After this evening, that last number will be two.

Dave's been saying he's been feeling sort of icky and fatigued. I say we go for four prescriptions.

We all came down with a wicked cold about a week and a half ago. Henry's got his usual cough and a stuffy nose that's lingering. Per the doctor's suggestion and our general inclination, we're going to wait a few more days to see how he's doing before we fill the prescription. Holly, on the other hand, has an ear infection! Her first ever! I blame myself because I was telling my mom last week that she'd never had one, so, of course... Meanwhile, I went to the doctor myself this morning and when the she peered at the back of my throat, her exact words were "Oh! Gross!" and with that diagnosis (with which I heartily agreed) I left with a prescription of my own in my hot little hands.

In a few days, things are going to be a lot more chipper around here!

It says: "If I were a bunny I would hop all around because I'm a bunny!"

Change the exclamation point to a period, and it screams Hemingway.

Or maybe: "If I were a bunny, I would hop all around. Because I'm a bunny!"

Of course, I read it as: "If I were a bunny I would hop all around because I'm a bunny. (Duh)"

Wherever will we put them all?

The two packages of bees Dave ordered just after Christmas arrived this evening, as sure a sign of Spring as the buds on the trees and the hop in my step. It's hard to believe that it's been a year since Dave got his very first package of bees. Both he and Henry are very excited about what this season will bring. Henry was glum that he'd miss their arrival this evening, knowing he'd already be in bed. That's one of the perks of adulthood: you get to stay up for all of the cool stuff that really does happen after the kids are in bed. Parents tell you nothing goes on, that they just sit around and read or talk, but kids know better.

Right now Dave is downstairs sorting through his bee supplies, getting the hives ready for their new inhabitants. From the sounds of things right now, I'd say he discovered a wind chime that had been packed away for our move to the new house, and that it's trying to kill him. Perhaps the bees find it soothing.

(I'm now going to do that period thing to really emphasize the horror and enormity of what I just wrote, in case you missed it the first time.)

It. Was. A. Mouse.

I hate doing battle with mice. I divested myself of all of the accoutrements of what would have been a great lazy afternoon, tip-toed to the kitchen, one eye trained on Mickey, then came back with our large spaghetti pot. When I returned to the living room, he was sniffing around on Flash's bed. I quickly put the spaghetti pot over him, then stood back and took stock of the situation. Flash's bed doesn't have much structure, and the spaghetti pot was big, so I didn't think I could move both of them outdoors without assistance. I decided I'd give Dave a call to see if he could come home and help me out. I was pretty proud of how I was taking the whole situation in stride. So what if there was a mouse? It was now safely housed in a giant pot on the floor, not doing anybody any harm. I was a little surprised that when Dave's voicemail picked up, what came out my mouth was a lot of screeching and "COME HOME NOW!" and "SERIOUSLY!".

Then I did what anybody else in my situation would do once they've finally figure out that they're freaking: I got the vacuum cleaner and starting cleaning the living heck out of my floors.

Eventually, Dave came home, assessed the situation, put on some thick gloves, and got a sturdy metal plate which he eased under the spaghetti pot. While we headed out to the remnants of the farm that's behind our house, Dave quizzed me on how big it was. My response was something along the lines of: "WELL, IT'S NOT SMALL. IT'S BIG! Remember that cute little mouse we caught in Salem? THIS ONE'S NOT CUTE! IT'S HUGE!" He asked if I thought it was a rat, and I said it wasn't likely because I would've grabbed Holly and let the rat have the house and everything in it. Forever.

By this time we had arrived to the edge of the field. Dave gingerly took the pot off and there underneath it, was this menacing figure:

Dave was speechless. Finally he turned to me and said "This terrifying creature is what you called me home to take care of?" It seemed more frightening in my mind's eye. This little guy was actually very cute. We looked at him for a bit, then Dave set him down in the grass and we waited for him to scurry off. Then we waited some more. He just sort of sat there, washing his nose with his front paws and looking around.

Eventually we decided his general lethargy was probably an indication that he was sick and brought him back inside. We set up our fish bowl with crumpled up newspaper and a capful of water and brought him out to our screened-in porch. WIthin two hours he had died. It was sort of sad. We're still not sure how he found his way into our house, and I'm currently hoping that he was a lone wanderer who just happened to somehow end up in our living room, as opposed to the alternative, which would be a family of mice living amongst us. Either way, he was pretty cute. RIP little mouse.

me: Henry! Guess what?! When we get home, you get to go on an Easter egg hunt!
Henry: Really?!?
me: Yep! Except instead of Easter eggs, you get to hunt for every last one of the dirty, stinking socks you've squirreled away around the living room.
Henry: *after a moment's silence* How did you know?
me: I'm your mother. I know everything.
Henry: *last ditch attempt to turn the tide of sympathy back in his direction* When you said I was going on an Easter egg hunt, I thought it was a real one! That wasn't very nice!
me: Don't worry, I'll let you use a basket to collect the socks in.

An so, when we got home, he grabbed his sister's pink, glittery, heart-shaped basket and proceeded to gather all of his socks up and put them in the dirty laundry. It turned out he was hiding them because he didn't want me bugging him about bringing them upstairs, which I had been doing because he kept leaving them on the floor of the living room. A few days later, at school, the kids all drew pictures and wrote descriptions of what they do to help out at home. Here's Henry's:

I love how he put "just started" in parentheses. I told him it was my most favorite thing he's every brought home from school ever, then to prove my point, kissed it a bunch of times. I tried to give him a kiss, too, but he yelled and then went limp. That's my boy.

Meanwhile, today's stinkbug count: 4, all of which were in our bedroom.
1- unceremoniously flicked out from under the covers at 4AM when it tried to get too cozy with me.
1- on the wall
1- on Dave's pillow
1- on the windowsill, reading one of Dave's books

So, being the dutiful mother I am, I did a load of whites, then made my way to Target to procure a fresh pack of socks.

Now it's Monday. On Monday, I do laundry and vacuum. While vacuuming under the TV stand, what did I find but two and half Henry-sized white socks. While putting Chutes and Ladders away in our puzzle/game cabinet, I undid the Holly-proof latch and what did I find? Two pairs of white Henry socks. Then, when I lifted up the couch cushions to vacuum out a few weeks worth of Chex crumbs, guess what I found? One pair of socks under each of the two cushions. That's five and half pairs of dirty socks he's been squirreling away because he's too lazy to go upstairs and put them in the dirty laundry.

I can't wait for that kid to get home from school.

Correspondence

The guilt of not
answering letters
Weighs down on my
conscience at night.
I suffer and groan in
the silence
But nothing can force
me to write.

I love that.

The other one that I thought was particularly fitting in this day and age of blogging/Twittering/Facebooking was the definition for "Orator":

Orator

I love to talk about
myself
And bask in public
admiration -----
Although I'm not so
grand in life
I'm glorified in conversation.

I'm going to have to see if I can figure out who wrote the book so I can give proper credit.

The kids love their great-grandma's house. There's a sunroom to play in, a big yard and stream to go bear-hunting around in, a piano to bang on, and lots of glass knick-knacks they take great delight in stressing their parents out by handling. Best of all, though, is the food, especially the tin of cookies that happen to be right at their level for easy access. We were all sad when Sunday afternoon rolled around and it was time to go.

Fortunately, we left with plans in the works to go back in April. Saying good-bye isn't quite so difficult when there's a "next time" on the horizon.

See you on the other side of the weekend!

Just replace the word "drugs" with "really" and I guess you've got my life. The kid's even got drumsticks in his hand.

We all had a nice Valentine's Day yesterday. I've always loved Valentine's Day. You can't go wrong with a holiday that spruces up the drabness of winter with lots of pink and red and hearts and hugs and kisses. I made Valentine cupcakes, and bought lots of sweets for all of my sweets, plus a couple of unicorns for my youngest two Valentines. After Henry and Holly were in bed, Dave and I had steak with mushroom marsala and crab legs, as well as some amazing fried potatoes the young man just tossed together like it was nothing. We topped it off with champagne. We ate and ate and ate. Then we each had a cupcake and a chocolate covered strawberry. Then, ten hours later, we woke up still full from the night before and slightly nauseous. A sign of a good time indeed.

update: It's 11:04. I just got a call from Dave. The ER Dr. had initially tried getting the bean out using tweezers and blowing air up through her nose, but wasn't having any luck so they decided to err on the side of caution and call in the ENT. She came in with all the right tools and proceeded to pull out one bean...and then another! Holly had apparently shoved two beans up her nose with wild abandon. Dave said Holly was amazing and is in great spirits, probably because she no longer has two beans up her nose. I'm going to give her such a hug when she gets home!

We're old hats at making our time at the ER work for us. Henry worked on his Valentines and I brought my knitting. We were in and out of there fairly quickly, maybe one and a half hours. We reminisced about our previous visits. When we left the intake nurse was a little surprised to hear Henry ask if we could stay so he could play in the children's area of the waiting room. I lured him out with promises of throat/cough-soothing Icees.

He'll stay home tomorrow, and then has the all clear to head back into the world on Tuesday. Thank goodness because he's been working hard on his Valentines since Thursday and it would be sad if he couldn't be part of the Valentine's Day card exchange at school. Naturally his creations highlight his current obsession, tornadoes, because really, what's more romantic than a tornado?

It was a much better day.