Home Again, Home Again, Jiggety Jig

The grandchildren went home with Mommy a few minutes ago along with four rat pups that the kids wanted. (There were five but one expired.)

After they left, I fought the almost irresistible urge for a large glass of something alcoholic and the easy chair and went into the kitchen to load the dishwasher (again) and get started on dinner. I picked up a jar of pickle relish to open it for the potato salad. Something didn’t feel quite right so I sat it down and actually looked at it. A large spider that I had been rolling around with my fingers glared back at me, not at all amused. Somehow I found after that that I really didn’t want to make potato salad after all. I didn’t want to do any cooking. Or cleaning up. Ever again.

I went to the fridge to get a glass of sweet tea, but SwampMan had finished it off when I went with Mommy and the kids to the store to get some formula to feed the baby rats. The only beverage left in the house is the cooking wine at room temperature.

It has definitely been one of those kind of days, the kind of day where I’ve developed a tic that would do Chief Inspector Dreyfus proud waaay before noon. I reached for the wine I kept for cooking purposes in the recesses of the pantry, a bottle from Chile and, as soon as I touched it, red and blue flashes of light lit up the pantry.

Dylan had done it to me again. He had completely destroyed one of those balls that flashes light from somewhere inside when it is tossed because he wanted to see what made it do that. The little ball of flashing lights that was contained inside the toy had somehow, SOMEHOW, made it into the pantry.

I could feel my eye twitch coming back.

SwampMan walked inside and asked “Are you still mad at me?”

“Still mad? You could have killed two of the grandkids today!”

“Well, let me know when you get over it.”

It all started this morning at breakfast. Dylan woke bright and early, waking everybody else, including those of us that hadn’t gotten to sleep until, oh, between 2 and 3 a.m., such as Miss Zoe and myself.

“MeeMaw, I’m HUNGRY! I want oatmeal!” he declared as soon as the blare of the television woke me. Jacob didn’t want oatmeal, he wanted tater tots. Fine. I put tater tots into the oven, and I microwaved a bowl of oatmeal for Dylan. As soon as Dylan started eating, Jacob changed his mind and wanted oatmeal and tater tots. But not a whole bowl. Part of a bowl. *sigh* Fine. When the tater tots were suitably cripsy, I took them out of the oven and microwaved a bowl of oatmeal and split it between Zoe and Jacob. Since Zoe usually ends up wearing a lot of her oatmeal, I took her clean dress off for her meal. While Zoe has no problem whatsoever spilling lots of oatmeal down the front of whatever clean clothing she is wearing, she doesn’t care too much for spilling hot oatmeal on her body, so she ate neatly for a change. Hunh. Zoe and I made a bathroom run and then put on her clean pants and (still) clean dress. We washed her hands. We brushed her hair. We washed hands again. I grabbed up a load of wet towels from the night before that were left on the bathroom floor and dumped ’em in the washing machine, and returned to the kitchen.

I started attempting to load the dishwasher and wash some pots and pans that hadn’t gotten cleaned the night before. “When’s Mommy going to get here? Can I call her?” asked Jacob.

“I want talk Mommy. I want talk my Mommy. I want talk my Mommy…..” added Zoe.

“Honey, I’m not sure Mommy is even awake yet. Let me check her Facebook page and see if she updated anything this morning….” I sat down at the computer, and SwampMan, who’d leisurely wandered in sometime during the kids’ breakfasts and sat down in the Lazy Chair, snapped “Oh, I guess you’re not going to offer ME anything like oatmeal to eat for breakfast.”

Twitch twitch twitch.

“And I thought”, I said between clenched teeth “that if you wanted anything, you would mention it.”

“I shouldn’t HAVE to. You should ask ME.”

twitch twitch twitch twitch twitch

“Meemaw, I want dink. Meemaw, I want dink. Meemaw, I want dink. Meemaw, I want dink. Meemaw, I want dink….”

Clenched teeth. “FINE. WHAT do you want for breakfast?” I may or may not have been visualizing ice picks and eyeballs.

“Well, now that you mention it, I’d like tater tots and some sausage patties.”

“Well, now that you mention it, I am going to have to clean a pan before I can fry your, er, sausage patties.”

“…..Meemaw, I want dink. Meemaw, I want dink. Meemaw, I want dink. Meemaw, I want dink. Meemaw, I want dink. Meemaw, I want dink. Meemaw, I want dink…..”

“Yes, sweetie, yes, Meemaw will get your drink.” As I was mixing up the chocolate milk in the sippy cup, Dylan got an orange soda out of the other refrigerator.

“DYLAN! You have two sodas open in the bottom of the fridge already!”

“Yeah, but those are root beer, not orange.” He took a drink, and put the orange soda in the bottom of the kitchen fridge. Jacob came in holding a newly opened can of root beer.

“JACOB! You have FOUR root beers open in the bottom of the fridge!”

“Oh.” He opened the fridge to put his fifth opened root beer in the fridge. Dylan’s orange soda fell over and spilled all over the bottom of the fridge and ran out the door onto the floor.

Twitchtwitchtwitchtwitchtwitchtwitch.

“DYLAN! GET IN HERE AND CLEAN UP THIS MESS!”

“Oh. Sorry!”

He dabbed rather ineffectually at the mess as I was viciously power squishing sausage patties with the spatula in the frying pan.

Dylan tackled Zoe and she started wailing.

“Oh, I accidentally fell down and knocked Zoe over….” began Dylan.

twitchtwitchtwitch

“I SAW YOU KNOCK HER DOWN ON PURPOSE! GET OUTSIDE! BOTH OF YOU! GO OUTSIDE. PLAY OUTSIDE. STAY OUTSIDE!” I ordered Jacob and Dylan so that I wouldn’t give Dylan the ass beating that he so richly deserved.

I had just delivered SwampMan’s breakfast to his Lazy Chair when Jacob stuck his head in the door. “Dylan is pooping under a tree outside.”

“What?”

“Dylan is pooping under a tree.”

“WHAT? WHY?”

“He said that you told him to stay outside and he had to poop, so he pooped under a tree.”

My eye twitching was now accompanied with noises like what would emanate from a steam locomotive as it slowly leaves the station.

SwampMan said “Tell him to come in NOW.” He looked at me. “Uh, maybe I better handle this.” Maybe he better if Dylan was going to survive long enough to enter first grade. After issuing the proper corrective actions to be taken, SwampMan shook his head sadly. “That boy doesn’t ever consider the consequences of his actions. Something enters his head that he thinks is a good idea at the time, and he acts on it. I better go outside and keep an eye on them!” said the man who had blown himself up with black powder.

I tried to return to household chores but Zoe started crying. “I want my Jakey and Dilly and Papa. Peeease, MeeMaw, I want my Jakey and Dilly and Papa. I want my Jakey and Dilly and Papa. I want my Jakey and Dilly and Papa. I want my Jakey and Dilly. I want my Jakey and Dilly. Meemaw, I want my Jakey and Dilly….”

“OKAY! Okay, stop crying. We’ll go outside and see Jakey and Dilly and Papa.”

She ran outside and was happily reunited with them after a whole ten-minute separation.

“Look, could you just keep an eye on her for a few minutes while I feed YOUR rabbits and let the sheep out to graze?” I begged.

“Yeah, no problem”, grunted SwampMan.

I fed his rabbits. I let the sheep out to graze, and went to the other sheep. A lamb was *very* ill. He’d probably been ill for a couple of days but with the kids there, I hadn’t had much opportunity for observation. I put him into confinement so that I could try and ascertain what was wrong. As soon as he was caught, however, I heard a blood-curdling scream from Zoe as the tractor started up. What the HELL?

I looked over the barn fence and saw Zoe, screaming and chasing the tractor in her little pink dress. My heart froze. I started screaming at SwampMan. I jumped the fence. I ran around a building, through a couple more gates, screaming very naughty words at SwampMan until there was silence which was even scarier.

“What the HELL is your problem?” demanded SwampMan.

“I thought you were going to squash Zoe! She was screaming and chasing the tractor!” I was shaking and feeling all faint.

“Oh, she was just mad because Jacob left her to go open the gate for me. I knew she was back there.”

“The HELL you did! You can’t hear for shit and the tractor was making a racket. She thought you were going to run over her brother!” I yelled. “She was chasing the tractor! She could have run right up under one of those big tires and you would have never known!”

SwampMan told me I was being all crazy and paranoid and shit. Zoe sniffled “Pease, Meemaw, we go in now. Pease, Meemaw, go in pease Meemaw!”

“Yes! All you children come inside right this instant!” I ordered.

“The boys are helping me!” said SwampMan.

Shortly afterwards, the boys came inside with five rat pups in a bucket. Their eyes were closed, but they were gray so perhaps they were about a week old. I noted that there was about a 1/4 inch of water in the bottom, and some of the rat pups were in the water. One of the rat pups was having trouble breathing. It had probably inhaled that water. I hurriedly got some soft rags for them to lie on and got them out of the water. “Look what we found, MeeMaw! We want to take them home!”

I informed them that Mommy would not want baby rats that she would have to feed every three hours. “Where is their nest and their Mommy Rat?”

“Papa was moving stuff with the tractor, and their nest isn’t there anymore. The Mommy Rat ran that way.”

“Can we call our Mom? She would let us have rats.”

“Sure, go ahead.” Heh. Daughter cannot blame this on me. After their mom said they could have the rats, the boys ran back outside to help SwampMan. Dylan came back inside shortly. Jacob was gone longer and when he came back in, he asked for an ice pack. It looked like there was a tear on his cheek.

“What happened? Were you crying?”

“Yeah, it hurt really bad.”

“What hurt really bad?”

“Papa dropped the bucket of the tractor on my head. It was an accident but it hurt.”

twitchtwitchtwitchtwitch steam locomotive sounds

I ran my fingers over his skull. There were no lumps or skin breaks but he winced.

SwampMan came back into the house. “HOW in the HELL did you drop the bucket of the tractor onto Jakey’s HEAD?”

“I didn’t DROP it. I was lowering it and he stood underneath it. I could not see him underneath it. He should have stepped back.”

“YOU COULD HAVE KILLED HIM!”

“Well, I didn’t.”

twitchtwitchtwitchtwitchtwitch breathebreathebreathebreathe

“Okay, boys. This is how it’s gonna be. If Papa tells you to do ANYTHING for him while he’s on the tractor, I want you to run into the house and TELL MEEMAW first.”

“No way. I know when things are safe!”

“You burned off your facial skin, hair, beard, and eyebrows with black powder.”

“Crazy woman!”

And that is how I developed an eye twitch and an urge to murder SwampMan before noon today.

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20 Responses so far »

  1. 1

    kcduffy said,

    Is his insurance paid up? I bet you could find a patsy for a very reasonable ‘donation’ if you take a trip downtown… 8)

  2. 2

    kcduffy said,

    Wanna go hammock camping with us this Saturday, down in the Ocala forest? 🙂

    • 3

      swampie said,

      Heh. I decided that today I was going off for some me time. Just me. In solitude. Maybe the beach where I would just sit and relax and listen to the swish swish swish of the waves at a beachside bar with a drink.

      SwampMan told me that he noticed that I was getting a little stressed out, and maybe I needed some time away. So he’s going to take me to the hardware store so he can pick up some nails.

      twitch twitch twitch twitch.

    • 5

      swampie said,

      We have kiddies this weekend!

  3. 7

    no2liberals said,

    Giving vermin to children to take home? WTH Swampie? They will dragging feces and urine all over the place.

  4. 9

    jenny said,

    Damn rats are all still alive…..

    • 11

      swampie said,

      I always said you were a good Mommy Rat.

      • 12

        no2liberals said,

        Hopefully that will change for her families sake.

      • 13

        swampie said,

        You can relax. She’s going to raise ’em to adolescence, then set ’em free. Cute lil woods rats like that don’t make very good pets.

      • 14

        no2liberals said,

        I have seen it all now, the words “cute” and “rats” in the same sentence. 😯

      • 15

        swampie said,

        Daughter brought home mice and rats stuck to glue traps at the feed store when she was younger. She’s had rat pets as an adult. Says they’re good pets.

      • 16

        no2liberals said,

        I performed brain surgery on rats for psycho-pharmaceutical research into Parkinson’s disease.
        Dealt with mice in microbiology research.
        So I won’t say they aren’t good for nuthin’, but not as pets. Nasty disease bearing pests.

      • 17

        swampie said,

        Well, your poor rats were all brain damaged.

      • 18

        no2liberals said,

        Yeah, after we did the surgery and introduced neurotoxins, but that was the experimental group. We snipped their heads off at the end of the experiment and examined the substrates in their brains.
        The control group got the surgery with no neurotoxins, we just took them to the necropsy room after the experiment, put them in a box, then extracted the oxygen with a vacuum line.
        Don’t lik’em and hates meeces to peeces.

  5. 19

    jenny said,

    Day 2…. still all 4 alive. BUT only 2 of the 4 are eating well…..


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