In-Laws, Mud holes, and 30 second tents

That's right ladies and gentlemen, Eve, Tom and I will be camping this weekend. I'm thrilled.

I mean, who wouldn't be excited to be leaving their lovely house on the lake, and a rare-working boat, for a muddy creek and electricity-free cow-pasture camping with one's in-laws?

Me! Me! I think the amenities of this "camp ground" also include non-flushing "toilets" and a delightful absence of showers.

I had better accommodations in Afghanistan.

Picture the Air force pilot in the alien suit with a fag perched between his lips and his head in his hands. "This is not happening, this is not happening." Instead, I say, "I have a wonderful life, I have a wonderful life..."

This is not The Greatest Song in the World, no.
This is just a tribute.
Rock!

You might think that's a non sequitur, but the big red demony alien thingy is the tie in. Natch.

Okay, okay. I'm done. I actually have more to say, lots, but I also have work to do.

Enjoy your non-crappy-camping weekends all, and I'll see you next week.

It's a Wonderful Life

"You hav a Vunderful life, Geneefer, yes?" Thus proclaims my Russian sister-in-law.

We had just returned from a spin around the lake in our perennially broken boat, which is having a rare bout of fixedness, just in time for us to miss a nice hot weekend at home, I might add.

She has a high-needs baby a month older than the lovely Eve. His name is Daniel, or Danika, or Danushka, or Danny. She is a very attentive mother, but Danny demands more, and no car seat either, please. I had already decided I had a wonderful life before she announced it. Eve could not be a better natured child, and Tom could hardly be a more idyllic father. I must remind myself of the wonder of my life often, but I am truly wonderfully blessed.

I hope the same for her someday. Right now, she must parent this difficult child almost all on her own, with her own mother about as far away as could possibly be, a husband who can not communicate with her in her own language, and an apartment in a landlocked town near Denver that could not be more unlike her bayside city in Russia. Her best friend in the states is a Ukrainian woman, who's parenting has led to an 8 year old who drinks beer--the friend begs her daughter not to do this, but who can control an 8 year old? I'm sorry, but WTH?! No wonder Russia is in such a decline. Okay, the Ukraine. Anastasia is scandalized, but I get the feeling that she thinks the same could happen to her--Daniel is the one in control. *Shudder*

I hope my brother becomes more involved before the childhood drinking begins. And I hope he gets a job with a future so that Anastasia can feel secure, and can visit her mom more regularly.

Three cheers for the land of the free, the "sensitive man" movement, and miraculously good babies!

Spiders and me

I am not new to spider stories. No. There's the sweatshirt spider story, the bathroom spider story, the training spider story, and I even have a Mexico spider story, which is less funny because the spider*s* were actually evil, and muy numerous. Today there is another for the spider archives.

A Tale of Two Spiders, or, The Laundry Spider and the Bathroom Spider, the second.

I think it's been a month since I folded laundry. Seriously. Or at least, it's been a month that I've had a rotating pile (several full baskets) of clean, unfolded laundry. It appears that spiders think this is cool digs for them. Worthless cat. So... this morning I walk out to grab a towel, my husband is sitting with the laptop across the room.

"Ack." (deadpan, I'm tired)
Beat. Beat. Beat.
"What?" Tom asks without feeling. He's tired and he's reading his Mac news.
I stand there, looking at him, looking at the wall, looking at him.
He finally looks up. "What?"
"Spider." Duh.
"Where?"
I direct my gaze to the spindly brown thing on the wall.
"Oh. That's nothing."
Chuh. "But you're going to kill it anyway. Right?"
The spider, meanwhile, listens in pleased hunger. Knowing the large, stupid one has been convinced by its spindly nature into thinking it harmless, while it licks its chops in anticipation of a bite of live flesh. It probably left spider drool on my clothes. Ew.
Later, after my shower I'm attacked in the bathroom... this time it was an aerial attack, and the spider was small and black. Clearly there is a plague going on in my house. I let out two short squeals, which Tom later tells me sounded like a small, annoying canine, before managing to wrest the spider to the ground. Being barefoot, I must scramble for a large handful of toilet paper with witch to smash the offending creature into an unrecognizable pulp.
"Uh... are you okay?" through the door, apprehensively as if I might come flying from the room and bonk his head or something.
What does he mean 'am I okay?' I've just been assaulted in my own bathroom. And I probably woke the baby, which always makes morning toiletries more hectic. Of course I'm not okay.
"Fine. Just been attacked by a spider is all."
"Oh." Just that.
Back in the living room, Tom is now dressed, but he is otherwise situated just as he was before, laptop and all. Now it is 'the week in pictures' or some such. The spider is still on the wall. And still very much alive.
"Why haven't you killed it?"
"I like him. He entertains me."
"like my barking?"
"yes, like that."
"kill it."
He sighs. "Very well."
I come back a few moments later to find the spider gone.
"Did you kill it?"
"Yes." Duh.
I am still skeptical, and shall not be surprised to find the fiendish devil among the clothes tonight as I dig through them for the weekend's necessities.
Clearly, my husband doesn't understand.

You get to share

Completely randomly I wonder if hitting your toe with a hammer is the true way to get rid toe nail fungus. Not that I have a practical reason to care. I don't have toe nail fungus, I do have a toe nail fungus medication ad on my screen right now though, and I'm thinking my way is cheaper and faster. Remember when you were a kid and you slammed your finger in the car door? The nail got black, fell off, et voila, you have a brand new nail!

I appologize. Get back to work.

All the news you need to know

Bah. There's too much going on. But... I learned a new skill this week, and I'm *sooo* overly proud of myself.

I learned to embroider! It's so easy and rewarding! Someday I'll share pictures... when I download them... because of course I *took* pictures! I'm never buying an expensive baby gift again. It's all about clever onesies now baby! And if you have a home, you will be getting towels or something... sorry... I must share my art. ;)

Just call me Jersey Jenn

Yes, I base my feelings of accomplishment at the end of the work day on how much milk I've pumped. This must be how cows feel.