This evening Flyzilla, made famous by his appearance in the world-renown blog “In the Blink of an Eye”, met an untimely death. His death was expected at least two or three days ago, making his demise today long overdue.
Flyzilla lived a full life and had an extended reign of terror in Casa de Raehl for at least three weeks. While pausing for a brief rest from buzzing loudly about while the children were going to bed Flyzilla was pinned between a sneaker and the bathroom mirror in the land of Upper Bathroomonia.
Preceded by several of his small minions, Flyzilla is survived by one semi-large underling and at least a dozen of his fruity relatives, all of whom temporarily reside at Casa de Raehl.
Services were held in Upper Bathroomia immediately following Flyzilla’s demise. Services included a private wake and burial at sea.
In lieu of flowers, please make cash contributions to the Raehl family for upkeep of the memorial shrine, a sparkling monument to peace and prosperity signifying the spot where aforementioned reign of terror ended. Upkeep will require many rolls of paper towels, several gallons of Windex, and a weekly maid to be utilized over the course of the next several years.
Saturday, July 9, 2011
Thursday, July 7, 2011
An Open Letter to an Unwanted Guest
Dear fly,
I know we have been having quite an interesting relationship up until this point. You keep me wake with your loud incessant buzzing. I try to swat you only to break my flyswatter. You dive bomb me just as I begin to fall asleep. I sic the cat on you. You terrify my poor children who are afraid you may be a bee. So far it may seem like you are winning.
But I have news for you. I have a weapon you cannot imagine. It is the one thing that guarantee that I will prevail in this fight to the death. My secret weapon? A life span measured in years instead of days. For you see, I googled your kind. And what I found out is not going to bode well for you, or your descendants.
Tomorrow I will break out the big guns, and you will be helpless. Resistance if futile. Tomorrow when my husband goes to work, it would be best if you would go too. That is all I want. I do not need to see you die. I know that time is coming soon enough. Seek freedom, peace, and the wide open outdoors for your final days. If you are still here when I wake up, know that the traps I have set are for you. You will know them when you get stuck in them, for I am a master at stealth, cunning, and tricks I have learned on the Internet.
Never again will your kind terrorize my household thanks to the goodness of the people who contribute to Wikipedia. Never again will I cower in fear as you attempt your kamikaze mission while I sleep thanks to the people who have developed the Paper Chef flyswatter, with it’s handy tweezers and little dustpan feature developed to dispose of your remains. And never again will your kind scare my children in the middle of the night, sending them scurrying to my bed to tunnel like naked mole rats between my husband and I thanks to Dawn dish liquid that I am strategically placing in shallow cups of water in the places you lurk. And if those attempts to rid my home of you and your descendants fail, you should know that I have three frogs left, and I am not afraid to lure you into their home for supper.
For the final time I bid you good night, my winged nemesis.
Jenn, Ninja fly fighter extraordinaire
I know we have been having quite an interesting relationship up until this point. You keep me wake with your loud incessant buzzing. I try to swat you only to break my flyswatter. You dive bomb me just as I begin to fall asleep. I sic the cat on you. You terrify my poor children who are afraid you may be a bee. So far it may seem like you are winning.
But I have news for you. I have a weapon you cannot imagine. It is the one thing that guarantee that I will prevail in this fight to the death. My secret weapon? A life span measured in years instead of days. For you see, I googled your kind. And what I found out is not going to bode well for you, or your descendants.
Tomorrow I will break out the big guns, and you will be helpless. Resistance if futile. Tomorrow when my husband goes to work, it would be best if you would go too. That is all I want. I do not need to see you die. I know that time is coming soon enough. Seek freedom, peace, and the wide open outdoors for your final days. If you are still here when I wake up, know that the traps I have set are for you. You will know them when you get stuck in them, for I am a master at stealth, cunning, and tricks I have learned on the Internet.
Never again will your kind terrorize my household thanks to the goodness of the people who contribute to Wikipedia. Never again will I cower in fear as you attempt your kamikaze mission while I sleep thanks to the people who have developed the Paper Chef flyswatter, with it’s handy tweezers and little dustpan feature developed to dispose of your remains. And never again will your kind scare my children in the middle of the night, sending them scurrying to my bed to tunnel like naked mole rats between my husband and I thanks to Dawn dish liquid that I am strategically placing in shallow cups of water in the places you lurk. And if those attempts to rid my home of you and your descendants fail, you should know that I have three frogs left, and I am not afraid to lure you into their home for supper.
For the final time I bid you good night, my winged nemesis.
Jenn, Ninja fly fighter extraordinaire
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Like Father, Like Son: The Concussion Chronicles
For sure all of you are thinking that I am the Concussion Queen, and yes, that is true. And some of that will make a great blog that I shall write later. But for those of you who hang out here on a regular basis, which is pretty much Sarah and Anna, you have probably seen my husband hit his head. On everything in our house. It happens often, and usually goes something like this:
BAM
Me: “What was that noise?”
Andy:*grumbles*
Me: “What?” Because if that was not a kid, I am so not getting up…
Andy: “…..”
Me: “You hit your head again, didn’t you?”
Andy: “Umm……”
Me: “BWHAHAHAHA….I mean, are you OK?” Note my deep, deep sympathy.
We have that conversation almost daily. Pipes in the man room, that low ceiling as you go into the basement, open cupboard doors, open other doors, the shelf that keeps getting knocked out of the fridge, and, more recently, the wall, have all fallen victim to my husband’s forehead. So far he is on the losing end. Now he never gets a concussion, just a bruise, scrape, or a cut. But he passed his awkward-headed-ness on to poor David.
At first I blamed the head bumping on toddler hood. Every toddler I have ever know has tried the walk under the table trick when slightly too tall. Or misjudged and bumped his or her head when trying to jump up on someone or something. Or even the pew diving escape route from church has caused a few bruises in each of my children. And the parent or uncle who attempts to stop them.
David has all that down to an art and still he hits his head. Bending over by his toy shelf he misjudges how close he is standing and hits his head on the way down. And then on the way back up. Walking onto the back porch he hits his head on the railing. He frequently opens the door so that he gets hit by the door knob. He pulls, pushes, or knocks things over on his head. Occasionally the bump is a bit much and he starts getting a bit loopy.
The first time he had a concussion he tried to jump off an wooden swing. He succeeded in the jumping part, just not the getting off the swing the whole way part. He got dumped on the ground and the swing hit him in the back of the head. He fell into the mud, which to him was way worse than the bump on the head. We attempted to handle this like we normally do: an Iron Man ice pack, some hugs and chocolate. Then he started staggering around, said no to the chocolate, fell over a few times, and began talking nonsense. It was not until he kept asking who turned off the sun because he could not see that I became worried and took him to the ER. One CT scan, two orange Popsicles, some ibuprofen, a band aid and three hours later we were back at home. No sweat. The youngest of four has not thrown us something we have not handled before for at least a year.
Fast forward two months. Several small head bumps, bruises, skinned knees, and attempts to defy death later we get a second bump that sends us traipsing to the ER. I decided, against all other cautionary tales of my exercise mayhem that it would be a good idea to begin to enjoy family bike rides now that Faith and Isaac are getting good at riding their bikes without training wheels. First family trip: the park. We grab some water, jump on bikes, and head out. Angel, Faith, Isaac and I are riding, and David is relaxing in what he calls his rom-pom-pommer, but what normal people call a toddler seat, on the back of my bike. After a few blocks the kids start getting overconfident, and I have to admit I did too. They start weaving back and forth in front of me and one of them hits my front tire. My bike came to an abrupt halt and the back end, rom-pom-pommer, David and all fly into the air and land on the ground. David’s head hit first. It was kind of like that creepy nursery rhyme, Rock A Bye Baby.
Anyway, after untangling all the bikes, kids, and myself, we got David our of the pommer and his head was gushing blood. A few passersby took notice and came to our aid. I figured this was like every other bump on the head, but with more blood and embedded gravel, until David leaped out of my arms into the arms of some random guy and hung to him for dear life. He was screaming, “Daddy, you are here!” Over and over. Then a lady came and brought him paper towels, a Popsicle, and an ice pack. David said, “Thanks Grandma!” Then he proceed to shimmy away from “Daddy” stagger around and fall on his head. He proceeded to talking nonsense and falling over several times while trying to get away from me to “Daddy” until my mom got there to take us home. I had called out doctor and he recommended the hospital. Again.
.
We came home, picked up the kids, tracked down our bikes, and in the meanwhile David fell asleep in the van. We rode our bikes home, and as Andy was pulling the van into the driveway, David opened his eyes, looked right at me and asked for a ride in his rom-pom-pommer.
BAM
Me: “What was that noise?”
Andy:*grumbles*
Me: “What?” Because if that was not a kid, I am so not getting up…
Andy: “…..”
Me: “You hit your head again, didn’t you?”
Andy: “Umm……”
Me: “BWHAHAHAHA….I mean, are you OK?” Note my deep, deep sympathy.
We have that conversation almost daily. Pipes in the man room, that low ceiling as you go into the basement, open cupboard doors, open other doors, the shelf that keeps getting knocked out of the fridge, and, more recently, the wall, have all fallen victim to my husband’s forehead. So far he is on the losing end. Now he never gets a concussion, just a bruise, scrape, or a cut. But he passed his awkward-headed-ness on to poor David.
At first I blamed the head bumping on toddler hood. Every toddler I have ever know has tried the walk under the table trick when slightly too tall. Or misjudged and bumped his or her head when trying to jump up on someone or something. Or even the pew diving escape route from church has caused a few bruises in each of my children. And the parent or uncle who attempts to stop them.
David has all that down to an art and still he hits his head. Bending over by his toy shelf he misjudges how close he is standing and hits his head on the way down. And then on the way back up. Walking onto the back porch he hits his head on the railing. He frequently opens the door so that he gets hit by the door knob. He pulls, pushes, or knocks things over on his head. Occasionally the bump is a bit much and he starts getting a bit loopy.
The first time he had a concussion he tried to jump off an wooden swing. He succeeded in the jumping part, just not the getting off the swing the whole way part. He got dumped on the ground and the swing hit him in the back of the head. He fell into the mud, which to him was way worse than the bump on the head. We attempted to handle this like we normally do: an Iron Man ice pack, some hugs and chocolate. Then he started staggering around, said no to the chocolate, fell over a few times, and began talking nonsense. It was not until he kept asking who turned off the sun because he could not see that I became worried and took him to the ER. One CT scan, two orange Popsicles, some ibuprofen, a band aid and three hours later we were back at home. No sweat. The youngest of four has not thrown us something we have not handled before for at least a year.
Fast forward two months. Several small head bumps, bruises, skinned knees, and attempts to defy death later we get a second bump that sends us traipsing to the ER. I decided, against all other cautionary tales of my exercise mayhem that it would be a good idea to begin to enjoy family bike rides now that Faith and Isaac are getting good at riding their bikes without training wheels. First family trip: the park. We grab some water, jump on bikes, and head out. Angel, Faith, Isaac and I are riding, and David is relaxing in what he calls his rom-pom-pommer, but what normal people call a toddler seat, on the back of my bike. After a few blocks the kids start getting overconfident, and I have to admit I did too. They start weaving back and forth in front of me and one of them hits my front tire. My bike came to an abrupt halt and the back end, rom-pom-pommer, David and all fly into the air and land on the ground. David’s head hit first. It was kind of like that creepy nursery rhyme, Rock A Bye Baby.
Anyway, after untangling all the bikes, kids, and myself, we got David our of the pommer and his head was gushing blood. A few passersby took notice and came to our aid. I figured this was like every other bump on the head, but with more blood and embedded gravel, until David leaped out of my arms into the arms of some random guy and hung to him for dear life. He was screaming, “Daddy, you are here!” Over and over. Then a lady came and brought him paper towels, a Popsicle, and an ice pack. David said, “Thanks Grandma!” Then he proceed to shimmy away from “Daddy” stagger around and fall on his head. He proceeded to talking nonsense and falling over several times while trying to get away from me to “Daddy” until my mom got there to take us home. I had called out doctor and he recommended the hospital. Again.
.
We came home, picked up the kids, tracked down our bikes, and in the meanwhile David fell asleep in the van. We rode our bikes home, and as Andy was pulling the van into the driveway, David opened his eyes, looked right at me and asked for a ride in his rom-pom-pommer.
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
My Budding Troubador
David has a new favorite song, and it goes a little something like this:
Stinky-my-stinky-a-bink-a-bink
Stinky-my-stinky-do
Iiiiiiiiiiiii looooooove you.
I love you in the morning, and the other morning and the other morning and Mr. moon.
Stinky-my-stinky-a-bink-a-bink
Stinky-my-stinky-do
Iiiiiiiiiiii loooooooooooove you. Two. Booo-deee-boooo! Jazz hands!!!
Eat your hearts out, Sharon, Lois and Bram!
Stinky-my-stinky-a-bink-a-bink
Stinky-my-stinky-do
Iiiiiiiiiiiii looooooove you.
I love you in the morning, and the other morning and the other morning and Mr. moon.
Stinky-my-stinky-a-bink-a-bink
Stinky-my-stinky-do
Iiiiiiiiiiii loooooooooooove you. Two. Booo-deee-boooo! Jazz hands!!!
Eat your hearts out, Sharon, Lois and Bram!
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Great Expectations
All those years ago on the beginning of our homeschooling journey I had a set of expectations. They are currently at war with the reality of my life.
I pictured long nature walks. Sitting by the fire while I read great books and we all sip hot chocolate. Field trips to museums, plays, concerts, zoos, and gardens. Vacations in the off season. When book work was necessary I pictured the kids at desks with pencils and stickers. Baking cookies, preparing for holidays, setting the table with the kids in their little aprons bustling around helping out. There was a bit of glitter and some fairy dust sprinkled in the air.
And reality comes crashing in. There are whole days blocked for school work when I spend more time picking dice out of noses with tweezers than reading. I am on a first name basis with several workers at poison control. There is never a sharpened pencil to be found and the pencil sharpener, my nice, new, electric pencil sharpener, has paper jammed in it. I have two children who have either stabbed or cut up their desk chairs. If we get to go on a walk we take hours to get ready, have to pack a lunch, take extra clothes, and can not find any left shoes. When we do leave someone is always missing a necessary article of clothing. Many field trip venues are enjoyed by my crew, but none quietly or calmly. And there literally is glitter sprinkled everywhere. And cereal.
With my husband I knew that life would be an adventure. The adventure we are on is not quite the one I had pictured. There are days when I feel that instead of children I am herding goats. Stinky, smelly, messy, odd-stuff-eating goats. I literally have butt prints on my bathroom mirror. Footprints on the walls. Something orange stuck to half of the blankets in the house. The dirty laundry is taller than me, and we have an entire couch filled with folded clothes. We do not have gourmet meals because I am not very kitchen-y. That has rubbed off on all of my children.
I get stressed out, overwhelmed, and overworked. And then this happens:
I pictured long nature walks. Sitting by the fire while I read great books and we all sip hot chocolate. Field trips to museums, plays, concerts, zoos, and gardens. Vacations in the off season. When book work was necessary I pictured the kids at desks with pencils and stickers. Baking cookies, preparing for holidays, setting the table with the kids in their little aprons bustling around helping out. There was a bit of glitter and some fairy dust sprinkled in the air.
And reality comes crashing in. There are whole days blocked for school work when I spend more time picking dice out of noses with tweezers than reading. I am on a first name basis with several workers at poison control. There is never a sharpened pencil to be found and the pencil sharpener, my nice, new, electric pencil sharpener, has paper jammed in it. I have two children who have either stabbed or cut up their desk chairs. If we get to go on a walk we take hours to get ready, have to pack a lunch, take extra clothes, and can not find any left shoes. When we do leave someone is always missing a necessary article of clothing. Many field trip venues are enjoyed by my crew, but none quietly or calmly. And there literally is glitter sprinkled everywhere. And cereal.
With my husband I knew that life would be an adventure. The adventure we are on is not quite the one I had pictured. There are days when I feel that instead of children I am herding goats. Stinky, smelly, messy, odd-stuff-eating goats. I literally have butt prints on my bathroom mirror. Footprints on the walls. Something orange stuck to half of the blankets in the house. The dirty laundry is taller than me, and we have an entire couch filled with folded clothes. We do not have gourmet meals because I am not very kitchen-y. That has rubbed off on all of my children.
I get stressed out, overwhelmed, and overworked. And then this happens:
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Satire
Wow, OK, I never thought I would have to do this. But here goes…
I recently wrote about the end of the world. Despite the obvious lack of scientific proof, the dripping sarcasm, and my belief that Jesus was the one who had it right and no one knows or can know when the world will end, there have been very many personal responses either trying to prove me wrong or link my site to one that “proves” the end of the world.
Just for the record: This was a satirical look the topic. Yes, it was full of my opinions and no actual facts. That happens often on this blog. It is done on purpose. I will not approve comments or ping backs that ridicule my belief in God or are extremely argumentative. I will not link you site to mine if the purpose is to mock my beliefs. I will not approve comments that can not be read by my younger readers. And I will not be interested in learning more about any group that can be classified as a cult, even for my own personal enlightenment. And because I have had an inbox full of all these things in the past two days, comments will be on an approval basis on this and the other post.
That being said, I have no idea how in the world these people have found me. Perhaps I have way more readers than the 5 or 6 I imagine…
I recently wrote about the end of the world. Despite the obvious lack of scientific proof, the dripping sarcasm, and my belief that Jesus was the one who had it right and no one knows or can know when the world will end, there have been very many personal responses either trying to prove me wrong or link my site to one that “proves” the end of the world.
Just for the record: This was a satirical look the topic. Yes, it was full of my opinions and no actual facts. That happens often on this blog. It is done on purpose. I will not approve comments or ping backs that ridicule my belief in God or are extremely argumentative. I will not link you site to mine if the purpose is to mock my beliefs. I will not approve comments that can not be read by my younger readers. And I will not be interested in learning more about any group that can be classified as a cult, even for my own personal enlightenment. And because I have had an inbox full of all these things in the past two days, comments will be on an approval basis on this and the other post.
That being said, I have no idea how in the world these people have found me. Perhaps I have way more readers than the 5 or 6 I imagine…
Thursday, March 10, 2011
The End of the World
I do not mean to alarm anyone, but I have come to believe that the world is going to end soon. I know, I know, people have been saying this for centuries.
There is all this news about the Mayan calendar. I have always assumed that the whole Mayan calendar things was no big deal. I mean,come on! I think that there was some poor Mayan student in middle school who got into trouble and in Mayan detention had to write out the calendar until he served his time. This is the record that remained because he carved it on the stone chalkboard, the one that did not deteriorate over time. I know from personal experience that these kinds of experiences can change your life. Perhaps all that writing made him interested in developing an accurate calendar to figure out the date his grounding would end, which is coming up next year, lucky fella. I will not be out from under all the grounding heaped upon me in middle school until about the fall of 3049. I also think that middle school detention is why I have such a large vocabulary. I had to copy from the dictionary. Quite a bit. I made it almost through the letter C before I wised up.
There is always someone, some where, who claims to know that exact location, day and time of Jesus’ return. All I can say to that is I am impressed. Not only did Jesus himself say He did not know the hour of His return, but I hope those people who gather at the spot have a much more accurate GPS than I used on my way home from the Science Center. The arrival time said 45 minutes for about an hour. If they do not have it right they could miss the whole thing and have to wait for the next guy that knows these incredible details to come along, and who knows how long that will be.
Neither of these are the reasons that I believe the world is coming to an end soon. You see, it all started a while ago when Andy realized that he really does like science fiction. I assumed at first that it was due to prolonged exposure. Then last night something incredible happened. I still am amazed. I went to put on my jammies to get comfy for watching sci-fi shows with Andy when I found my favorite jammies had a hole in them. And I can not believe what happened next. I decided to sew them. I know! I will say it again, please read it slowly: I decided to s-e-w t-h-e-m.
You see, under these circumstances I usually do one of three things. One, I notice the hole and wear them anyway. Come on, they are jammies. Who cares, right? Two, I put them back. Three, I say I am going to sew them and put them in a bag. Six months later I throw them out. I have to admit I had completed steps one and two at least three times with these jammies. And they are my favorites, so I was not quite ready to move on to step three. So to add to the miraculous event, I actually found a needle and thread. In my house. (Did I make you a believer yet??) Then, after Andy laughed at my feeble attempts to use that threading thingie incorrectly for about ten minutes he showed me how to thread the needle. And then I went to work as we watched our show. I actually finished after only messing up 978 times, poking about 123,598 holes in my fingers and two episodes of Stargate. Good thing it was a small hole.
As if all this was not enough proof that the world is coming to an end, or at least the world as we know it is coming to an end, I have even more proof. Tonight after supper I washed the dishes. But wait, there is more! I found it relaxing.
There is all this news about the Mayan calendar. I have always assumed that the whole Mayan calendar things was no big deal. I mean,come on! I think that there was some poor Mayan student in middle school who got into trouble and in Mayan detention had to write out the calendar until he served his time. This is the record that remained because he carved it on the stone chalkboard, the one that did not deteriorate over time. I know from personal experience that these kinds of experiences can change your life. Perhaps all that writing made him interested in developing an accurate calendar to figure out the date his grounding would end, which is coming up next year, lucky fella. I will not be out from under all the grounding heaped upon me in middle school until about the fall of 3049. I also think that middle school detention is why I have such a large vocabulary. I had to copy from the dictionary. Quite a bit. I made it almost through the letter C before I wised up.
There is always someone, some where, who claims to know that exact location, day and time of Jesus’ return. All I can say to that is I am impressed. Not only did Jesus himself say He did not know the hour of His return, but I hope those people who gather at the spot have a much more accurate GPS than I used on my way home from the Science Center. The arrival time said 45 minutes for about an hour. If they do not have it right they could miss the whole thing and have to wait for the next guy that knows these incredible details to come along, and who knows how long that will be.
Neither of these are the reasons that I believe the world is coming to an end soon. You see, it all started a while ago when Andy realized that he really does like science fiction. I assumed at first that it was due to prolonged exposure. Then last night something incredible happened. I still am amazed. I went to put on my jammies to get comfy for watching sci-fi shows with Andy when I found my favorite jammies had a hole in them. And I can not believe what happened next. I decided to sew them. I know! I will say it again, please read it slowly: I decided to s-e-w t-h-e-m.
You see, under these circumstances I usually do one of three things. One, I notice the hole and wear them anyway. Come on, they are jammies. Who cares, right? Two, I put them back. Three, I say I am going to sew them and put them in a bag. Six months later I throw them out. I have to admit I had completed steps one and two at least three times with these jammies. And they are my favorites, so I was not quite ready to move on to step three. So to add to the miraculous event, I actually found a needle and thread. In my house. (Did I make you a believer yet??) Then, after Andy laughed at my feeble attempts to use that threading thingie incorrectly for about ten minutes he showed me how to thread the needle. And then I went to work as we watched our show. I actually finished after only messing up 978 times, poking about 123,598 holes in my fingers and two episodes of Stargate. Good thing it was a small hole.
As if all this was not enough proof that the world is coming to an end, or at least the world as we know it is coming to an end, I have even more proof. Tonight after supper I washed the dishes. But wait, there is more! I found it relaxing.
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