so. very. soft. hearted.), I played a not altogether successful round of fling the skunk. Instead of the graceful loft into the dense undergrowth, the poor little critter fell with a thunk onto the cleared area not ten feet from the back fence. In plain view. And in smelling range. (Sigh. Shoulders slump.)

I trudge all the way back up to the gate and plod around to my now dirt-covered dead guy. So not the send off I had hoped for. I gather him up in my net and lob him back into the woods, hopefully to take his place (quick and not-very-smelly) in the food chain.

Apparently, my house has a sense of humor. It got in one last dig before we left. Awesome.

Am Broken

Being the good mom that I am (ha!), I got the kiddies suited up for some post-nap swimming today. Truthfully, I am trying to cram as much we-live-in-a-house-with-a-pool pool time as possible. My problem is that the water is still pretty chilly, so even though I am a water baby, I mostly sit on the side with my feet in making sure Q doesn't venture off the steps.

Today we had an ant invasion. All of the floating toys left in the pool were covered with great big ants. The kind with wings. If I didn't have to keep an eagle eye on the offspring, I would have just gotten the net and skimmed them out. But I'm too safety conscious (eight years of teaching swim lessons, yo!) to get that far away from the fearless Q. So I assumed my usual perch on the side armed with an aquarium net that I usually use to fish frogs (live) and mice (not) out of the skimmer baskets.

As Z kicked around in her goldfish floatie, Q splashed around on the top step and I scooped up the waves of ants Z was sending our way. I guess I got a little OCD because before I knew it, I was in all the way up to my shoulders netting waterlogged ants from the entire shallow end. About the time the pool was (relatively) insect free, the kids both noticed that I was in. the. water.

Pleas Requests Demands for swishing quickly ensued. So I took all 40 pounds of Z and 25 pounds of Q for rides through the water. Swishing was followed by bobbing. (Q narrated each bounce with a "boing!" Too cute!) Bobbing was followed by tossing into the air. Finally, I cried uncle and we ended swim time with endless rounds of catch-me-when-I-jump-off-the-side.

Once I got everyone inside and in dry clothes (well, jammies. Chlorine is the same as soap, right? Entertainment, exercise and bath time in one! Score!) I began to notice a creeping stiffness in my right shoulder. By the time we finished dinner, my left arm had essentially become a flipper. Super.

Now, several hours later, pretty much the entire right side of my body is one big ache. Excellent timing for the packing party I'm having tomorrow, huh? Hellllllo Advil!

Invasion

You know a while ago when I was all, "Eeeek! There's a mouse in my house!"? I totally tore the pantry apart and sanitized every surface within an inch of its (and my lungs') life. Was super diligent about wiping down counters and sweeping up crumbs. Went out and bought mouse traps... but never set them. I am just too soft hearted.

I saw no further evidence of the mice after the first sally and, eventually, things relaxed back into their former (slovenly) state. Well, apparently, the reason that there was no mouse evidence is because the single mouse we had before had gone back to the old country to tell his family that he had found Xanadu and brought every aunt, uncle and thrice-removed-cousin back to Casa de Critical Mass.

Now I am seeing evidence of mice everywhere. In the pantry? Check! Under the couch? Check! In the guest room? Check! Inside my cabinets? Check! Running across the hearth? Check. Inside my CAR? Checkity check!

I am losing. my. mind. I overcame my softhearted ways in a flash. I set the previously purchased traps with sugary cereal and waited for them to do their thing. No luck. I threaten to go buy out Home Depots supply of mousetraps and set them all over the house (and my car!). T suggested I stuff the traps with cheese, and laughed at me for not having done so already.

Do mice like American cheese?

Eeeeeek!

This post is brought to you from the top of my kitchen counter. Okay, not really. But isn't that what you are supposed to do when you discover a mouse? Jump on top of the nearest high surface? I totally don't get that. What's to be afraid of? It's a tiny mammal the size of your big toe.

Don't get me wrong, I am NOT excited about having found evidence of our little rodent-y freeloader. I know that I have made it clear that I am a lackluster housekeeper, but even I have my limits. Imagine me in a three minute full body shudder as I discover a bag of Chex Mix obviously chewed by little mouse-y teeth. Blech! As soon as my little 'helpers' were in bed, I tackled the pantry. I dragged out every single box, bag, bowl and container in there. I threw away everything old/dusty/that showed evidence of having mouse poop anywhere near it. I piled the rest on the counter while I disinfected the every horizontal surface and some of the vertical ones.

Now, sitting here high on Windex Antibacterial Multi-Surface Spray (which I highly recommend, by the way), I am faced with a conundrum. What do I do with all of the chip/snack/crunchy thing bags that were formerly sitting on that shelf? Obviously, a little plastic packaging was no match for little pointy mouse teeth. Do I go for the industrial sized tuppers? Set a trap and hope for the best? Stuff all the cracks (of which I found none!) with dog fur and hope the scent makes the mouse find a better place to party? Call the exterminator? Get a cat? Personally, I like the last option, but I fear my huz would divorce me.

So now I am at a stalemate. I have put everything that I can back into the pantry but am left with a couple bushels of dry goods with no where to go. Well played little mouse. Well played.

14/365

Well, we are taking a last minute overnight trip to Ginormousville, so here is a little short to keep you entertained until I can write an actual post. Simon's Cat is my FAVORITE. It makes me laugh until I cry every time. When I looked it up last night, I found that there were two more cartoons since the last time I checked. Like a little present just for me.

So I guess this is what I am thankful for today:

1.


2. Simon's Cat - Let Me In
3. Simon's Cat - Cat Man Do
4. Simon's Sister's Dog - Fed Up
5. A good laugh.

Happy Birthday to Me!

Once upon a time, a boy met a girl and they fell in love. The boy told the girl that he would be hunting on her birthday and the girl didn't believe him. He went hunting and the girl almost dumped him. After four years of mediocre birthdays spent either at the ranch or waiting for T to return from hunting, the girl got smart and got herself to California.

Fast forward four years and a bona fide birthday tradition is born. So now when T goes out to kill Bambi (which strangely, he almost never does on opening weekend), I go to California to visit Sister K. This year I even got to pawn off the kids on their grandmother go by myself!

Sister K has birthdays down to a science. I arrived on Saturday afternoon to a perfect SoCal day. We went to visit Sister K's grandmother-in-law at her new condo. OMG. I would sell a kidney to have a view like that. She has an entire wall of windows facing the ocean. Just the street then the ocean, complete with seals. Heaven! Then we went to a lovely chichi restaurant that served wicked martinis to go with the gorgeous views. I swear they only waved a piece of fruit over a martini glass of vodka before they brought it to the table. That, however, did not keep me from drinking it! Sister K and I were wiped for the rest of the day. We are some kind of party animals, huh?

That evening we went to The Secret Life of Bees. Totally rocked. Such a treat to go see a real grown-up movie. Unfortunately, on the way home we saw another car hit a kitten as it ran across the street. We stopped to see if we could help it. Unfortunately, though it had run away after it was hit, the kitten did not make it. I made it dry eyed through the tear jerker of a movie only to completely lose my shit over a random kitten. We were good Samaritans and took it to the emergency vet clinic for disposal. There is a funny story in there, but it is still too fresh right now for me to tell it. Anyway, we eased the trauma with ice cream and a trip to the Mother Ship (Target).

On Sunday we had brunch and a walk on the beach. A front had blown in and the weather had turned cool and wet, so the beach was pretty deserted. We went to dog beach - the only beach in town where dogs can go off-leash. The dogs are always such a treat. They just love playing in the water and playing together. I can just picture my poms playing in the surf, their tiny chicken legs exposed by the water. I live way too far from the beach.

After the beach we went to a rescued bird sanctuary. They had all sorts of domestic birds from tiny finches to these huge indigo macaws. A pink and white cockatoo fell in love with me and crawled up my shoulder, refusing to get back on its perch. This alarmed the keepers, but we managed to get him back without losing an eye or a digit.

That night we ate our weight in melted cheese and chocolate at the Melting Pot. I just love fondue! My bro-in-law rocks in the plans department! Thanks, M!

Monday was my birthday. The big 38. Best. Birthday. Ever. Sister K booked us for an entire day at the spa. We started the day with lemon souffle pancakes with pine nuts and raspberry syrup. To die for! We started the day off with a spa treatment that neither of us had ever had before: watsu. It is kind of a floating massage/stretching session. For a water baby like myself, it was heaven. Next we headed off for stone massages, which totally rocked. Pun entirely intended! Though my massage was awesome, I think I got the white bread version of the stone massage. Sister K told stories about her masseuse using his elbows, ice, and possibly hanging from the rafters while he rubbed on her. Dude. We ate lunch Hollywood-style in a cabana by the pool. We finished up our treatments with the best facials I have ever had. My face felt as soft as a baby's bottom. We hung out in the tranquility room for a while then got all dolled up for a fancy spa dinner. M met us and made it a party. Wow. Such a great day.

Sing it Willy! (On the Road Again)

Further proof that moving west would be good for everyone? We drove to the ranch from Ginormousville today – and it didn’t suck! T was in a good mood. The drive wasn’t long enough for the kids to get really crabby. The hounds had gone ahead with the in-laws, so there was no juggling of Pomeranians while eating our lunch in the truck. Practically heaven. (Actual heaven would involve first class tickets to a tropical island with sugar sand beaches.)

The weather has been just gorgeous. The skies are blue and clear. There is a nice breeze, but there is just enough of fall in the air to keep it from being too hot. Temperatures are probably in the 70’s, which is downright brisk by Texas standards.

T and I took a drive all around the ranch in his 1947 Jeep yesterday evening. The sun was setting, so it was rush hour for the wildlife population. There were deer everywhere. (T tells me he only shoots the mean ones to make me feel better about eating them in the very near future – like tonight at dinner. This sounds like a bunch of hooey, but as it turns out, is actually true. Old barren does are often aggressive with younger deer and are singled out for shooting. Who knew?) We saw flocks of turkey on the hoof – that’s a sight to see. Those are some seriously silly looking birds! We startled a couple of armadillos into doing speed racer imitations. I couldn’t help but laugh at their awkward escape. Clearly these guys have been naturally selected for survival around cars. We even saw a pretty decent showing of duck and dove as we did a tour of the ranch’s watering holes. It was a great end to a nice day.

The last time we were here I scoped out a cool place for family portraits. There were red sandstone steps with a backdrop of huge prickly pear cactus. I got us all dressed up in coordinating outfits and trucked us all out to our location. T got some huge bug up his hiney and was pissy the whole time we were there. I am guessing it is because I asked him to a.) tuck in his shirt; and b.) take off his sunglasses (but not his hat!) for the pictures. He said that he thought the lighting would be best just after lunchtime, so we were there around 1:00. The sun was directly behind us – photographic suicide. Arg! Anyway, his mood poisoned the well so to speak. The kids picked up on his vibe and were not very cooperative. Both of the in-laws were armed with digital cameras, so we probably took +/-50 pix. I think we may have ended up with 2 where we adequately resembled a happy family. I guess we will do it again on our next visit. At a different time of day. Like I wanted to. Sigh.

We paid a family visit to the catfish pond. They are as huge as ever. Z delighted in dumping an entire bowl full of fish food on them. Q mostly ignored the fish and focused on his true love: 'driving' the Jeep. T is going to have to fight him to drive before he knows it!

All in all, it was a nice visit. I guess I wouldn't mind too much if we lived closer.

Bad Country Song

My dad-in-law is the angel of death This is to say that he is a worrier of the highest order and gives any situation the worst possible spin. Here is today’s list.

• My mom has been more stooped over than usual and has fallen down a couple of times. Conclusion: Her Alzheimer's is getting worse and the end is near.
• My dad has to have another round of chemo for his chronic lymphocytic leukemia. Conclusion: his CLL is accelerating and the end is near.
• Mom-in-law’s hip hurts. Conclusion: she has something malignant and the end is near.
• Giant golden retriever Scout has an egg-sized mass in his groin. Conclusion: the end is near, so why bother taking him to the vet?
• Gregarious Z was acting strange around another little girl’s grandfather. Conclusion: someone had been inappropriate with her. Gah!
• My sister’s cat, Coco, has been losing weight and having difficulty eating. Conclusion: she’s old and the end is near.

Needless to say this list has me rattled. Seriously, we have all the elements of a bad country song. All we need is for someone to go to prison, and I’m not volunteering.

Update: Mom missed a pill. Her Alzheimer’s is getting worse, but she is nowhere near the end. My dad has a new oncologist, so he might have a new strategy for battling CLL. Mom-in-law has sciatica; literally a pain in the butt, but hardly fatal. Scout’s mass was a harmless lypoma (fatty tumor). Z was mad at the grandfather because he wanted to put her on the baby swing. Coco had a large benign mass removable by surgery. And nobody went to prison! Whew.

Eeek! Cooties!

I am not typically a germphobic mom. At our house, the 3-second rule is the if-it-doesn't-get-up-and-crawl-away rule. Luckily, the dog pack keeps the amount of food on the floor to a minimum. If the kids are motivated enough to beat the hounds to the table scraps, let them have them, I say. But even I have limits.

The kids and I are down in south Texas visiting my parents. The post-Ike weather is pleasant, so we headed off to the park. Our first mission was to feed the ducks. Z was much more interested in petting the zillions of chihuahuas that were also visiting the park. I had no fear of exposing her to strange dog cooties and/or drawing back a nub from the notoriously bite-y doglets. Once the Oaty O's were gone and Q had been grabbed by the overalls to keep from diving head first into the soggy bread duck filth, Zoe started collecting duck and goose feathers. Other than hoping they didn't go in her mouth, no germ fear there. Then we head over to the play area. Z is running and playing and grabbing and collecting any number of germs from the petri dishes called playground equipment and this doesn't bug me either.

What does set the alarm bells to ringing? The park drinking fountain. We drink out of water fountains all the time. The one at school is a must-stop location on the going home tour. We got drinks out of the fountain at my mom's memory care facility just today. But somehow the thought of Z drinking out of the fountain at the park totally wigged me out. I couldn't even put my disgust into words when she asked me why. Amorphous visions of hepatitis, trench mouth and pink eye were buzzing around my head. Blarg! So I just herded her into the car with promises of chocolate milk with dinner (because, of course, I am the kind of mom who never remembers to bring water to the park.)

So as I watch Z eating M&M's off the floor, I wonder to myself what makes that okay with me, but not the park water fountain. I guess I it's just the whole the germs you know thing. If they are our germs, how bad can they be?

Do you have any irrational germ fears? Do tell!

Weekly Weigh In

I lost another 1.1 pounds this week. Huzzah! With the no exercise in cahoots with the evil cobbler, I had little hope for a downward trend. On the other hand, the new guy teaching my water aerobics class (don't laugh! I am part fish and swimming is the only exercise I will do voluntarily.) is awesome! A few of the people I used to go with have made it through the 3+ instructor changes since I quit going after Q was born. Man, that thing they say about exercise being more fun with a buddy? True. Huh, go figure. I am half a pound away from my weight starting with another number. This is very exciting. Regular-sized clothing, here I come!

Last night's frog exhibitionists left me with two great big clumps of eggs this morning. So that was my what, fifth? trip to the pond. I think even my soft heart will calcify if this keeps up.

Greetings from Green Acres

Can't sleep. Cows too loud. Seriously.

Oh, and there is frog p*rn going on in my swimming pool. I've gotten into the habit of flipping on the pool light when I take the dogs out for the last time just to see what late night partying might be going on in the pit of despair. On stage tonight: two frog couples swimming in a synchronized water ballet of procreation, both with a tiny little guy frog on top, desperately clinging to a giant frog gal's back. So I guess ship size... ocean motion... well, you know. It is kind of like watching a live nature documentary. Only with more money shots.

Back From Nowhere

I married into a family of latter day gypsies. We spend what little time off we have traveling from place to place throughout the state, never staying anywhere (including home) for very long. I have just returned from our monthly trip to the family ranch in the middle of Nowhere, Texas.

It is a long boring drive. Have I mentioned that portable DVD players are a gift from god? Laaa! (That was the angels singing.) The purchase of the DVD player has allowed us to keep our total number of children at 2 by preventing me from killing my firstborn after she asks, "Is this Grandma's road?" or "What number will it be when we get there?" one too many times. We pop on Finding Nemo or Lilo and Stitch (aka: baby crack) and, TAH-DAH! up to two hours of relative peace and quiet. Lest you think I am a cold and heartless mother for not wanting to hear my daughter's sweet voice, bear in mind that it is a six hour drive from Small Town to Nowhere - one way. And that we spend, on average, 20 hours per month driving off to Somewhere Else (not including tooling around town, of course). As an added bonus, the movies give me a chance to actually finish a conversation with T, which is a rarity given the weird schedule cops keep.

This is all a long lead up to why I haven't posted lately: I was in the middle of Nowhere with no phone, cable or internet. Eek! What we did have? lots of fine red dirt that permanently stains clothes, herds of deer (including little tiny spotted fawns!), catfish so large they are practically evolving into land mammals right in front of your eyes and so fruitful that you could almost walk across the pond on their backs, snakes (!), bulls who were always, ahem, WAY too glad to see me, and many, many 4-wheel drive vehicles. We also had my in-laws (LOVE!) and the entire herd of dogs from biggest to smallest.

The best part about visiting the ranch is all of the animals. This ranch is primarily for hunting (we are raging carnivores. Get over it.) and the diversity of wildlife is amazing. There are deer, wild turkeys (who are much smarter than you would think), dove, duck, quail, armadillos, foxes, bobcats and coyotes. If you can eat it, my husband will shoot it (not that we eat armadillos, foxes, coyotes or bobcats). I'm not too wild about game birds, but deer are just good eats. (I have no part in the transition from woodland creature to table food and like to believe that deer just comes in the nicely shrink wrapped package.) There are also cattle. The ranch is used as a nursery in the spring and the calves are just adorable. Another great thing about the ranch is that my mom-in-law is the uber grandma and allows me to sleep past the crack of dawn and to eat an entire meal without getting up from the table.

On the down side, there is no phone, cable, or internet. And lots of the "fun" stuff to do at the ranch is remarkably like manual labor: filling feeders, building blinds, maintaining T's fleet of ancient Jeeps. And of course, the demands of parenting are all still there, minus the conveniences and schedules of home. Ack! Z is wired for sound from the moment we arrive until days after we get home, fueled on Grandma's cookies and staying up past bedtime. Q sleeps the whole drive there in preparation for never sleeping again once we arrive. T and his dad do everything together, totally getting on each other's nerves by the end of the visit, which sends his mom into a tailspin. By the time we leave, T is grumpy, the kids are whiny and we have a six hour drive ahead of us.

I am glad to be home.

Bad Mama! No eating the children!

Sometimes I am amazed at our species' continued existence. I am the mother of a brilliant, funny, exasperating daughter, but there are days when I understand why some animals eat their young. Lately, it feels like I am feeling that way a lot.

I am the youngest of three girls. We are wildly different in many ways, but there is one way in which we are identical: we are pleasers. If our parents told us to jump, not only did we do it, but we asked if they would like us to jump on one foot? in a circle? while barking like a dog? The idea of defying our parents' wishes just didn't occur to us. Even as adults, we can't wrap our brains about what would have happened if we had. We would tell them how lucky they were that we were so easy and they would respond, in all seriousness, "It's not luck. It's skill." I took this as gospel.

Imagine my surprise when I was blessed with a child who had no desire to please me from a really early age? Like at 10 months. She knew what she wanted and that was that. This is a great thing in an adult and I am sure it will serve her well in her future. But for now? It. is. killing. me. The twos were hard enough, but the threes have been even harder. Even my father has acknowledged that maybe luck did have something to do with temperament. For someone who isn't trying to push my buttons, she is remarkably proficient at it. And it leaves me angry. I find by the end of the day I have a harder and harder time letting go of the day's transgressions. I hate that I am so relieved when she and her brother are in bed. Sigh.


Update: No frogs in the pool today. Whee! Unfortunately, that may be because my vicious (ha!) Pomeranian ate half of the star crossed couple. Ick. No kisses for him.

Another Update: Weigh in day: success! I lost another 2 pounds this week. Just 53 more to go! I anticipate that I may have an increase in weight loss after next weekend. Q is scheduled to be weaned that weekend and when I stop nursing my points allotment goes way down. Yay losing weight! Boo losing points!

Frogs 3 - Rae Ann 0

Ah, young love. Apparently, my pool is the lovers' lane of the frog world. When I went out there this morning, there were three more clumps of eggs. Sucker that I am, I scooped them up and took them to the pond. Somehow I feel like I am singlehandedly reversing survival of the fittest. Or, given that they were spawned in a fully chlorinated swimming pool, perhaps I am helping to create the X-Men of the frog kingdom. Yay! Mutant frogs! And I am their queen!

In other news, I have managed to go walking and/or swimming (frogs or no!) for the last three days. Yay, me! And interestingly, today was the first time that I felt really hungry. Unfortunately, hunger struck while the kids and I were at the grocery store. (Two children trapped in a shopping cart, begging for anything that catches their eyes - we're talking ketchup here - for a solid hour? Good times.) Luckily, I am newly obsessed with the 100 calorie packs of everything, so the damage was minimal. Weigh in tomorrow! I am cautiously hopeful.

Frog Rescue: Complete

I live in Small Town, Texas. Actually, I live out in the county near Small Town, Texas. There are woods. And pastures. And all manner of critters, both wild and domesticated. Behind our house, we have what we fondly refer to as the pit of despair: an in-ground swimming pool. Since we bought our house in 2004, we have had to replace the pool pump three times. We are on a first name basis with the nice folks at the pool store. T keeps threatening to blow it up after the next malfunction (he's that kind of guy).

Anyhoo! Frogs. Last summer while we were gone to Colorado for three weeks, pool pump number three died. We returned home to a green lagoon teeming with wildlife. Specifically, frogs, from tadpoles on up. Hundreds of them. And mosquitoes! A 20,000 gallon vat of West Nile Virus! Yay! I called my home-schooling friends and invited them over to catch tadpoles for a hands-on lesson of metamorphosis, then I called the pool people. They said they would send a guy out to take care of it.

Imagine my surprise when I get home from the grocery store the next day to see the pit of despair has gone from swampy to foamy(!). The pool guy had come and fixed the pump and dumped some, I don't know - Agent Orange, maybe? - in. Oh, the humanity! It was a freaking frog holocaust. I totally wig out and scoop out as many as I can and rinse the frog death off of them in the baby pool. I saved maybe a dozen or two. The rest died a terrible death there in the pool and had to be scooped out of various pool orifices. So. much. trauma.

When we returned home from Colorado this summer, the pool was, predictably, green. And this year? Giant clumps of frog spawn (eggs). So before I called the pool people, I go on a frog rescuing mission. Because I? am humanitarian (amphibitarian?). With my tiny aquarium net, I scooped out three groups of eggs, put them in a pitcher (ew! Bring on the bleach!), and drove them to the nearest pond, which, this being the country and all, was not very far. I released them and thought my duty was done. There was much patting of my own back and congratulating myself on averting another massacre.

Then today Z and I go out for a swim. She is paddling around on her little float and says, "Look, Mama! A tiny little frog!" And so it was. Further inspection found it to be several tiny frogs, another clump of eggs, and a pair of giant frogs getting it on in the skimmer basket. Whee! Out came the tiny net, lather, rinse repeat. I am hoping that this will be the last round of frog refugees I have to transport. But if not, I have a net.