Terrible Advice From Trees

"There's nothing to be scared of here. Just trust in Mother Nature...listen for the great wolf's howl, he says you're safe here now" the tree in the center of Great Wolf Lodge sings. There's an entire clock tower that comes alive, including a tree, a child that rises out of a stump, a moose head, raccoon, and Native American woman who emerges from inside a house. These characters collectively give the worst outdoor survival advice imaginable. On top of that, they frightened one little boy so badly that he didn't trust the hotel for the remainder of his stay. If you think about it, his reaction was probably the most logical. If someone told me to trust wolves, I would keep my eye on 'em.

We were there for a conference, a gathering of soldier's wives. Halle learned a lot. We shared a room with a friend and her two kids - a three year old boy and five year old girl. The boy was getting ready to hit the water park, so he stripped down and streaked across the room. "What was that?" Halle asked, whipping her head around. "Boys are made different than girls," I said. "Look at me. Look in my eyes. Focus on me."

It was very educational. The last time we went over there, it resulted in my buying a GPS and Halle throwing up. This time, my friend Casey threw up and her son got a rash that made his skin look like a red T-shirt. It turns out that the levels of chlorine in that indoor water park could probably disinfect the ocean.

At least we know better than to trust the advice of trees. Don't listen to them. Stay away from wolves.

Rules I Didn't Expect to Make

There are some things that should be common sense, even to a three year old. Then again, in the chain of events that occurred Wednesday, I wasn't entirely blameless. I was painting something on our back deck for a project and thought that since the girls were playing so intently inside, that I could sneak out and get the painting done before they missed me. Right, like that was going to happen.

As they piled out the back door, I told them that they had to wear an old T shirt over their clothes. I ran inside to  retrieve the items and found that there was a spot all ready on Morgan's dress. I slipped a T shirt over Halle, but in my rush to save the dress, I left Morgan outside with just a diaper on.

In the three minutes it took for me to run water, rub soap on the paint spot and leave it to soak, Halle was busy. I came outside to find Morgan painted. Morgan's nose, cheeks, ear, entire tummy, and diaper were all green. "Halle, you are not allowed to paint your sister!" I said in shock. These are words I had not expected to ever say out loud. Or in my head, for that matter. "Oh," she said, as though this was a surprising restriction.

I ran for the garden hose to wash the child and while I drug that from the side of the house, the girls had painted a large portion of the deck. Our deck will never look the same. As I sprayed down the deck (after giving Mo a white trash bath), I saw Mo painting the item that I had started in the first place. I finished washing what I could, then put away the painting for later when the girls were napping. That's really what I should have done in the first place, but there's nothing like learning the same lesson over and over and over again.

Travel Tip

Buy the person next to on the airplane alcohol. This makes your child's attempt at hide-and-go-seek actually rather funny and her anecdotes about her imaginary friend hilarious. I didn't even have to buy the drinks for the Marine sitting next to me. He had a buddy traveling with him who had supplied him a couple rounds before they boarded.

The buddy (we'll call him Dave) had not seen drinking alone in a seat down the aisle from a tiny bathroom an obstacle. The spirits were flowing. Dave approached my neighbor and spotted me. He gave me a wink and a couple eyebrow raises. You know they've had too many when you're still looking like a viable option with two kids in tow. Neighbor asks Dave to share the riches with him. Dave glances in my direction and stuffs a twenty in Neighbor's hand, then heads to the bathroom.

"Do you really feel good about taking advantage of your friend when he's in this state?" I asked the guy sitting next to me.

He shoved the bill in his pocket and said, "It's what Marines do. I only met that guy two days ago."

Huh. Perhaps a lack of generosity would account for my not joining the service. Whatever the case, the flights home were actually somewhat enjoyable. I thank God for that. I also find myself thanking Him for Sam Adams, something I have not had occasion to do before.

Chocolate Bunnies

Two days before Christmas, my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer. After receiving the news one friend asked, "Are they going to hack anything off?" A very good looking plastic surgeon hacked off something in January. Before going under, the surgeon asked if my mom was ready. "I'm sure you've seen better," she replied, "but I guess I'm as ready as possible." My intrepid mother made decisions no one should have to make, received news with grace, and pondered her circumstances with a sense of humor that only comes from knowing that God is in control.

Recently, I attended one of her appointments with her. Apparently, only attractive people are allowed to work in plastic surgery offices. As I strolled through the glass doors, I had to wonder if the staff takes bets on what visitors would like to have done.

After the appointment, we hit the mall. You need to see some train wrecks after you've been to a high class clinic. Halle found a purse that looked almost identical to a chihuahua. Grover's mom needed it, she said.

"What could Grover's mother possibly need it for?" I asked.
"To put chocolate bunnies in for Grover."
Of course that's what Grover's mother would use it for. I wished my mother had chocolate bunnies in her purse for me. The purse looks so real that a dog actually sniffed its butt when we were at a different store.

We left feeling more blessed than before we had come. The greatest blessing is seeing my mom well and to have such an intrepid mother to begin with. But not too far down the list is Grover's mom's purse.

Carpet Lessons

Halle learned a valuable lesson about graffiti today: If your plan for getting out of trouble is blaming your sister, avoid writing your own initial all over the carpet.
Two weeks ago, the carpet in her bedroom had a much different story. I greeted her Sunday morning when she came downstairs. "How did you sleep?" I asked.
"Bad. I slept bad."
"Oh no. Why?"
"Oh, because I throwed up all over the floor."
"You WHAT?"
"Yeah, Grover throwed up too."
I went upstairs with her to survey the damage. The bathroom light next to her bedroom was on. "Why is the light on in the bathroom?"
"Well, because I slept in there last night."
I noticed a clean guest towel crumpled next to the bathroom rug. She had thrown up all over her bed, the carpet, and the guest bed next to her bed. Afterwards, instead of going downstairs and informing me of the situation, she curled up on the bathroom rug and went right back to sleep.

After church, we met a friend and went to a Harness race. Standing in a crowd of spectators, I glanced down and saw that Halle's pants were around her ankles. Diarrhea strikes. I shoved Morgan into my friend's arms and rushed Halle to the bathroom for a change of clothes. I wonder if Halle will have a recurring nightmare of forgetting to wear pants when she gets older.

Last week, we almost got swept away by a tornado. It was during this instance that I was reminded that I am the worst possible person to be with in a crisis situation. My friend whom I had met for coffee had received a phone call that a friend who lived near her had lost her house. So, as we sat waiting for news, power, or a favorable change in the weather, she happened to mention that her house was a mess. "Maybe it won't matter," I said. Immediately after saying this, I realized it was not a comforting comment.
I suppose the moral of all these events is that you can never be prepared for everything that comes. But you can learn to keep your mouth shut. Obviously, I'm still working on the second.

Fish

I shouldn't be allowed to own fish. I wouldn't even have fish except my mother insisted that I get a tank so that my daughter could experience the soothing floaty action. I clean our tank when you can't see the fish any more. Today, it had again reached the point where I wasn't sure if the fish were alive or dead. I cleaned the tank thoroughly and dumped the fish back inside. (Neither fish are named, a testament to how unattached everyone is to the fish - even the bat that terrorized our household last week got named "Alexander".) Not too long after, I clearly saw them floating at the top of the tank. One would assume that the fish would have died in the putrid sewage they were swimming in previously. Instead, they choose to die when they can actually breathe and see the world. Maybe they were shocked by how my oxygen their gills pumped, or by seeing our cat Rex for the first time. (They don't even know that he's less frightening now that his herpes is under control.)

Now that I've cleaned the tank, I'm considering getting another fish. I've gone to all that trouble - it seems a shame to waste a clean tank. If I did, I would get a gold fish, which I could dump in our pond outside when I tired of it. The last time we did that, Halle actually caught "Black Betty" in the pond, flipped her on the bank, and discovered that fish can't survive out of water. Again, too much oxygen can kill a fish.

At least the fish chose a good time of year to die. They will be excellent fertilizer for a really tiny plant.

Beware of Offering to Help

When people offer help “if I need anything”, I often wonder what “anything” means to them. Tonight, I wondered if that included bat eradication. Fortunately, the flying rodent did not transform into a vampire, which would have been at least equally frightening as the large, furry, pteranodon-like creature I almost stepped on.

Climbing the stairs with both children in tow, I noticed a furry-looking creature the next step up. “Wait a second,” I said to Halle she raised her foot. I put my hand on her stomach, keeping her from ascending. “That looks kind of like a bat.” Hearing the name of its species, the bat removed all doubts by screaming like a fire alarm. I grabbed both children, lifted the gate at the bottom of the stairs off its hinges, and threw it on the floor. The three of us sought refuge in my bedroom. “Wait here,” I told the girls, and grabbed my phone.

Calling a friend, I asked for advice. Sonja suggested covering it with a blanket. I reached for a blanket, cast the net, and watched in horror as a bat wing found the edge and then sidled along. The bat’s screams were thinly muffled by the blanket which I will now wash at least three times. The bat succeeded to fly upward two stories to the skylight, where it was impossible to be trapped. Shooting it was clearly the only option.

My friend’s husband called her. Sonja answered the telephone with the greeting, “Kara has a bat in her house and she’s planning to shoot it.” “That is a poor decision,” he replied. Fortunately, another friend had supplied her son Zach, who is a hunter. I met him at the door with an air rifle.

As I pointed out the pest and explained the situation, I told him I didn’t know how it had entered my house. Halle’s voice from behind my bedroom door came, “It’s Grover’s bat! Grover let it in!” I felt strangely betrayed by her imaginary friend.

Zach shot the bat, but only made it scream again and fly around before it attached itself to the same spot. Changing tactics, Zach was able to trap the bat with a telescoping net, then cover the top with a blanket and release the furry flyer into the outdoors. I paid Zach with cookies.

Halle told us Grover would be very surprised that the bat was gone. I told her to relay to Grover that I did not want a bat in the house again. She called him up. “It’s for you,” she said, handing the phone to Zach. Zach declined talking to Grover, but I think the monster got the message. Let’s hope so.