Thursday, February 26, 2009

If You Give a Mouse a Cookie...

My favorite all time book to read the kids when they were little was "If You Give a Mouse a Cookie." We read it so many times we can all recite it. Pffft...It's no longer my favorite, grab a brownie and I'll tell you why. A few years ago we had a few mice in the house. I think we killed three or four of them. That summer I went on a steel wool kick. I shoved steel wool in places where steel wool just don't belong, because supposidly that is the only thing that can stop a mouse. It was never determined where or how the mice got in and since then I never saw any signs of a mice.

This past fall I was straining to look in my neighbor's house looking out the front door. I happened to look down and see summin small scurry thru the leaves and UNDER my vinyl siding. I grabbed the broken sprinkler that the "traveling hands" (oh that boy of mine!) had dropped on the ground. I whacked the shit out of the side of the house, and finished off what plastic was left on the sprinkler. That muther of a mouse didn't come out.

Fast foward to February 25th. In a rare moment of relaxation I sat down on the couch to watch tv after the dinner dishes were done. Trying to obtain the feelings of serenity after a long day. YIKES!!! A little fucker mouse went running along the wall that the tv is on, and cornered himself behind some boxes. So I tell the man I married..he says "No sa." "YES...I DID see a mouse, get off your ass and move those boxes, he's behind them!!!" As I'm standing on the coffee table. I grabbed the puke bucket that just happened to be laying around (kids are still sick in this house.) I give the man the puke bucket to drop over the little fucker mouse. The man botches the whole operation, the fucker mouse ran back under the sink, and tries to tell me I was in the way! UH NO...I was back up on the coffee table! I sent the man out to the store to get some traps.

Feb 26th was a NIGHTMARE!!! Again after dinner all I wanted to do was relax on my couch. Wrong. Same thing as last night,a fucker mouse runs out of the "rat hole" as my boy calls it. I jumped up and chased the little fucker mouse back to where he came from and barked to nobody in particular "That's it, I'm going to bed!" So I set myself up nice nice in my bed with a cup of tea and my laptop, to start a post about a fucker mouse in my house. Then...then...that little fucker mouse ran right by me into my closet. In my closet!(How I managed to get in bed while my closet door was opened I have no idea. That's another story for another day.) there no room in this house that is off limits? (In my perfect world I like to think that mice just stay in the kitchen, and maybe the bathroom--but not my friggen bedroom!) That's it, I'm staying in this bed all night. I needed to tell someone of my dire circumstances, so I emailed and to tell them I was being held hostage in my bedroom, by a little fucker mouse, at which point the Princess comes in my room and says "I think I'm gonna throw up." Crap now I gotta get off my bed. Before I joined her in the bathroom to rub her back, I barked orders at the man to start rearranging the present sleeping arrangements, as I was not going to sleep in a room that had a mouse in the closet!! I made him carry the 68 lb. sleeping boy out of his bed, and move him to our bed. Big Daddy was going to sleep in the mouse room. I was sleeping with Princess in her room.

With that chore done I stood outside the bathroom door waiting for Princess to let me in the bathroom and that fucker mouse (or a butt brother of his)had the balls to go running right past me into my bedroom! After that, me and the puking Princess stayed in the bathroom for about two hours. Neither one of us wanted to go "out there." When we finally went to bed and were just falling asleep around 1:30 we heard "snap." Ok, so it was 1:27 am, we looked at the clock to notate the time of death. We both felt like it was ok to fall asleep.

We have since caught four more fuckers mice. I'm so grossed out and wish I could go somewhere until there are no more fuckers mice in my house!!! God, I hate mice (bugs to.)

So now my second favorite children's book gets bumped to first place. "Goodnight Moon" is officially now my favorite book. Wait, wait, wait!!! Hit pause. Isn't there a mouse in that book too?

Footnote: for those of you who are more humane and don't like that I have killed four of God's creatures, go away I respect your views

Tuesday, February 24, 2009

And the Password is.....

When I left work to say home with my kids 14 years ago, I was a third party biller in a hospital. I returned to the same office this past September. (It was weird at first because so many people are still there from when I left. It feels right and the money is good.) My boss took a chance on me and hired me back part time. I thought my brain had gone to mush and was beyond return. Happily I have found out that "I still have it."

Of course since I've been gone HIPPA has gone into effect and we no longer use carbon paper to duplicate a claim. Back then the computer that I used was the hospital's billing system, and it was a green and black screen. Now that I'm back I now have an updated title and am called a "Patient Account Billng Analyst." The green screen is gone, replaced by a this new operating system called Windows(anyone ever hear of it?) I have gone from remembering ONE password to having to put about NINETEEN passwords on a spreadsheet, for which, I need a password!

As time goes by, I need to change my passwords periodically. I had a hard enough time coming up with the passwords I had, for goodness sake!!! I'm out of ideas, I only have three kids, and their birth dates will never change. I am NOT creative at making up passwords that I can remember! Hell I can never remember how old I am, for get a friggen password!! Some programs require a capital letter and a symbol. Some need all caps, some need more than six letters, some need numbers, and most of 'em won't let you amend it by easily just adding a number to the end. Blah, blah, blah... Is it just me or are we inundated with passwords? A few weeks ago I need my social security number for something, and for the life of me I could NOT remember it. I had to look it up. And daym, it's not on my spreadsheet! My card was in the lock box. Where is that friggen key? Can you feel my pain? All these friggin numbers floating around in my head are messing with me.

Can't someone just invent a speed dial for passwords, like they have for phones?

Friday, February 13, 2009

Ok ok I learned that Wordless Wednesday is not applicable to someone who has not posted in two weeks.

With that said...I have been on a sick hiatus.
Early last week my oldest child, Princess Lounge Around woke me up at 11:30 pm to tell me she didn't feel good, could I sit on the couch with her. As we were sitting on the couch I go thru the whole list of what hurts. "Is it your head? You got a belly ache? You gotta poop? Do you feel like your gonna vomit?" Then I realized she had her head tipped back and was looking at the ceiling. "Ah ha 'a bloody nose?'" She tells me that she's trying to not throw up. And so the night began. When you think you're gonna throw up, you throw up. And she did. Six times. Poor dolly.

Wanna take a guess who got it next? That nasty virus had settled itself right here on Wilde Lane, because the Middle Child and Mommy got it. I thought I was going to D I E die. I have never ever, ever, ever, ever, ever thrown up that much (all three pregnancies put together I didn't throw up that much!) I laid in bed for two days groaning about wanting to be put out of my misery. I called my own mother on the phone and begged her to please tell me how to make it stop. She offered me some Coke syrup from her Fridge. Then she called back to say "Never mind, it expired." IN 1997. I swear to God. 1997. She said she remembered buying five bottles of it. When I talked to both my sisters a couple days later, they both too had a batch of the expired bottles from 1997. Since I know I threw mine away, that means my brother has a bottle of generic 1997 vintage Coke syrup in his fridge.

During one of my vomiting bouts in between heaves, the Man I Married knocked on the bathroom door and said "Does Jack have anymore dog food?" I said "Go Away" in my head I said "Piss off Fucker" (I do that alot, say something nice out loud and equally as foul in my head.) WHO DOES THAT? Who asks their vomiting wife where the dog food is???? Who? This from a man who I cannot talk to or look at when he is having an asthma attack. He needs to concentrate on his breathing. I get it. So DON'T ask me where the friggen dog food is!

My 13 year old took good care of me. She kept the ginger ale coming. She laid next to me in bed and listened to me moan and groan about how much it hurt. She never peeped one complaint how rotten she felt. Unlike me. Between the two of us we lost 16 lbs. I don't know about her, but the five I lost, found their way back. I pretty much slept (and bellyached) for two days. During the two days I was sick, I had a yearbook deadline due. I couldn't lift myself off the bed to get to the computer to submit what I had to. I did those pages in my sleep. Over and over again.

I took two days to decontaminate my house. I bleached every surface, I washed floors and threw open the windows. I'm sick of this cold and germy winter! I can't wait to complain about how hot it is!