Thursday, August 9, 2012

Highs and Lows - Romeo, where are thou?

My dearest husband abandoned me and ran off to the beautiful Pacific Northwest this week to be schmoozed by potential employers.  I begged him to let me come, but he said "NO!" 

Yes, that's him you hear yelling, "Lies!  Lies!"  He did want me to come but I was daunted by the prospect of bringing my three energetic shadows with me on a trip that involved fancy business meetings and dinners at nice restaurants, so I whimped out.  I wish I'd gone, though.  He sent me lovely pictures.  (sigh.)

Anyway, I thought I'd do a little Highs and Lows to sum up the week I had without him.

(Technically it's only been 4 days.  And three nights.  So far.  But it feels like it's been about a month.)

High:  Liam learned to walk!  Ok, this didn't happen while Jason was gone (which would have been sad) but it's a new development in the past couple weeks.  And it's very exciting.   His first birthday is Sunday, so he clearly realized he was on a time crunch. 

High:  Liam learned to point.  I believe I've mentioned before that any form of communication from my children is highly desirable.  I wish they popped out of the womb speaking in complete sentences.  (Actually, I wish they popped out of the womb period without surgical assistance - but I digress...)  So pointing is very good.  Yes, boy!  Point to what you want!  Someone will be sure to get it for you.  Whether Mommy wants them to or not.

Low:  Liam very carefully points directly at my face, takes on a look of euphoric enthusiasm and says, "DADA!" 

High:   Belle pooped every day.  I believe I've also mentioned before that the girl has a few problems with regularity.  As in I hope she's not going to grow up to be a hoarder.  I hear those people don't like to get rid of their crap either.  We've had a bit of a struggle here of late and even though I was beginning to fear that she had, shall we say, permanently sealed the vault, she has overcome her dilemma.  With the help of massive amounts of bribery from the "Big Poop Box" which sounds disgusting but is really just a clear bin set next to the toilet filled with a treasure trove of booty to be doled out when a substantial enough amount has been deposited in the potty.  Hallelujah.  That is not sarcastic.  I have never been so happy to see crap.  Repeatedly. 

High:  Dalton was fantastic while Jason was gone.  Really, the kid stepped up and was uber obedient and helpful.  I think I'll buy him a race car tomorrow.  A real one. 

LOW:  Alright, I'll admit that this is the real reason I wrote this post - this LOW.  It must be in all caps. 

I considered waiting until I know the end of this story before writing it, but I'm too horrified to keep quiet, so you'll all have to be kept hanging, just like me, in abject terror until some future time when the end occurs. 

(Please remember that my husband is two thousand miles away.)

Last night I was sitting in our basement putting the final touches on a big order of necklaces.  I was happily putzing around, the kids were asleep, Jason was off being a fancy doctor type in Oregon, when a little moth started to fly around my head.  Annoying.  So I killed it.  Yay.

A few minutes later, while I was leaning over some stuff, I saw some movement through my hair and thought, "Oh gross!  A big moth is flying around my head!" 

But when I looked over at it and finally got my eyes and brain to work together long enough to classify what I was seeing, IT WAS A BAT!  A BAT!!! Flapping around me in our little basement with its nasty flappy wings and its vampire eyes! 

The words I shrieked as I hurtled myself out of my chair, up the basement stairs and slammed the door behind me may or may not have been suitable for a family friendly blog such as this. 

A BAT!  And not a little bat.  No, this thing had the wingspan of a bald eagle.  And talons. 

Then I raced to the kitchen to call Medman.  Because of course he could help me.  From Oregon. 

But when I skidded to a halt in the kitchen my stomach sank.  The computer, the home phone and my cell were all down on the basement table.  Essentially the upstairs of my house might as well have been a stone age cave.  With electricity and air conditioning.  And I knew that before I could contact ANY HELP WHATSOEVER I was going to have to go back into the lion's den. 

So I went upstairs, put on socks, running shoes, and a hoodie - with the hood up - grabbed a big crate and cracked the door of the basement.  There was no movement so I crept down to the table and as smoothly and silently as possible, so as not to anger the beast that I knew was lurking about watching me, threw everything into the crate, tucked my butt and ran for the upstairs again. 

Since there were no knights in shining armor riding around my cul-de-sac and hubby on the phone from Oregon calmed me down a bit, I realized that if anyone was going to man up around here and try to get rid of the bat, it was going to have to be me. 

So I did.  Are you proud of me?   Hoodie and all I (after extensive googling) crept down stairs and shone my flashlight into all the corners of our basement.  Ok, into a bunch of corners of our basement.  Turns out our basement is all corners and nooks.  It's really a bat's dream house.  It's all bat colored wood panelling with bat sized holes everywhere.   I'm pretty sure the creature thinks it's living in the Bat Hilton. 

I didn't find it.  Nor did I find it this morning when I went down again to look.  (Can you all believe I slept last night with it in the house?  I can't.)  I am NOT going down there this evening after dark.  Oh no.  As I write this the creature is probably swirling around down there glorying in its bat cave. 

The door of the basement is staying firmly shut (with a towel blocking the bottom of it) until Medman returns home tomorrow night.  What he will do at that point, I do not know.  That's his problem for being born with extra testosterone.  Bats are clearly man problems.  If it's heroic and dramatic I'll let you all know what happened.  If he happens (in un-Medmanlike fashion) to see it and screams like a girl, I'll make up a heroic and dramatic story for you.  

So that's where our story stands, people.  THERE IS A BAT IN MY BASEMENT.  Eww. 

Tune in at some future date for some sort of conclusion to the story.  I hope.

(On an editorial note, I was going to put a picture down here of a creepy bat, but trust me, don't google images of bats if you know there's one in your house.  The images make it ten times worse.)