Monthly Archives: April 2012

Crop Circles

It was high time the almost-15-year-old in our house took time out of her busy, busy day to help us mow the lawn.  Excuses for her non-mowing past have been many, ranging from an extreme, life-threatening grass allergy to refusal to mow in solidarity for the people of the Sahara, who are forced to live a life with no grass at all.  (I’m telling you, this girl will come up with any excuse whatsoever.  She is gooooood.)
But yesterday, I found her weakness.  It appeared in the form of a Bob Marley t-shirt.  This t-shirt was an oasis in the middle of a busy walmart, and it beckoned to her.  It called her name.  “Micaela…Micaela…”  But nay, nay.  I refused to purchase the shirt unless I received an immediate agreement from her to overcome all of her anti-mowing excuses and help with the menial tasks of yard work that awaited us when we got home.  Begrudgingly, she agreed.  She really wanted Bob Marley.
So we checked out and made our way merrily to our house.  Oh, and she tried to get out of mowing.  It was too cold!  And it was too windy!  And she had homework, and did I really want her to flunk her freshman year of high school just so she could mow the grass IN THE COLD?  “Why yes, now that you mention it, yes I believe I do,” I answered with an evil mom-grin.
So out came the mower.  And after a short lesson on how to actually turn the mower on and what not to run over (like bicycles and trash and her feet), she was on her way.
And about 15 minutes later, I looked up from the flower bed I was lining to notice that apparently while I was busy keeping weeds at bay, a giant flock of aliens had landed in our yard and carved out the most brilliantly intricate crop circles I had ever seen.
Ok, I haven’t seen all that many crop circles in person.  None, really.  But I’m pretty sure I witnessed some in our yard yesterday.  The teenager, the one who is supposed to start DRIVING soon (albeit with an adult in the car), does not seem to be able to WALK in a straight line.  While our neighbors’ lawns were looking neatly manicured with nice, straight lines, ours looked like something of a cross between a corn maze and a semi-intricate crop circle.  The little green men from Mars would be proud.
See our new lawn look below.  I’m pretty sure Micaela has a future as a greenscaper for a prestigious golf course somewhere…or as a groundskeeper for an upscale crack-production neighborhood.
And if you are planning on being on the road in the next year or so, you might want to go ahead and get yourself a prescription for some anti-anxiety meds.  She is about to be unleashed upon ye!
And for the record, if this was an attempt at getting herself fired from her newly acquired mowing job, it did not work.  She is still gainfully employed as the mower.  We may forever be known as the house with the crookedest mowing lines in the neighborhood, but let it be known that they were done by the teenager with the self-diagnosed deadly grass allergy.

W is for Weenie

So Jadon and I were sitting in the big chair last night going over the alphabet.  Because that’s what good mommies do.  They say the ABCs so their sweet little angels will be ready for Kindergarten.
And we got through soooo many of the letters without incident that I began to get comfortable (ahem, complacent) in my alphabet monitoring.  Because normally you don’t need to MONITOR the flippin’ alphabet, people!  But I do.  Because we are, well, us.  And that’s enough said.
So we went through ‘A is for apple, B is for ball…’ blah, blah, blah.  So stinkin’ cute and almost bedtime, ergo almost time for Mommy to watch Investigation Discovery wherein some unsuspecting female was sure to get killed alongside the road by some super-nice guy that no one EVER suspected.  BUT FIRST, we needed to make it through the alphabet.
“P is for puppy, Q is for Quack!’ (Like a duck.  We were creative on this one.)
Then we got to W.  Sweet little Jadon popped off with “W is for Weenie.”
Ummm, what the EFF?  How about WHALE or WHOPPER or WIG?  Really?!  Did it really have to be WEENIE?!
Anyone want to take bets on how long it takes us to get a call from the principal when the boys start Kindergarten?

Tornado Alley

Why there is a hot rock in hell with my name on it:
I laughed at the dude being interviewed by the tornado-chaser.
Why I laughed:
Because the dude said something to the effect of, “Welp, when I seen it, it was like a big ball o’ fire shot out of a cannon an’ went up in the air an’ landed on the ‘lectric wire.  And poof!  It all burst into flames, and then I saw ever’thing swirlin’, and we ran for the house, and I called 9-1-1.”
Now, first of all, in my defense, I would laugh at my own grandma every single time she said ‘welp’ instead of ‘well,’ so that just started the whole thing off on the wrong foot.  But then we got to the fire balls in the sky and swirling stuff and calling 9-1-1, and wondered what in the hell the dude answering the phone at the 9-1-1 office was supposed to do.  And I know it was wrong to laugh, but Oh. Ma. Gawd.
I seen it!

Tornado Kit

Micaela has decided that we need to be prepared in the event of an unplanned water landing…um, I mean, in the event that a tornado should happen to plop down on top of our humble abode.  In the midst of the recent tornado outbreak last week, she decided that it would be prudent to organize a tornado kit to put in the basement—you know, just in case we are all trapped together in the basement beneath mountains of rubble for an undetermined amount of time.
(This, of course, assumes that we are in survival mode and not trying to kill each other because we are in such close quarters and have found ourselves bickering endlessly about who makes the most annoying noises when breathing through their nose.  Because that happens, you know.  People could go down.)
Anyway, the tornado kit.  And pay attention people, because you may need to assemble one of these, and if you want to survive, you’ll want to know what to put in your kit.  There’s no way you’ll make it without this stuff.  Believe me.  Here’s what we have:
  •  Plastic tote (to hold all the stuff).
  • One roll of stale crackers.  No one will want to eat these.  Everyone will whine until they finally believe that, NOOOO, we really don’t have Pop-Tarts in the basement in case of a code-red disaster.
  • One can of pineapple.  (The kind without a pull-tab top.  Spoiler alert:  You’ll notice later that we do NOT have a can opener.)
  • Four forks.  One of us must eat the crackers with our fingers.  The others get forks.  Yay.  (Note:  These could also be used as weapons as conditions deteriorate and people become desperate.)
  • One LARGE bag of cat food.  Evidently, we are saving the cat.  Are we going to later eat the cat?  Too soon to tell.  But either way, the useless thing will be well-fed.
  • One medium-sized baggie of dog food.  The dog gets to go, but he clearly will not survive nearly as long as the cat.  (A survival hierarchy is becoming clear simply by studying the contents of the Tornado Kit.)
  • Flashlight.  One little flashlight.  Don’t get greedy, and don’t turn it on too often, because there are NO extra batteries.
  • Two bottles of water.  I’m not sure that’s enough to wash down the stale crackers and cat jerky, but we’ll give it a shot if conditions warrant it.
  • One roll of paper towels.  Because above all, we want to be neat and tidy.
  • One fiction book about a girl torn between two very hot, yet fundamentally different heroes, each vying for her angst-ridden love.  You can survive anything if you have a book like this to read.

 And there you go folks.  That’s all you need in case disaster should strike your house.  I would love to take credit for this list, but if you find yourself creating your very own survival checklist, you will have to thank:
Micaela, Survival Girl…soon to be appearing on some cable TV show, I’m sure.