And so it begins....

Tonight as I look around the house, I feel like Alice must have felt when she fell down the rabbit hole. I look around and nothing is familiar. Gone are the comforting piles of familiar stuff lovingly placed with tender care. No stacks of old magazines full of inspiring projects I'll never get to. No old papers waiting to be sorted. No half full bottles of lotions and potions filling the void under sinks.

What is this strange place all freshly washed and buffed? What silly creatures live thus? How can they move freely without having piles and rubble to hide behind should the need arise? Where is the thrill in creeping to the sink for water at night with no threat of broken limbs or stubbed toes?

How can they breath lemony fresh air and not wish for a few dust bunnies to scamper out and play?

The flowers are weeded and everything is swept, organized and arranged. No clutter. Saints preserve us...there is no clutter!

Clearly we have entered the land of HOUSE4SALE where all must be kept in perpetual cleanliness. Oh Lord, give me strength to tame the wild beasts roaming this land with only one thought...ESCAPE! I jest not. They live solely to mess; seeking out anything which can be left in haphazard abandon.

But, for this one night, they are in bed and all is calm, quiet, and clean. Awwwww. I may be high from the cleaning fumes but I suspect I may have to hide just a few dustballs back under the bed. Man wasn't meant to live on Pledge alone.

The Line in the -er-Lawn

As a military spouse I have, by necessity (not choice) become good at solo survival skills. I know how to jump start a car. I know what to do when I get a flat tire in the middle of no-where at 5:30 on a Friday. I can balance the checkbook, pay the bills, and if needed do the taxes. I know how to evaluate investments, find sitters in a pinch and when to head for the ER. Minor plumbing or electrical issues--thank God for Duct tape. Ask any military spouse how they cope and you'll probably get a shrug and a "you do what ya gotta do" answer. Sure it often requires the medicinal dark chocolate Milky Way or rum and coke but we deal.

Until now.

I noticed that there are several round holes in my lawn. The helpful neighbor next door told me they are most likely from snakes digging burrows.

That's it, the house goes on the market, TODAY. By happy coincidence we are planning to move but even if we weren't the house would be sold. NO FREAKIN' WAY am I sharing living space with snakes. I have coped with sneaky lizards that dart around when you least expect it, the occasional well behaved rodent has even been offered food and lodging. Teacup sized cockroaches have many fine qualities. But snakes? Oh no.

This I WILL NOT DO! I don't care what type they are, I don't care how they help balance the delicate ecosystem. I HATE SNAKES. It's not rational, thus it can't be changed with familiarity or education. Heck even the Bible recognizes that they are evil. As far as I'm concerned Eve should have sent Adam after that snake with a shovel and ended it right there.

Let us pause while my blood pressure descends from the stratosphere.

Great, now I have to clean out the garage so I can enter and leave the house solely through the garage, avoiding all non-concrete areas. Please God let someone buy the house quickly!

Meanwhile I mounting an anti-snake defense that would have changed the outcome at Thermopylae. Fair warning to any snakes contemplating entering the fortress: I only missed expert marksmanship by two shots: one went through the groin and the other through the head. I hit what I aim at.

Please God, let the house sell quickly.

To Shod or not to Shod?

Ok, here is today's point to ponder: are you a wonderful, fantastic, always wear shoes to protect your joints, kind of person, or a shoeless barbarian? Not that I have a personal bias or anything, but especially down here in FL shoes seem to be the one article of clothing most people would just as soon do with out. Not just when it's hot, either. Even on the rare non-balmy day, hordes of people slip on their flip flops and off they go.

Can I just pause here to say, "EEEIEWWE!"

I mean, really, flip flops have to be the lowest form of foot wear ever designed. I ought to know being up with all forms of dressing down. I mean it offers no support and depends on the wearing having such thick calluses between their toes that the strap rubbing up and down between their sensitive piggies doesn't drive them to commit mayhem. Another pause while I count to ten and think calming thoughts. BUT REALLY PEOPLE, HOW DO YOU STAND IT????

Feet should be smooth and soft, not unlike a baby's butt. If you can walk across hot coals without flinching, you don't have a strong mind, YOU HAVE NASTY FEET! I don't care if flip flops sometimes come adorned with all manner of sparkly doodads. It's just lipstick on a pig and you're not fooling ANYONE.

Besides, what if the urge to play footsy ever came over you? Try not to shudder with revulsion at someone's feet touching you and play along for a sec, 'kay? Which would you rather have sliding up your leg? A smooth silky foot with skin actually sensitive enough to feel, or calluses thick enough to double as alligator hide? BBBBRRRRRR, oh baby!

True, I probably couldn't slip off my double knotted Nike's discreetly under the table with my other Nike clad foot, and a flip flop barely stays on when you want them too, but still, who cares if you can take off the shoe if your foot is so manky?

Plus going barefoot on hard concrete leads to back, knee and joint pain. I kid you not. So shoeless barbarians enjoy your foot breath-ability. Someday the cobbler will get his due; you watch and see. Cute toenail polish aside those unsupportive shoes will cost ya someday.

The Easter Pig Needs Zoloft

As a kid my mom used to tease me about the "Easter Pig". It used to be funny. Not so much anymore when it is a little to close to home. It ceases to be funny about the same time you loosen those jeans.

Where was I? Right, the need for antidepressants. You'd think with the plethora of refined sugar, fat and chocolate leering at me every where I turn this time of year I'd have plenty of reasons to smile. I mean, I want my antioxidants as much as the next person, and chocolate is the best source right? Never mind that I have to keep my dentist on speed dial.

It's just not as much fun this year. Without Hubby around to appreciate our egg art, coloring eggs seems boring. Plus E Bunny just doesn't have as much fun hiding in the closet making baskets when it doesn't degenerate into loud giggles and "shush you'll wake the kids" sugar rush/cop-a-feel wrestling match with Hubba Bunny. (BTW I think we'll not tell Hubby about THAT nickname!) Plus Hubba Bunny is ALWAYS the one to get up early and hide the eggs! Who's gonna do that crap this year?

As much as we miss him on regular days it's sooooo much worse on holidays.

But as I tell the kids, it's a perfect time to reflect on sacrifice and redemption. Our small, temporary discomfort is so insignificant in the scheme of things. Time to stop wallowing in our own pain and reach out to those we can help. It's not "spring holiday" it's EASTER. Resurrection trumps season change.

Besides, Hubby will come home soon and until then there's always chocolate.

What I've Learned...

What I've learned is that housework is easy--as long as your standards are low enough. Being a domestic underachiever has it's perks, but in order to assist those of higher moral character,I've complied a list of helpful hints to increase your domestic tranquility.
1. Don't use a can of Lysol to cover up burnt bacon. Two wrongs doesn't equal right, it equals a highly flammable pine fresh burnt bacon flame thrower.
2. Always remove the can BEFORE baking the ham. Home owner's insurance doesn't cover damage inflicted from ham bombs.
3. Gold fish bowls should never be cleaned over garbage disposals. At least not when the young owners are present.
4. Dusting is pointless and overrated. Let the dust bunnies' fight for supremacy control their population; it's easier to move every few years when they start to reach critical mass. Besides, in some countries they are a protected species.
5. One of each pair of socks has a deep desire to escape to Tahiti every full moon. There is no use trying to prevent this exodus, they have a footwear non-extradition treaty.
6. Your pets will most love the people with the worst allergies, so don't bother vacuuming before they come over.
7. Judge not other people's children lest yours be judged.
8. Butter fights are openly known grounds for justifiable homicide.
9. Noisy kids are fine; sudden silence probably means your good china has been involved in a fatal accident with no witnesses involving permanent markers and holes in dry wall.
10. All people who market foods to kids that contain red dye should be dipped in honey and hung over biting ant hills, preferably during heat spells.

It's hard to believe Martha hasn't come calling, isn't it?

Ask your father to feed you...

A good friend of mine is in the middle of a nasty divorce. (Really, is there any other kind?)Since we both have kids that play for the same school I recently watched her and her soon to be Ex.

First they were in different parts of the field, causing their kids to run back and forth between camps like civil war scouts. Since this lovely character building athletic event took place in near arctic conditions, well Florida's version there of, I listened to her debate whether they both had to be there. Her debate weighed the merits of parental support versus freezing your tuckus off in drizzle. I mean get real what parent actually enjoys standing around waiting hours just to see their own kid for 2.7 minutes?

Anyway, she was worried about leaving because her kids already see dad as the hero---it doesn't matter who leaves first apparently, just who can afford to continue cable TV service. This whole debate broke my heart. What sort of society do we live in where kids have to decide who is the better parent and their every small action is taken as proof for one side or the other? Especially since kids can usually be counted on to serve their own best interests.

It makes me very glad to know that no matter how much I screw up the raising of my own children, at least I never pit them against their father or ask them to take sides. This is a good thing since I am positive both hubs and I would come out the losers in a battle against the kids. I know divorce is common, it carries no social stigma any longer, and all parties are free to seek "personal happiness" now, but I wonder if maybe as a society we ought to rethink our position on this issue.

After all, if you don't have a dedicated partner in the child rearing gig, most likely you will have to attend every cold drearily raining game yourself and you won't just be able to flip for it like nice intact families do.

Old Fashioned Trading Post

I've read books about life during the pioneer days in America. It sounds as though people seldom had cash but they often bartered for things they needed. This idea has gone out of style but it's a shame because bartering can equal great deals.

The first thing to realize is it really only works when both parties are satisfied. Or as any cat knows, don't poo where you sleep. Ripping somebody off not only puts you on the fast track to an all expense paid trip to an eternal vacation in a hot spot, but even if you lack morals, it still doesn't make sense. See people realize when they get hosed and that makes them less likely to ever help you again. Plus they talk to other people and soon you're on your own. So the most important rule is to always find a way so that both parties get something they want.

Maybe you know how to cut hair. Maybe you sew. Maybe you have an eye for designing or making freezer meals. Maybe you love to iron--don't snicker some people do! Maybe watching kids doesn't make you wish fervently for valium, chocolate, and ear plugs. Do you play an instrument? The point is that most everybody has something they can offer. The trick is meeting people who can do something you can't.

From making cakes to piano lessons, instead of reaching for your checkbook try making a deal with somebody and trade in the currency of talent instead of greenbacks. You'd be surprised how well bartering can work. Just remember the Golden Rule and you'll save gold as well as friends.