It's hard to grow up. But, I guess not as hard as having a raccoon dog in your backyard rather than just a plain raccoon?

Hello.  Remember me?  Ms. Day In The Life?

Normally I operate this blog and write about my mildly funny and mostly dysfunctional life.

Lately I've just been feeling nostalgic as summer slips quickly through my fingers.

So, this is going to be a post about nothin'.  (And thank you, auto correct, but I meant to say nothin.')

1.  I have not been busy posting, but I have been busy reading all of my favorite blogs.  I read this one today and it made me cry like a big 'ole baby.  It's almost as if the writer had been hanging out in my house this summer (in a totally non-creepy way).  And really I rarely cry so either I am pre-menopostal, or it's a really good post (I suspect the latter).

2.  This awesome lady who used to live in my neighborhood before she up and moved across the globe, has been back in our neighborhood for the whole month of July.  I like my blog, but not as much as I like having coffee, and dishing it up with her.  She's like the mac-n-cheese of friends (and I hope when she reads this she will know what a huge compliment that is) and it's been splendid having her here.

3.  Being with my four kids all summer day and night has..............not been without its challenges.  The fighting, teasing, arguing, and screaming has taken on new heights and most of the time I feel like this: 

Sometimes I'm the ref.  Sometimes I'm the boxer.

4.  My very good friend, and frequent blog visitor has moved to a different neighborhood.  Insert any one of a gazillion sad emoticons or possibly a cat crying because her best cat friend has moved.....and the cat is roller skating carrying a birthday cake........but, I digress. 

I knew this move was coming for a long time, but I'm not good at change (let's face it, I'm still trying to get rid of my 80's haircut and make-up).  The reality of her being gone faster than George and Weezie Jefferson (albeit just about 15 miles away, and I do own a car, and there is a Starbucks on the way - four or five in fact) is starting to sink in.  It does help tremendously that so far, like Joe Walsh, fame and fortune haven't changed her.  And she has already graciously let us crash her obnoxiously fabulous home and beautiful pool.  Mrs. JustAHausWeyef, this one is for you:

5.  Lastly, there is no time like summer in Texas to make you second guess not investing in cable television.  There.  is.  nothing.  on.

So, night before last we sat down as a family and watched Nova on PBS.  Well, I am *kinda* lying.  We sat down to watch America's Got "Some" Talent as a family, but this family friendly show had some lewd sex jokes on it, so we flipped channels and that's how we got to Nova on PBS.

And, I found out about raccoon dogs.

Not familiar with them either?  Well, don't worry.  Here's a photo for you:

photo credit:  www.factzoo.com.  If you just yelped, "CHEESUS!" and backed away from the screen, don't worry you are not alone.  Oh, and it's mildly disturbing that it kinda looks like they put this rac-dog on a fluffy bed to take this photo??? 

 

I might be feeling like time is spinning out of control what with losing my baby boy and one of my bestest friends, but at least I don't have raccoon dogs digging up my garbage?! 

So, thanks, PBS!  With quality programming like you, I can take the heat and I don't even miss cable!

Did my family buy a zoo?

So, it's been awhile since I've posted.  It's mainly because I've been depressed, eating too much while trying to lose weight, working, and trying to keep up with my kids.  But, this morning on my run I composed a post about social awkwardness (of course) that I thought was good and I planned on writing it today after I got home from work.

Then, I got home from my run, glanced over at the side of my house and this was there:

That's TRASH that was inside the can last night.  Damnit.

If you live nearby, you might have heard the obscenities I screamed.

We have a dog now (God love us) and so the trash can really smells like $hit.  So, a few weeks ago (after nagging Boy Child for about a week) I took it upon myself to clean the trash can.  (And I think you know how I feel about this - it's right there with cleaning the vacuum.  These tasks just make me go, "What the WHAT?") 

So, of course, the fu*cking raccoons came back.  They were waiting for me to do this. They smelled a clean trash can with food trash in it and they went nuts.

Oh, and just in case you were wondering - my brushes with wildlife this past week have included this guy

Yeah.  That's a coral snake that Girl 1 found hanging out.  He's dead now.

and this gal.

That's a peahen (female peacock...duh).  (I always have called them female peacocks because I am a dork.)

Am I Dr. Dolittle?  Because it kinda feels like it.

If a wild turkey tries to hit your Yukon, karma might be trying to get ya.

So, it's been a strange week over here at Day in the Life.  Here's the recap and in the interest of your capacity to pay attention I've tried to delete the less interesting happenings.

1.  I had the extreme pleasure of renewing my license that was about 200 years old.  In person.  With a four year old.  Here's a little taste of how that felt:  It took three hours and two minutes.  It was about 30 degrees that morning (which is around 10 degrees below zero by South Texas standards).  One hour and 15 minutes was spent outside the building (because there is a fire code - the audacity - and the building is about as big as my kitchen and so only about 10 people fit in there safely at one time - therefore the other 880 people in line have to wait outside the building).  The people are friendly despite working in a time-warp-like atmosphere where all the people you are waiting on look like zombies and feel like they have severe jet lag.  I made five new friends (and this is particularly shocking because as my good friends know my motto is, "I don't need any new friends.  I don't even like the friends I have.").  I think I was so tired and worn down I *may* have agreed to become Facebook friends with all of them.  And, despite hubby's precaution as I departed the house to "take a good picture," I looked like I'd been through war when I finally made it to the front of the line.  I was faced with the reality once again that age has not been good to me.  In my first photo I look fresh, young, and vibrant.  In my second photo....well, let's just say - I look haggard.  Here's a before/after and I'll let you all be judges.


The Before.  

The After.  (I dressed up for the occasion.  It didn't help.)
 

The "P.S." on this story is that a few days after I stood in line for three hours (I feel like Gilligan when I say that) this new one million square foot  DPS megaplex opened right down the street from my house.  (Of course.  Damn my city government for conspiring against me.)

I don't see anyone waiting in line there (in the freezing cold, with a four year old).

2.  I've had some run-ins with wildlife.  So, remember when I started $hit with some pesky raccoons?  Well, it seems they have some friends in our neighborhood and this might be the final retribution.  As you might know, we recently got a puppy.  And now something is trying to kill it.  I first saw who I am heretofore referring to as Will E Coyote or just WillEC a few days ago.  He was wandering through my backyard and he seemed like he really wanted to eat our puppy, Bandit.  I am too slow to get a good photo of him (I'm still working on that) but here's what he kinda looks like. 


I know.  I kinda want to pet him, too.  But, I would also like to live a little longer.

Anyway.  Considering coyotes can eat humans and small puppies I decided to watch Bandit carefully (and Girl 3).  Then, WillEC decided to disembowel a skunk and leave the carcass for us under our tree house.  That seemed like a little more of a sign that we *might* be in danger.  Of dying.  So, I stepped up my "basic and rational precautions a little."  (Like I decided to smear the blood of my forefathers on all of my doors and carry my crucifix with me at all times.) 

Then, yesterday I came home and WillEC was sniffing around my garbage cans.  Holy crap I thought.  This is the final retribution for all the raccoon shizzle last year.  I spent most of yesterday trying to figure out how I was going to step up my game.

Then, this guy crossed my path. 

Yeah, that's an approximately four foot tall wild turkey.  Side note:  WE DON'T LIVE IN THE WILD.  Cheesus H. Christ.

So, you guys - I might be in trouble.  Those raccoons seem to be winning right now.  I sense that they are somewhere out in the wild beyond my backyard having a good laugh at my expense.  I'm considering leaving them a note.  It will read something like this:

"I surrender.  You guys win.  Turns out you are smarter than me.  You can have all my garbage for the rest of my life.  Just LEAVE ME THE F*CK ALONE."

With friends like these, who needs cable?

Sometimes I wish I was someone else.  And I'm not talking about when I wish I was Johnny Depp's lover or Angelina Jolie (wait...is that the same person?), or Martha Stewart.  (Okay.  You got me.  I never wish I was her.)  I'm talking about when I wish I was one of my closest friends.

No, this is not going to be a post about how I want to live in their houses (half of them live in the exact same house I do, except with better furniture), or how I am in love with their husbands (we are a quirky neighborhood, not Desperate Housewives), or how I wish I had their well-behaved children.  (Ha!  They don't have well behaved children either!)  No, I just wish the ridiculously funny $hit that happened to them happened to me every once in a while so that I would have some good blog fodder.

What I am about to tell you is a true story, but if you are like me there is no way you are going to believe it.  And, if I didn't have Boy Child and a smart phone - I might also have more than a shadow of a doubt.

Card carrying PETA members this is not the post for you.  Do not say you were not warned. 

True Story That I Wish Had Happened to Me (but just *kinda* because it freaks me out a whole lot, so if it had happened to me I am not sure I would have even lived to tell about it).

Now, if you were here when I wrote about carrying a machete to the crapper because of irrational fears, you know that some National Enquirer stuff has happened right here in my neighborhood to people I know.  You also know that I am not a fan of and possibly deathly afraid of small, furry rodent type and actual rodent animals.  This includes all kinds of squirrels, rats, mice, opossums, raccoons and basically any small animal that moves on the ground and is not like a cat - and some cats I am deathly afraid of.

Many of my friends live in the same neighborhood I do and frequently we pass each other driving - either in and out of our neighborhood - or on the main street out of our neighborhood that leads to the main street that leads to the highway that gets us the hell out of dodge.  You get the picture.

So, when we pass each other it's common for us to wave, honk, or text (from the safety of our final destination - and I don't mean hell - because texting and driving is illegal...and dangerous).

I wasn't at all surprised last Friday when I passed my good friend, Sin (not her real name, just what we call her...and I'm pretty sure it's not spelled like that), on the road.  I wasn't even surprised when I saw that she had texted me shortly after.  What did surprise and disturb the hell out of me when I bothered to read her text and view the accompanying photo a few hours later, is what the text said:

TEXT (Sorry, I wish I had screenshot so that you could experience this fully, but I'm too lazy to download it.): 

Are you on Butch Cassidy Road behind a family with a dead rat on their window?

ACCOMPANYING PHOTO (which almost made me vomit).



See the dead rat right at the lower part of the back window???  WTF?  Right?

Now, I think when I saw the photo I must have let out some kind of squeal or something because right away Boy Child (who has an uncanny ability to hear any audible sound I might make when I am reading a text, but cannot hear when I am screaming for him to get off his iTouch) said, "What momma?  Who is it from?  What's wrong?"

And, because I was in a state of shock after seeing some random rat on some freak's window I said, "This is some freaky stuff right here on my phone, son.  Ms. Sin just sent me a text and it said, (and then I read it to him) and here is a photo of a DEAD RAT on someone's window???  WHAT DO YOU SUPPOSE THIS MEANS???"

Right away Boy Child (who is like a police officer/detective) said, "That's really weird mom because when we passed them on Butch Cassidy Road I saw something weird and long on the back window of their car and I thought it kinda looked like a rat, but then I thought why would someone have a dead rat on their window, so I thought it must have been something else."

And literally (as crazy as this sounds) with that ridiculous run-on sentence/explanation I calmly put down my cell phone, went about my business of putting the kids to bed or whatever it was I was doing, and didn't give the Dead Rat On A Car Window another thought until yesterday morning.  (I guess you could say I didn't give another rat's a$$.  See what I did there?)

That's when Sin called me.

We had a great ten minute conversation on the phone and suddenly she said, "Oh, hey did you ever get my text with the dead rat photo?"

I immediately traveled back in time (not literally, just in my head) to the text and said, "Uh, yeah.  That was super disgusting.  What the hell was it?"

She said, "Did you not see it in real life when you passed us on the road???  On our car???"

Me:  Uh, NO.

Sin (cackling):  Well, it was on our car.

She proceeded to tell me the story of how her beloved cat (not beloved by me because if I want a dead rat, I will kill my own) brought her yet another bird and when she wasn't that amused killed her a king size rat and decided to put it on her car (because that's where we put things when we want to show our love).

After her whole family examined (not too closely) the dead rat on their car, my friend, Sin, got a stick with which to push it off the car and dispose of it. 

Now, mind you, it's hot down here in Texas.  Last Friday I think it was somewhere around 120 degrees in the shade.  And she was damned when she found that the dead rat was stuck to the window.  Literally stuck. 

"Like chewing gum.  There was no easy way to get that sucker off without touching it with my bare hands and I'll be damned it I was gonna do that."

So, the family called a quick family meeting and made a *reasonable* decision to drive that thing off.

Now, this is not a trend that I am aware of, but due to the prevalence of cats down here in South Texas and the heat, which does not seem to be letting up one bit, it might just turn into a trend for people who find prizes from their cats in the form of dead rats stuck to their cars like bubble gum.

It took quite a lot of driving because apparently he was a stubborn dead thing.

And eventually it took a little more than driving (I will spare you the details on that one).

When Sin finished telling me this story, I was torn between laughing hysterically and being deeply disturbed.  All I could muster was, "Cheesus.  That is one hell of a story."

I.  cannot.  even.  imagine.  Nor do I want to.  If any cat of mine put a dead rat on my car, he'd need those nine lives of his.  And, seriously, do I need TLC with this kind of entertainment right at my fingertips?

So, I guess what I am saying is that #2 on the list (right below "Carry a machete to the crapper.") is:  Do not allow defenses to go down and children to con me into getting another cat no matter how much I might want the story.


The end.

I'm getting back to you (you might want to write this on the calendar).

As you know, I have a habit of procrastination and leaving things in the lurch.  So, in the spirit of change (Huh?  What's that?) I thought I would bring you two updates.  Shocking, I know.

1.  The quick one first. The Keurig is indeed dead.  I will be calling customer service tomorrow when I have perfected the story I am going to tell them.  Not that it's not true.  Well kinda true.  Technically I guess it's a half truth.  And now I am hearing my dead mother's voice, "Half truth, half lie."  Thank you, Keurig for invoking my deceased mother to prove your point.  The situation in which I got the Keurig was kind of a backroom deal.  Of sorts.  Anyway.  I just needed a little time to decide what to say.  I'll keep you posted.  (And, you know how good I am about that.)

2.  Yes, the raccoons are still here.  They are low-key now.  I no longer go out to the Yukon Cornelius and find mounds of garbage strewn all over the yard.  It's more subtle (and, I like to think of them thinking of it as "discreet" and somewhat "friendly").  For example, yesterday I found simply a ripped Ziploc bag that had contained grapes that had gone bad right outside the garbage can.  The heavy, heavy rock was about six inches from the front of the can.  It looked as if all the grapes were still in the bag.  Apparently, raccoons don't like moldy grapes.  Sorry, raccoons.

I am seeing our relationship as more of a test now.  They are testing my fortitude and ability to consume everything in my fridge.  I am testing their brute strength and persistence.

Some of you (I think one person?  And, that person could be a figment of my imagination.) wondered if I had any photographic examples of what was happening.  So, I snapped this photo a while back just for you guys.

Notice how the rock is in place and there is still trash?  (That's when we realized the raccoons had moved on to the neighbor's trash can.  And then we put a rock on that one.)

2.  Remember when I re-did my girls' room like I was some kind of reject from Design on a Dime auditions?  I told you how miserable I was at decorating and crafting?  And I gave you teaser photos of what was to come?  Well, it's been done for ages now and I thought I'd give you a few photos of the finished product and a budget breakdown like the TV show.  But, then I lost all the receipts.  So, you are just getting photos and know that the complete re-do cost less than the two computers that hubby bought right after I was done. 

I realize that most people will look at these photos and think, "Meh."  But, know that I do not finish much anything.  In fact, this room might well be the only room in my house that is "finished."  And, it will probably stay this way until the girls move out.  Plus, I picked everything myself (so please don't tell me if you hate it or if it is totally uncoordinated).

The new bunk beds.  And the radiating light from the new ceiling fan.  Thank you, hubby.

The view from the top bunk.  See all of our new organization?  I am scared of heights, so you're welcome.

The new hanging thing to hang all the things.

The room from the door.  Really, really bad lighting and not-so-great camera. 

My kids are going to camp this coming week, so I'll be blogging everyday I am going to get some work done.  Have a great week!

Are you smarter than a raccoon?

So, I have about a million posts I need to do, but summer is stressful y'all.  I have four kids underfoot (who I wanted to have underfoot so damn bad ??? - clearly I was nuts), work has picked up like no body's business, hubby has been working a lot, and summer (remember her?) has been calling my name (along with Lite beer from Miller).  You can find Blogging on my list right below Drink beer and Get some sun.  But, that doesn't mean crazy sh*t hasn't been happening 24/7 (damn it).  So, here's one tale of woe from our household to yours.

Preface and note to card carrying PETA members who may be reading my blog - I am not Wild Kingdom Mutual of Omaha.  Remember?  I don't like too many animals.

Raccoons are smart fuck*rs.  I hate them. 

Our raccoon fight started about a month and a half ago when I woke up to find our garbage strewn all over our side yard and into our back yard.  I was joyous at this discovery (as I am sure the neighbors were as well).  I knew it was raccoons because we've had trouble with them before.  (Mostly when our Satanic cat was still alive. Well, I'm sure he's still alive because cats have nine lives. He's just not with us anymore. Thank you, Jesus.)  Our house backs up to a creek bed and there are apparently generations and generations of the smart little fu*kers living back there.  Our neighborhood raccoons have eaten our now dead cat's food, rolled around in our now dead dog's water and food dishes, taunted our cat many times from the window, tried to open our screens in the back, and basically just made our lives a living hell in the past.  We have photographed them and they've all but autographed the photos for us.  One time hubby woke up to a commotion out in the back and found about 22 pairs of raccoons eyes staring at him when he opened our back door.  Creepy.  Sh*t. 

So, just like Jason, the raccoons have shown up again - in force. Right before they showed up, hubby got a wild hair up his a$$ and decided to clean our garbage can.  (Which in case you are unfamiliar with this ritual, is kind of like cleaning your garbage disposal - necessary, but illogical.  Cleaning a receptacle used for garbage?  You know I don't clean things that are supposed to be clean, so I can only think of about eight million ways I would rather spend my time.)  Regardless, Hubby and Boy Child cleaned the garbage can like it was a freaking car and I was appreciative.  That thing was so clean I think our whole block smelled like bleach.

Looking back, that *might* have been what tipped the raccoons off.

The next day, I made my way around to get into the Yukon Cornelius and I found garbage was strewn all over.  I cursed a lot, cleaned up the garbage, and figured raccoons must have somehow gotten into our pristine garbage can.  Damn it.  Hubby only cleans the garbage can about once every five years, so of course this would happen.  After that, the garbage can smelled like sh*t again.

I decided the damn raccoons were climbing the fence between our house and the neighbors to lift up the lid of the can and pull out the garbage.  I promptly said, "I'll teach those fu*king smart a$$ raccoons and move the can.  They won't be able to use the fence to eat the garbage.  Ha!  Now who's your daddy?" 

I broke the news of what had happened to hubby and Boy Child and they were both pissed that the raccoons had ruined their clean garbage can.  They vowed to clean it again for me.  In another eight years.

The next morning I went to get in the Yukon Cornelius and there was garbage strewn everywhere again.  I cursed quite loudly this time and kicked the garbage can before I cleaned up all the garbage.  After surveying the garbage can set-up closely I decided that since they couldn't use the fence to climb into the cans, they had used the overhanging tree.  My bad.  Sh*t.  I moved the cans away from the trees clear out into an open space where there was nothing that they could possibly climb on to get into the cans.  I was gonna teach those fu*king raccoons a lesson.

The next day I practically skipped out to the Yukon Cornelius, so happy that I had outsmarted the raccoons.  Garbage strewn everywhere again.  That's what greeted me.

Damn it!  I was pissed.  I kicked the can, yelled my curse words, and then yelled out to any raccoons who might be risking daylight to see my reaction.  At this point I was sure they were watching me and actually laughing.

I decided it was time to consult hubby more seriously and I was freaking sick of cleaning up their garbage messes. 

Hubby blamed it all on them having opposable thumbs and thought it was better if we moved the cans WAY out where there would be no possible way they could use anything for leverage (possibly they had used a low growing vine we have on their last successful attempt).  So, we did that.

The fu*kers did it again.

I consulted hubby and Boy Child this time (although, Boy Child was well aware of the raccoon shenanigans throughout this ordeal).  Boy Child decided it was time to move the can into the garage because obviously the raccoons were climbing on each other like Russian gymnasts and then back flipping into the can to eat our garbage.

We did.

And then, we (and by we I mean Boy Child) forgot to take the garbage can out to the curb because we (and by we I mean Boy Child) couldn't see it in the garage.  Twice.

So, then our garage smelled like sh*t.  Thank you, raccoons.

By this time I was positively exuberant about the raccoon situation.

We moved the can back outside and hubby found a HUGE rock to put on top of it.  No raccoon (unless he was like superhuman raccoon) could move this rock.

I think you can guess what happened.  The next morning I sulked out to the Yukon (because I had learned that opposable thumbs do, indeed, give raccoons amazing brain power and that they can probably text and do calculus so I was not going to even think they could be outsmarted by a simple rock weighing about 100 pounds) to find the rock tipped off the can and garbage again strewn all over.  But, it was less garbage.  It occurred to me that once they used a lot of strength and brain power to get the rock off, they had less energy to dumpster dive.  I felt oddly like I'd won (even though I hadn't and still had to clean up their mess).


That night Hubby found an even heavier rock to put on the can. 


I was doubtful it would matter, and sure enough they've tipped over this rock now twice and I've found the rock on the ground and like one torn open Ziploc bag.  Not the strewn garbage messes like in the past.  We kind of feel like we are winning the war.  And I kind of feel like they kind of feel like they are winning this war, too.

So, I guess we are at a stalemate.


I will not be surprised in the least if the next time I walk out to the Yukon there is a typed (or handwritten) note on the garbage can from the raccoons.


"Dear A Day in the Life (because they would know my name),

We are clearly smarter than you. Whatever you do to protect your can, we will get in. Kindly leave us our meal outside the can, and we won't have to keep taunting you like this. Thanks!

The Raccoons

P.S. We like pepperoni on our pizza."

I am ready to get a nanny-cam out there because maybe it's not raccoons.  Maybe it's the chupacabra.  (I think this *might* be making me a little insane?)  Hubby is ready to invent a locking garbage can (but we are worried about the actual garbage man who collects the garbage - or recollects the garbage as it were - not being able to open it).  My sister suggested I just call the city (or Davy Crockett) and have them bring me a trap (if the city even is in the business of trapping raccoons and relocating them???).  This is a good idea, but I just know more raccoons will come after that.  And then they'll be even more pissed because I took away their Aunt Susie or Uncle Bob.

I am becoming weary.  And I've kind of resigned myself to cleaning up after them until they grow tired of us and our garbage.  Then I will have won.

I've also considered a shotgun.  And a note to them.


"Dear Raccoons,

I've had enough of your bullsh*t.  If you don't like how Uncle Bob looks, find another garbage can to raid.  Thanks! 

A Day in the Life 

P.S.  I win."

I hate it when that happens.

So, today was already gearing up to be a doozy.  And then the law showed up. 

First things first.  When I got up, I logged onto Facebook just like I normally do, but unlike normal I found that my husband had posted a video to Facebook.  To the normal folk this may seem innocuous.  To "normal folk" I say, "My husband is not normal."  He only joined Facebook a few weeks ago and since then this is a sample of our conversations regarding Facebook (Note:  They all end the same way and they all take place when I am busy doing very important work):

Him:  So, how do I "friend" people (insert any action you can do on Facebook)?
Me:  You just search for them, and when their name comes up in the search box click on them.  When you click on them it will say "Friend."  Click on that and they will get a friend request from you.
Long pause.
Him:  So, where's the search box?
Me:  It should be in the upper part of all pages of Facebook.  Your wall or home.
Another long pause.
Him:  Home?  Wall?  I thought they were the same thing.  Oh, okay.  I see.  So, I just friended someone, and I am not sure who they are.  How do I "cancel" that?
Me:  ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

So, imagine my shock and surprise when I logged in and saw that he had posted a video.  And it was totally appropriate and cool.  With a comment!  On his own.  Totally.  I was so happy.  And a little scared (which keep reading and you will find that was totally justified).  I vowed that if it rained today I would stay inside...just to be safe.  Little did I know getting struck by lightening would have been a picnic.

That was the first kinda weird thing that happened.  Then, as I was just kind of fooling around at my desk, talking to a good friend on the phone, and planning out my day I saw something outside the window out of the corner of my eye.  At first I thought it was a dog.  Then upon a full-on head jerk and muttering that sounded something like, "WHAT THE %$&#?",  I realized it was a coyote.  I quickly said to my good friend, "I have to go.  Sasquatch might be in my backyard.  No one is going to believe this.  I need to go take a picture.  Call you later."  Thankfully I was dressed, although not entirely appropriately (I'll just leave that part up to your imagination), so I grabbed the camera and raced outside to photograph him/her.  I did this because in our house no one believes anything any other family member says unless said family member has verifiable proof (like a photo).

I sprinted into the area behind our house.  This guy was moving fast, so I had to go clear into the neighbor's yard.  It was just as I had gotten behind our neighbor's house (as in right behind their patio door) when this GINORMOUS owl/hawk/swan/flamingo looking bird SWOOPED out of the lower part of a nearby tree and flew right toward the coyote/wolf/dog/chupacabra.  IT SCARED THE LIVING CRAP OUT OF ME.  I did a thing that could only be described as Crazy Wail and Swat Like Mad and took off running back to my house.....with no photograph. 

I immediately called my friend back to tell her what had happened, when I'll be damned if that sucker came sauntering BACK BY MY BACK DOOR like he was either 1.  Taunting me, or 2.  Giving me another opportunity to prove myself with a photo.  So, I said, "CRAP!  He's BACK."  She said, "GO PHOTOGRAPH HIM."  I said, "I'm kinda scared."  She said, "Leave baby in the house because he might be hungry and grab a broom."  As I write this now I realize that sounds pretty Crazy Town, but right then it sounded perfectly plausible.  So, I grabbed a broom, the camera, and sprinted out again. 

What my other neighbor would have seen behind his back fence had he been home (I am still praying he wasn't) was this:  Me, wearing less than appropriate clothing, flailing a broom in one hand, sprinting across the wild land behind his back fence, chasing what I think was a coyote am sure was a coyote, while looking through the lens of a camera, trying not to trip, and glancing up above to make sure I was not eaten by an owl/hawk/big-ass bird.

This all prompted me to update my status on Facebook immediately after it was over:

just saw a coyote closer to our house than i've ever seen, so i go out to take a picture of him. as i am chasing him (camera in hand) this GIANT owl/hawk looking thing swoops down on him. let's just say i hope my neighbors are at work because i screamed, and started swatting at the air above my head while running for my life. i am not even kidding. i am now officially creeped out.


Now, had my excitement for the day ended there I would have been completely satisfied....but, it only got stranger.  I went upstairs to take a shower and told baby to play quietly.  Next thing I know, someone is BANGING on the door as I am standing in front of the mirror stark naked hair dripping wet (do not picture that it will only make you want to poke your eyes out with sharp sticks - I know that from personal experience).  I figure it's my house cleaner and don't do anything.  The banging continues and then becomes coupled with constant ringing.  So, I thought what you are probably thinking now:  Holy CRAP!  Someone got eaten by the coyote and people now know (since I posted it on Facebook) that I know something about it!!!!!!!!  SOMEONE IS IN IMMINENT DANGER!

That's why I put on some clothes (the inappropriate ones from earlier) and screamed for my baby.  She came sauntering in.  Frantically I said, "WHO IS IT?  IS IT MS.--------(house cleaner)?  WHO IS IT BABY????"  And baby very calmly said,  "No, mama.  It's not Ms. ________, or Ms. (random friend), or Ms. (another friend)."  I frantically said, "WELL WHO IS IT THEN???"  

"It's a police officer.  But, don't worry.  He's not here to arrest you."

By that time I was down the stairs, it was too late to change my clothes.


Post script:  Turns out baby was right.  It was indeed a constable.  He was not here to arrest me.  He very calmly said he had papers to serve on hubby.  Before you worry about hubby, no I did not serve divorce papers on him, it was not totally unexpected, and we are hoping it is something we can deal with.  But, please imagine Officer M.'s surprise when I opened the door, dressed in my not entirely appropriate clothes, hair wet, and with my sweet baby saying, "See momma.  It is a police officer, but I don't think he will arrest you."  I hate it when that happens.