The lady who yells at us on Sundays...

Every Sunday night we have a ritual. We usually have a big, sit at the table, lunch right after church, so we usually do snacks for dinner that we eat on the couch as we watch some TV. We like reality TV the best. We like to make fun of people and we feed off each other. We are pretty stinkin' hilarious if I do say so myself. I usually end up in tears, and while I've never wet my pants from laughing so hard, I have had a few close calls. I love that about my kids, they are quick and witty and hilarious. (I'm pretty sure they get that from me. HEE HEE:) But that's off subject, let me reign it back in here...
We don't usually put much effort into the snacks, but we like to bake cookies or brownies or cheese sticks or something warm. I don't know what it is, but even if it's brownies, eating something warm makes it a meal instead of junk and that takes away the mom guilt. Don't ask questions, just go with it. Regardless of what you may have heard, I'm not a terrible cook. I'm not going to star in a cooking show any time soon, but I'm not bad. EXCEPT on Sundays. I don't know if I'm too laid back and just not on top of things on Sunday's (the day of rest) or if I shouldn't be cooking so much so I'm getting zapped, or what it is, but without fail I start a fire in the kitchen EVERY SINGLE SUNDAY. I'm not kidding. We have had the dish towel left on the burner fire, the something spilled over in the oven fire, the funnel cake oil fire, the smoked (literally) veggie fire, and last night the adding the soda and vanilla to the caramel sauce at the same time causing a reaction and huge flammable overflow fire, to name a few. The problem is not the fire, I am great under pressure, and I have taken fire safety training when I was trying to adopt the kids, so I know how to keep it under control. The real problem is the lady that lives in the smoke alarm. She totally bugs. She starts out calm and slow, saying "Danger, Fire, Danger, Fire" over and over, but as she goes along she gets faster and more intense and while that might SEEM helpful, it totally isn't. And she's LOUD. Like, Eardrum piercing loud. And she isn't easy to get to shut up either.
 The first time it happened the kids didn't know what was going on and they ran outside and across the street to our designated "safe meeting place" yelling  "Fire! Fire!"(I'm sure the neighbors love us.) But since then we have come up with a system. The fire starts and I get busy shutting that sucker down while Adia grabs the step stool and Ethan grabs the Children's Dictionary of Spanish Words book (It's large, but light weight and gets good air flow without tiring out your arms too quickly - it's a science.) We all meet up under the fire alarm, where Adia has the stool perfectly positioned and Ethan hands over the book. I climb on the stool and go to fanning while the kids open all the windows in the house and turn on all the fans. With any luck the heater kicks on then and helps blow all the smoke out rather quickly. Sometime, when we bring our A game, we can air it out before the lady ever starts yelling at us. Other times we aren't so lucky, but we have improved a lot since we first moved in. I know some of you would  suggest I stop cooking on Sundays, claiming that I am putting my children in danger or being a bad example. But I prefer to think of it as a good thing. It builds unity, helps us learn to work together efficiently, and provides memories that will last a lifetime. AND it reminds us to change the fire alarm batteries regularly and review our fire safety plan while we're at it. Plus, you didn't taste the peaches and cream stuffed french toast smothered in that caramel sauce we made. That makes it all worth it in the end... Yum!

My biggest fear.

See I can't even add a picture of a real mouse, that's how scared of them I am.

I know, given the situation I'm in and all of the things that could potentially happen in my life right now this might sound crazy, but literally one of my biggest fears is having a mouse in my house. I'm not the kind of person who scares easily. I don't mind extreme sports, I can squish bugs and spiders with my bare hands without thinking twice, I kill rattlesnakes with garden hoes, a black cat crosses my path?- no problem, I'm pretty brave for the most part. But when it comes to mice I have a real sincere fear. It comes from my mom, I'm sure, but regardless, I become totally irrational when I even see a mouse. I have to lift my feet when I see a mouse on TV, I get so scared I can't even scream, I make this high pitched moaning sound instead, and do this little shudder/ bum shake dance. It isn't pretty, but I literally can't control it. Last summer I put a plastic storage bin out on the porch until I had a chance to take it to storage. Somehow a mouse fell into it and couldn't get out. I paid my son ten bucks, offered to do all of his chores for him for the rest of the week, AND told him he wouldn't have any punishments for the rest of the day if he would take the bin to the end of the driveway and dump the mouse out for me. (good parenting, I know:) It was totally worth it.
When I was married my husband and I had a deal: I would take care of all the blood and bugs if he would take care of the mice. It worked out great for us, but now that I'm alone, I don't know what I'd do if  there was a mouse in the house. I can set a trap fine, but once it caught a mouse what would I do then? I'd move, that's what! That's the only logical solution I can come up with. I'm much too responsible to call 911 over a silly mouse, but I certainly can't get close enough to get rid of it, so the only solution is to move, but I would have to leave the stuff that's in the room where the mouse is because there's no way I could go in there. I've thought about it, and that's the only thing I can come up with. I'm not even kidding. As you can see, I lose all sense of rationality when I even think about mice.
So today I was on the phone with a telemarketer who was trying to save me "up to $500 a year on car insurance". I wasn't interested, but I hate being rude, so I always wait until they stop for breath before telling them no thanks. I hate interrupting people.:) As I was listening I noticed that my desk could use some tidying up, and moved a big pile of books so I could go through them and put them away. All of a sudden something under a piece of paper started to move and squeak. I did my high pitched moan into the phone and hung up on the poor salesman. (I really do feel bad about that, but it was an emergency! And in reality, it might be a good way to get put on the do not call list...) After jumping on the chair and mouse moaning and doing the dance until I almost fell OFF the chair I finally got my bearings. I realized it didn't really sound like a mouse, so using some tongs I got from the kitchen I moved the papers to see what was really under there. That's when I discovered that some little stinker had hidden her ZuZu pet under a pile of papers (knowing full well that those things creep me out) and moving the books set it off.

So things are calming down now, my breathing is back to normal and this house is short one ugly brown ZuZu pet that I threw out in the dumpster. Now I'm off to change my pants...