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!

(Nearly) Wordless Wednesday

This is why we loathe our pool. It is a leaf MAGNET. I think it imports leaves from other counties. HATE. Check the emerald green water. Nice, huh?

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.

I Heart Fever

Let me start off by saying that I would never wish a fever on Z, but I am not above enjoying the perks when she does. Something about a fever over 101 just burns all of the ornery right out of her. You see, Z only has two settings: 1. So sweet/smart/funny it makes my heart hurt; or 2. Have to restrain myself to keep from going to jail. A bit of fever completely removes the second setting.

I grew up in a family where you practically had to be holding your severed arm in your remaining hand in order to go to the doctor (which probably wasn't a bad thing given the quality of military dependent care). Also, when I was a very new parent, I read an article that really resonated with me about the benefits of letting your kid have a fever instead of pouncing on them with a bottle of Children's Tylenol. All of this is to say that I have a pretty high fever tolerance in my kids. (Now that time when Q's temp went up to 106? That was panic inducing.)

So here's the up side: Z is all cuddly and sweet; if we happen to make eye contact, she tells me that she loves me; she's too lethargic to bug Q; and her usually iron will softens to somewhere near manageable. The down side is that this is the third relatively high fever she has had since June when she was laid low by a double ear infection while we were at a college reunion down in Austin. This picture was taken in a house that contained 11 other children. Poor baby.

Because Z is allergic to all the good antibiotics for ear infections, the fluid in her ears never cleared up entirely and the infection has come back once. Could this be those nasty bacteria rearing their germy heads again? Are there tubes in her future? If so, at least swimming season is past! Or is it a UTI? She's complaining of pain in her lower abdomen, but it could just mean she needs to visit the restroom. (She is currently involved in some personal contest to see how long she can hold it. Sigh. I can't force her to pee. But that's a topic for another day!) Probably it is just a virus she picked up from one of her germy friends at preschool. What ever it is, I am going to try to just relax and enjoy the snuggles.

* * *** * *

FROG UPDATE: Apparently, weather influenced by hurricanes puts frogs in the mood for love. In with all the other flotsam and jetsam blown into our pool were no fewer than four clumps of eggs. I toyed with letting nature take its course (aka: letting the pool sweeper suck them up), but in the end was too softhearted and transported them to the pond.

When I was out walking the other morning, I encountered another walker from around my neighborhood. She stopped me and said, "Aren't you the one that has been putting something in the pond?" She was very curious about me and had about decided that I was there testing the water. She was incredulous when she found out about my amphibian mission of mercy.

BIG LOVE UPDATE: Literally as soon as I finished posting about how gooey my heart was over my hubs reading to Z at nap time, a poop storm erupted. T, having never actually done the nap time ritual, thought Z was trying to delay going to sleep by asking to cuddle. Z, who has cuddle time before every time she goes to sleep, was understandably upset. There was yelling and crying. Too bad. It was almost perfect.

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.