Friday, March 27, 2015

Adventures in Housewyfery

There was just too much adventure this morning to do a simple G+ post. This morning requires pictures, so grab your adventure hat, and cup of culturally appropriate beverage of your choice, because it's going to be a day.


I'm going to need a lot more "lemonade" for this.

So my morning started at 12:30 am with some heartburn I cannot even begin to describe. I felt like a bad sword swallower. I hate midnight snacking, but I also know that there is only one thing that will curb it, so I downed a bit of cheese and some milk. My mother does her best to instill healthy habits in me, and midnight snacking flies in the face of it, but then, pregnancy flies in the face of normalcy, mostly because evolution is stupid.


Two words: Laryngial nerve.

So, with heartburn calmed, I get to sleep for another three hours before I have to pee again, because evolution is still stupid.



Squids don't have a blind spot like we do. Jerks.

Well, right about the time I was about to fling back the covers from a hormonal hotflash, hubby's alarm went off and he muttered something about morning and stumbled off to the shower. On Friday, I don't have to make lunch for the boy (pizza day at school) so I relaxed in bed, checking email. Ah, a note from the Boy's teacher. Well, this is starting my Friday off on the wrong foot.


I can see where this is headed.

So, I am laying there, quietly contemplating talking to the Boy about school, again, because he told me everything was fine. But before I really get a chance to go over things in my mind, I hear a thud, a shout, and a scream from the bathroom. I do not know it at this point, but the adventures are about to really begin.



Suit up.

So I rush into the bathroom. Husband informs me that he has just been stung by a wasp. He gets out of the shower, asks me about the stinger--I already know that wasps are the bastard cousins of bees and do not leave the stinger in--and we find our little jerk friend battling the shower water that is still falling. Well, being the brave insect slayer that I am, I look around the bathroom for something deadly, grab the foaming hand soap, turn off the shower, and douse the thing until it is dead.


Something about this does not say "Amazonian Princess" to me.

Well, I'm about to leave as hubby returns to showering, when I make a terrifying discovery. The wasp had a friend.


I will sting your face.

Meet the Carolina Red Wasp. At first it was by the ceiling, but when it got tangled in a spider web, it panicked, and we, being the large, intelligent mammals that we are, did what our species is best at in such a circumstance. We got as low as possible and cried out in terrified shouts to each other.



You rang?

Once our second "Red Baron" had landed on the door jamb and was staring at me in my bright red tank top, hubby returned to showering. My new plan, sneak out for wasp spray. Okay, no pictures for a minute. I want you to read, then close your eyes and imagine what you are about to read:

Our bathroom is a faded blue, and so small it would violate modern codes. It was grandfathered in so that our house would still be habitable. My husband had just finished his shower and was wrapped discretely in a fluffy towel. I was in the small space between our sink and the door, allowing him to step safely out without alarming our guest.

The wasp was perched in the center of the only door out of the room, like an evil version of Poe's Raven. It's wings at rest, it's compound eyes fixed on me. Bob left the shower, very slowly, and began to shave. He did not have his glasses, I did, so I kept my eyes focused on the Baron. Then it hit me. I have wasp spray, just on the other side of that door. Also, my son was awake and could come bursting into the bathroom at any moment.

So, to take control of the situation, I opened the door, beneath the Baron, as slowly as I could. I crouched down, low as I could, not crawling--pregnancy has prevented that, but crouched, almost a caper. I edged towards the door, like a ninja, my eyes never leaving the source of danger. I reached the threshold and edged under. SAFE!

As I slowly closed the door, a small, terrified voice comes from inside the bathroom. "Don't leave me alone with it!" Well, when you are a ninja, you must make choices. I let the dog out, made sure my son was secure, and got the spray. Husband was as far out of the way as he could get. It had taken wing again and landed on the wall.

I was at the door, as low as possible. Husband mutters low, "Hold on, I'm going to get into the shower."

To protect himself from ricochet spray, he slipped behind the curtain. My family line has a history of ranged accuracy that dates back to medieval times. I may not have the eyesight of my ancestors, but I drew on that strength and pulled the trigger.

Like an amateur ground gunner, the Baron fell from its perch and landed on the rug. As it struggled to its feet, I opened the door like a conquering hero for a second shot. BLAST. Dead.



Obligatory eye candy.

If the first encounter was a 4-camera sitcom, this was a dramatic superhero drama. (See above.)

So with that done, I returned to the mommying side of things. This will take some consideration. I feel as though I am standing where my mother stood 25 years ago, watching myself. Hubby feels the same thing, at the branching of two paths. I know, now, what my mother went through, I know how the world has changed and not changed, and I feel as powerless as I know she felt. Yet I am not doing this alone. I have the chance to change the past by changing the future.


Well, Mr. Frost, what now?