The Chronicles of Phillip Johnson, Part 3

To read part 1, go here.  To read part 2, go here.

~Things Get Ugly~

(note: if you are especially squeamish, skip part 3 and tell yourself we all lived happily ever after, together)

I arrive home from my lovely evening with Ben. The SpongeBob Movie was cute and funny, but Ben was cuter and funnier. He insisted on wearing a big flowered sun hat and bringing his stuffed monkey (named Coconut) to the movies and to dinner, I am so relaxed and carefree, I almost forget about Phillip Johnson.

As I enter the house and hang my winter coat in the front hall closet, I see Frank sitting in the living room, his image partly obscured by shadows. He calls to me to come in and sit down. I am afraid of what he will tell me. He begins by saying, "The story I'm about to tell you has some good parts, some bad parts, and some very disgusting parts." And so, Dear Reader, consider yourself warned. Here is his story.

Nat, recreating her reaction to seeing P.J.

I laid down on the couch, thinking I might take a quick nap. From my vantage point on the couch, I could see the gap under the basement door and my final thought as I drifted off to sleep was, "I wonder if Phillip Johnson will try to come upstairs..."

I was awoken by the most blood-curdling scream I've ever heard. Natalie ran into the living room screaming and yelling "I saw him, he's in the laundry room!".  I started yelling at her to stop screaming. She kept screaming. She and Sam ran upstairs.


Phil put that piece of dog
 food on that glove

I ran to the laundry room. I saw Phillip Johnson take a piece of dog food from Violet's bowl and drop it onto a glove in the closet. I told Joe to go get Violet, she wouldn't come so Joe carried her in. She sat in the laundry room while Phillip Johnson ran behind her. She did not react.

I told Joe to put Violet in her cage and I went to get a mousetrap from the basement. I set up the mousetrap with a piece of dog food in the trap with the peanut butter. Joe and I got out of the way to watch the trap. I saw Phillip Johnson sniff the food in the trap but he didn't take it. He took another piece of dog food back to the closet.

He came into the kitchen and hid under the stove. At this point I went into the laundry room and got the broom. I saw Phillip Johnson run along the cabinets to the back door, then under the dishwasher. I told Joe to open the dishwasher to see if  Phillip Johnson was in there while I stood at the ready with the broom. Joe didn't see anything inside the dishwasher so I told him to close the dishwasher and run it, hoping the noise would scare him out.

About 30 seconds later Phillip Johnson ran out from under the dishwasher, scurried under the table, and squeezed under the door to the basement. He popped back out and traveled to the doorway between the kitchen and the playroom.

An artist (Natalie's) rendering of the broom

I had a clear shot, I had to take it.  With an overhead swing, I slammed the broom onto the vole, killing it and breaking the broom.

Joe went upstairs to tell the other kids it was dead. At this point I realized it didn't have a head. I started searching for the head, but didn't see it anywhere. When the kids came down. Joe found the head in the living room. The kids were amazed.  Then I used the bottom half of the broom and the dustpan to clean up the remains of Phillip Johnson. 

Frank's story left me feeling revolted and relieved. I took some pictures of the scene. We were curious as to how far Phillip's head had flown from his body and we measured it at 20 feet. I was not kidding when I said Frank does not like rodents.

The kids measuring the distance between head
and body of Mr. Phillip Johnson

We learned many things from this experience. We learned that Violet is completely useless in emergency situations. We learned after examining Frank's crime scene photos of Phillip Johnson that he was actually a mole, not a vole as we originally determined. We learned that Tupperware consultants are unflappable. We learned that moles like dog food. We learned that our kids are fascinated by disgusting things. But most of all, and I just cannot stress this enough, we learned that Frank really, really, really hates rodents.

Goodbye Phillip Johnson, I'm sorry it had to end so violently, but I'm not sorry that it has ended.

The End.

The Chronicles of Phillip Johnson, Part 2

The Hex-Bug we hope Phillip Johnson will love

(To read Part 1, go here)

~He's A Slippery Little Devil~

We start tossing ideas back and forth about how to capture or kill Phillip Johnson. Frank wonders if someone will lend us a cat.  I suggest getting our hands on an owl. Natalie and Sam think if they can just get their hex bug downstairs and have it walk around, Phillip Johnson will fall in love with it and we can catch him while he's distracted.

Frank decides to try to trap Phillip Johnson in a bowl. He spends some time in the basement and sees it, but doesn't get a chance to trap it.

We can speak of almost nothing but Phillip Johnson as the hours pass. Have you checked the traps? Has anyone seen him? I tell my Tupperware consultant that there is a vole named Phillip Johnson running around our basement. I am assured this is totally fine.  (Tupperware consultants are brave and ready for anything.)

I walk past the laundry room just as Frank is taking a load of clothes out of the dryer. "You know what I'm thinking?" he asks, "Leaf blower in reverse!"





Frank is ready to vacuum up Phillip Johnson

He travels out to the garage and retrieves the leaf blower. He plans to sit still until he sees it, then quickly turn it on in reverse and vacuum up Phillip Johnson. I suggest that once it's captured in the leaf blower, he should drop the leaf blower bag into a snow drift in the front yard and run. But alas, all of our good plans go to waste as he sees Phillip Johnson several times but by the time he turns on the motor, Phillip Johnson has scurried out of leaf blower range.

I need to send Joe downstairs for a Q-tip. I explain where they are and that he needs to be careful to avoid mousetraps. He agrees and while there, has a run-in with Phillip Johnson. While he hands over the Q-tip, he details the experience. "He scurried around near Dad's office, it looked like he wanted to get under the pantry shelves, but he bumped into a blue plastic Easter Egg then ran off."

Now I have to leave. I have had plans to take Ben out on a "date" since Christmas. We are off to see the SpongeBob movie and have dinner together at Applebee's. I am happy to leave Phillip Johnson behind for now.

 

Will Phillip Johnson still be terrorizing our household when I get home? Will he make an appearance at the Tupperware party? Will he ever sample the peanut butter in one of the mousetraps? Will we have to fight him off every time we need a Q-tip? Why are there blue Easter Eggs lying around on the floor of my basement? Many (or some) of these questions will be answered in our next installment of The Chronicles of Phillip Johnson.





The Chronicles of Phillip Johnson, Part 1

~We Have A Problem, And His Name is Phillip Johnson~

Natalie drew this as the events unfolded

It's Friday night.  Our house is trashed.  I have been sick with the stomach flu for four days. The kids have spent four of the last five days home from school because of two vacation days and two snow days. I'm snuggled on the couch, eating oatmeal (hopefully it will stay with me!) watching old reruns of Good Times. A yell erupts from the basement. It sounds like Joe.

In a moment, Joe is at the top of the stairs, telling us the thing we really, really, really don't want to hear.  "I just saw something small and furry run by me in the basement!"

Oh no. Oh no, no, no, no, no.

Frank springs into action. Frank hates all rodents with a firey hot passion that bubbles forth from the deepest, darkest center of his soul.

He laces up his shoes and grabs the broom, ready for battle, while the kids and I huddle on the couch. Natalie starts crying. She believes she will never see her roller blades again, as they are at the bottom of the stairs and none of us ever plan to enter the basement again.

Frank reports that he saw it too. After some (disgusting) google image searches, he determines that the creature is a vole, not a mouse.  This is good news, as voles don't really want to live in our house, because they eat things like flower bulbs and grass.  He must have found his way in by mistake.  Frank leaves to buy some mouse traps.

While he is gone, the kids and I take a tentative trip downstairs.  The kids want to retrieve their valuables.  I make them hit everything they want to bring upstairs with Sam's souvenir miniature baseball bat.  I also bring Violet, our two year old labradoodle.  I'm hoping she can find and kill the rodent.

I am nervous. Why do our kids have so many furry black toys? I keep randomly hitting chairs, walls, and toys with the baseball bat. I turn to Violet and tell her the only thing I can think that might make her understand the situation. "Violet!" I say, "There's a deer in the basement!  Go get it!  Get the deer!"  At this point the tension in my voice, along with the fact that I'm randomly whacking things with a bat while making ridiculous claims that there's a deer in the basement causes her to decide I've lost my marbles. She whimpers and lies down where she's standing. 



I have no idea what you want from me, Crazy Human Lady

Frank comes home, and sets four mousetraps.  He proceeds to check them several times over the next few hours.  Before we go to bed he rolls up a bath towel and uses a butter knife to shove it into the gap between the basement door and the kitchen floor.  Will a bath towel keep the vole from venturing out of the basement?  We choose to believe that it will.

Day 2: Our first thought upon waking is the vole. Frank goes down to check the traps. The traps are empty, but he comes face to face with the vole, who just stands there, staring at him.  He tries to kill it with a broom, but it escapes.

I call an exterminator.  He agrees that it sounds like a vole.  He's happy to come check out the situation.  I feel genuinely relieved.  He continues that he's happy to check it out...on Monday.  Today is Saturday.  On Sunday Frank leaves for a business trip and I am having a bunch of people over for a Tupperware party.

Natalie is huddled in the corner of the living room. She is afraid the vole is coming to get her. I decide this extreme fear is over the top and we need to do something about it.  I remember a friend telling me that she would name the snakes in her yard to try to feel less afraid of them.  I tell the kids that the vole needs a name.  Frank suggests Voley.  I suggest Victor Vole.  Natalie quietly but strongly states, "His name is Phillip Johnson."

Now we call him Phillip Johnson.

Will Violet ever understand what she is being asked to do? Will Natalie get over her fears? Will she ever use her roller blades again? Will I ever see the end of that episode of Good Times?  Some (or none) of these questions will be answered in the next installment of The Chronicles of Phillip Johnson.

Maybe Something is Getting in?

I always tell people who don't have kids that one of the hardest parts of parenting for me is not having any sort of gauge to tell if I'm doing it right. I did well in school and I thrived on getting a grade for each completed task. However, with parenting some, or even most, of the work I'm putting into my kids is an investment that won't show dividends for years or decades. I never get graded on my tasks as a mom. It is so hard to put so much work in, and not see the results of that work.

Every once in awhile I catch a tiny glimpse that maybe some of what I say is getting into my kids' heads.

Today I am sitting on the couch while my daughter and her cousin play with play dough. They are playing some sort of  what I would have called "house" when I was a kid. There is a play dough mother, father, and children. My Natalie is playing the part of the mother. This set up is very telling as everything Natalie says sounds like words that have come out of my mouth.

Some of it makes me cringe, "I said to clean up all of this mess!" she says in an angry tone.  Yup, that's me.  "You didn't listen to me!  Get to your room, you're grounded!"  Guilty.

But she also says some pretty great things. Play Dough Mom says, "You need to be kind to your brother. In this family, we treat each other with respect."  Hey, that's me too. And I kid you not, at one point she said, "People are all different, we should celebrate those differences instead of trying to make everybody be the same. That would be so boring!"

There are certain sentiments that I repeat, and repeat, and repeat but never know if they are making an impression on the kids. Today I am thankful for this little moment when I can hear my daughter repeating some of the important lessons I've tried to instill in her. Sure, it's just a game with play dough, but I choose to believe that her ability to spout them off so easily means they are in her head, ready to come out and be applied in another year, or five, or forty.

A Story About A Run

Today I woke up not wanting to run. I really, really didn't want to run. It was very windy. I put on my running clothes anyway. I got my little boys ready for school and took them to the bus stop. I still didn't want to run. I got the dog ready. She didn't want to run either.

We started running. Now I should tell you that the word, "run" when used by me means "the slowest jog that is possible". And I should also point out that I am the dorkiest runner ever. I do a lot of singing along to my music, and when I sing along I like to get everyone else involved in the song by pointing and singing right to them at important song points.  But since I'm running by myself, "everyone else" becomes the dog, a nervous squirrel, a dead frog, and an occasional bird.  Until I get to our neighborhood construction sites filled with construction guys, when I get to those I run serious and stone-faced, like I'm in the Olympics.

So the run started out like usual, with me wondering why the hell I would do this to myself. But then I started to get into a rhythm. I started jamming to my music. I sang and pointed to the dead frog, "I knew you were trouble when you walked in!" I scared the nervous squirrel with a "I'm coming at you like a dark horse!" And I musically informed a nearby robin that "I'm all about that bass, about that bass--no treble!"

Then it started to rain. The dog was shooting me really dirty looks. She hates rain, as do I. But by this time I was halfway done and I didn't want to have to get exercise some other way when I was already here, already doing it. So, back to my music, only now I was looking crazier by the minute.  A crabby, soaked dog by my side, rainwater running down my back, and still I'm singing/yelling out random song lyrics.

Then I noticed my shoe was untied. Then I bent down to tie it and my headphones flew out of my ears, then my crabby/freaked out dog ran a circle around my legs, tying me up with her leash.  Then one of the construction guys came by.  He waved and chuckled.

I looked exactly like this:

except not as cute, and instead of one of my ears being adorably askew, both of my ears were dripping with a combination of rainwater and sweat, And I was wrapped up in a leash. And my headphones were dangling. And my shoe was still untied. But I looked that same amount of pathetic.

Just in case you were looking for a feel-good, warm-fuzzy story of strength and redemption, I should tell you that this is not one. I just untangled the leash from around my legs, tied my shoe, shoved my headphones back in my ears, and finished my drippy, crabby run with a bad attitude.

The end.

Milestones and Bravery

We have made it through a lot of milestones in the past week. It's been so much at once that my mind is kind of swimming.  It has been a week of letting go, trying new things, and being BRAVE!

Let's go through it point by point:

1.  Benny turned 5:

 

2.  He got a lot of the items on his wish-list:

You can't tell, but he's also chewing gum in this photo

3.  Then school started:

Kindergarten (climbing up into that big bus for the first time = brave) and 3rd Grade (starting with a new teacher and best friend is in the class next door = brave)

8th Grade and 6th Grade, both starting at new schools = brave

4.  And, finally, I had my salad:

Confronting something that was so important to me, but without Sue to share it with = brave

Notice that I am eating the salad with two forks.  This is because the day after Sue's funeral, her youngest said, "So my mom never got her salad?  Well when you go get the salad, will you eat it with two forks, one for you and one for my mom, and take a picture of it for me?"

Of course I will, Sweetie.  And I did.

It is difficult for me to put into words how hard and emotional it was to eat the salad. The situation wasn't how it was supposed to be, and I am definitely mourning that. But I also felt like I had really reached an important milestone, and like it took a lot for me to face the salad day head-on. I feel like I've accomplished something big just by making it through.

I'm proud of myself and I will keep being brave. If my kids can get up each day and face their school fears, then I can certainly face my life-without-Sue fears.

Next up this month: becoming the mom to a teenager in just 16 more days (I'll need to face this one bravely as well!  Eeek!)

It's Crazy Around Here, Man

I don't really have any time to write blog posts right now. It would be crazy enough around here with just school preparations (you have no idea how many forms I have sitting in front of me to fill out!) and me starting a new exercise routine, but add in the fact that the house we own and rent out flooded.  There was 5 feet of water in the basement. That was two weeks ago. There is still some water in the basement.

So, I fill out forms, work out, talk to insurance adjusters, fill out more forms, make more phone calls, oh yeah, and take care of four kids everyday (so much food preparation and clean up!). At the end of each day I am left feeling like I've been doing so.many.things. but there isn't really anything to show for it.

I'm stuck somewhere between desperately wanting school to start already, and trying to hold on to a little more summer fun.

Looking for fish

Hello world!

+

Ben and his cousin/best friend checking out the water

This is Violet. She's going to be so sad when school starts.

There really isn't a point to this post, except to let you know that school is coming. I'm losing my marbles, and our dog is cute. Also, I hate floods. And paperwork. And exercise.

Happy Wednesday to all!

A Weird Post In Which I Mention Potassium Permanganate and Overuse Asterisks

Ben represents me and how I feel about life's
annoyances, While Natalie is representing
 life (being annoying).  Or something.

There are a million little things that are stressing me out. For instance, we can't figure out, even after way too much time spent researching, how much potassium permanganate to put into our iron filter*. I promised myself that I wouldn't let the dumb little things get to me anymore, but it is a lot harder to put that into practice than I thought. Just because things aren't the most stressful I've ever felt in my life doesn't mean I can just shrug and say, "oh well."

But that is who I'd like to be. I'd like to be someone who has such a firm grasp on what's important and what's not that scraping the side of my van against a pole at the bank** would just cause me to say, "Well, that's annoying, but nobody's hurt so it will be fine." and go on with my day.

But the truth is, I am very much a work in progress. And the world doesn't stop with the minor annoyances to let me grieve in peace. I wish it worked that way, but it doesn't. I'd sure like it if some friend or employee of God could stand up there with a checklist and say, "She's had enough for awhile, let's make sure she doesn't have to deal with putting a new pump in her well this year***."

I am in need of a break from the minor junk. Earlier today I sent Frank this text message, "I need you to bring home some good news today, even if you have to make it up."

And this here is a picture of Ben, asleep for the night in his
room, under an overturned chair. I don't know why.

But here's some good news we don't need to make up:

I have had four people contact me about their decision to give blood in response to my request and that makes me so happy. One of them is someone who has never given blood before. The Red Cross website says each donation can help up to three people, so my lovely blog readers have helped/are about to help twelve people! That might not seem like a big deal, but I bet if we could talk to the families of those twelve people, they would think it is a very big deal.  Thanks for this.

So sometimes the good news is there if you go looking for it. I will keep working toward being that person I want to be. Just think, maybe someday when someone (I won't name names) spills a crap-load of red kool-aid all over the kitchen, I'll just say, "Okay, no big deal!" and clean it up.****

Thanks for reading this blog post. Because you hung in there and read all my gobbledy-gook, you will now be rewarded with a video of Ben in a hula skirt, trying to hula.  But instead of hula-ing he gets his skirt destroyed and nearly knocked over by our dog (while his family laughs at him).  Have a great Tuesday!

*If you know this, could you make my life easier and tell me?  Thanks.
**I did this, even though I told my newly driver's licensed nephew that I was going to make him take the heat for it. Just needed to get that out.
***This isn't a metaphor for anything. We had to get a new pump put in our well last week. It wasn't my favorite.
****I will never be this person. Red Kool-Aid is the bane of my existence.

New Landscaping, New Attitude

I need to tell you a story about my new landscaping.  I have hated the landscaping at this house ever since we moved here in November of 2010.  I also need to tell you that I am the worst plant person in the world.  I'm the very worst.  I don't know the names of plants, or the difference between annuals and perennials, or how to keep them from dying.  I can't tell what's a weed and what is supposed to be there.

Last year, 2013, we decided to finally do something about the landscaping. We hired our neighbor and friend Anthony, who lives on our street to help us out. The first step was the kill all the existing stuff in the flowerbeds. We did this. Then Frank lost his job. I had to call Anthony and tell him that we couldn't move on to the next phase.

Then we had an awful, horrible year and our flowerbeds were full of weeds and dead stuff.  It did not look good. Every time I looked at it, I felt stressed and annoyed. The nasty weeds were a symbol of how out of control life was. I couldn't control my circumstances or the flowerbeds.

Frank started his new job in April, and I immediately started thinking about getting the landscape project done. I had a few discussions with Anthony and he brought me a plan.  I loved it!

Over the last month, our flowerbeds have gone from every kind of weed, stick, and dead thing imaginable to this:

I have to throw in a quick Sue story here too.  She told me over and over when we moved in that we needed a Japanese Maple in this certain spot in the back. Then in the summer of 2011 she bought me a tiny one and we planted it there. Then it died (see my comments about how bad I am at plants). When Anthony and I talked about what to put there, I said that I wanted to eventually put a Japanese Maple there but that it was too pricey for right now.  He recommended that I do it anyway. He said that if I wanted it there, I should get one and put it there.

I'm so glad he said that. He was right. Today they put the Japanese Maple in while I was out. When I got home and saw it standing there so beautifully, I cried.

I never imagined that this not-a-plant person would ever cry at the sight of a tree. But I did. A lot.

I love everything they did in our yard. I am so happy and no longer feel stress when I walk outside of the house.

Anthony walked me through every step, giving me great advice. It helps that he lives in our neighborhood and knows the kind of soil and pests we have. He also kept in mind that my favorite color is purple.

This landscaping project has restored some peace in my mind and my heart.  Now when I walk outside I just smile and sigh. Believe me when I tell you, Sue would love this.

By the way, if you live near me and are stressed out by landscaping issues, call my friend Anthony at San Marino Outdoor Services.