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Sock Girl: Mouse Hunter

You may recall that about this time last year we had our first encounter with creatures of the basement.  Well, our issues with our “neighbours” have continued.  I can only assume that they are a super-mutant breed that defies science, too numberous to vanquish, or incredibly lucky.  My tactic lately has been to ignore them and perhaps bore them into a desire to move on.

On Saturday evening, I was upstairs talking to Dolittle when Rainbow screamed in the office below.  We came running downstairs to find her in the hall pointing at the floor.  There, leisurely sauntering down the floor as if out for an evening stroll and he owned the place, was “a neighbour.”  This was our first face to face encounter.

“Don’t kill him!” one of my girls demanded.  “Awww, he’s so cute,” said the other.

I now, of course, find myself in the uncomfortable position of having to decide in front of my children whether to pommel the varmint who steals our chocolate, or channel Snow White and be one with the wildlife.  Uncertainty hangs in the air.  I decide to buy time and trap him in Dolittle’s boot.

“Don’t kill him!” they repeat.

Clearly the decision has been made for me.

I lift up the boot and peer under.  He is lying on his back, paws curled up on his chest, playing dead.  Clever bugger.  He clearly has aspirations for movie roles.  Much ooo-ing and awww-ing ensues over his performance.  I abandon the boot and replace it with an ice cream container.  I know I must act fact before his theatrical accolades turn into pleas of “Can we keep him?”  A plan is hatched to take him to the park and set him free.

I slip a dustpan under the container and put on my coat.  Rainbow, expecting this may be a rouse to vanquish the little actor privately, decides to come with me.  Together we walk to the park and release him under a tree.  He is no longer playing dead and sits there in some kind of amazed shock.

“I think it’s too cold out here for him,” Rainbow laments.  I hurry her back in the direction of home.  I know no good came of this.  If we linger, she’ll have me knitting him slippers before bedtime.

“He was very cute,”  she remarks.  “Promise me you won’t kill any others?”

“I promise if I find any others leisurely strolling down the hallway, I will treat them in similar fashion,” I reply.  It was a promise I think we all can live with.

Until next time, neighbours.  Until next time.

The New Normal

There is no doubt they are well meaning, for usually it is in response to a heartfelt “how was your holiday?” and is accompanied by a nod which acknowledges, “I know it must have been different.”  And usually it is someone I feel comfortable enough admitting the holiday was not without its drama…. but I have to say, every time I hear the words “It’s the new normal,” it pierces my soul just a tiny bit.

I have to remind myself that these are people that care about me, they are among those I hold dear, so they can’t possibly mean that they believe I should get pretty darn used to feeling alone and sad a lot of the time, and that I’ll have to clean out my own drains forever, and maybe even buy my own power tools to fix stuff.  Because my immediate reaction is, “if this is going to be my ‘normal’, it really kind of sucks, so please pass the chocolate.”

But deep within myself, I know that’s not what they mean, and I also know that this current reality will not always be how it is. It can get better.  And really, for the most part, my girls and I are perfectly ok and will continue to make our way in the world together just fine.

Though pass the chocolate anyway 🙂

New Year’s Eve 2011

As there was a good portion of 2011 that pretty much kicked my butt… about 80% of the last third of it immediately comes to mind… I had pretty much anticipated that I would greet this evening with a “whoohoo, don’t let the door hit you on the way out” kind of attitude.

What I am finding, however, is that I’m not feeling particularly celebratory or reflective.  I’m just kind of sipping wine and marking time.  I briefly considered the 10 sectors of my life and realized I pretty much tanked in all of them… physically, spiritually, financially, socially, etc., etc…. all pretty much need vast improvement.  And I’ve failed dismally at blogging this year.  It would seem I am ripe for some serious resolutions and goals here.

But this evening, I am content to just be.  I will try.  I know it’s important to think about these things.  But I don’t think I need the pressure of another holiday to come up with them.

And perhaps that is the start of doing 2012 on my terms.

Happy New Year, everyone.  May it hold much happiness and peace for each of you.  And with any luck at all, for me too.

Dear Santa

I have been a good girl all year.  I realize it’s getting kind of late to send my letter, but I was thinking if your elves happen to be ahead of schedule, or if you were feeling a bit drunk and forgot that you don’t actually bring presents to adults, maybe you could toss a few wee things in your sleigh for me?

I hesitate to ask for this, but I was thinking that my own elf might be kind of handy.  Theoretically they can fix things, keep a clean house, and make a mean hot chocolate.  Who would not want one of those?  So, if you are finding your naughty list is particularly long (and I suspect that it is) and you can cut back on your staff a bit, please bring me an elf (but not one a creepy one that jingles, is old and cranky, has hair growing out their ears, and smells like pee… I’d like a cheery, quiet, sweet smelling, elf interested in honing their domestic skills).

Now, I realize that you are not magic outside the seeing everything, time travelling, flying reindeer, fitting down chimney thing… but I have no doubt that anyone who is responsible for the manufacture of so many toys could also come up with a real working magic wand.  We could probably save a big long list here if you could actually just send me one of those.  I think it would be in both our best interests if you did so.  I could just fix what needs fixing, paint what need painting, mend what needs mending, and we could call it a day.  I would promise not to use it for mischief.  Very often.

So, yes… I realize it is late in the season, and you probably are in the midst of preparations, so I’ll just leave it at that.  I will leave cookies.

Love,

Sock Girl

O Christmas Tree

I have not had a real Christmas tree in years.  Certain members of the household far preferred the neatness and convenience of a fake tree, coupled with the fact that my children have adored looking at the tree from Halloween to Valentien’s Day meant that closest thing I came to a pine scent in house came in a bathroom can.  This year, however, I was going to do things different.

We went to the lot, picked our tree, and carefully set the tree up in a new corner of the living room, diligently watering it and leaving it for 24 hours to relax.  We named it Oscar.

I admit, that between working two jobs and recent stress I was way way too tired to really enjoy the thought of the tree trimming, but I had promised that last night would be THE night, and it was clear Rainbow had her heart set on adorning Oscar, so we dug out the boxes of Christmas paraphenalia.  It was at that point that a series of observations became apparent:

Observation #1:  I need new Christmas bling How is it that sometime between last year and this year half the lights stop working?  And why can’t someone invent pre-lit real trees?  I’d be all over that.

Observation #2:  Not only will a real tree give you that fresh pine scent, expect to enjoy a woodsy pine carpet through your entire home. There is no escaping the pine needles.  Sweep them up and start all over again.  Lather, rinse, repeat.

Observation #3:  Hopefully the Christmas tree decorating has been a positive experience because chances are, no matter how tired and ready to be done you may feel, you might have to do it all over again.  Yes, no sooner had Oscar been festively lit and lovingly adorned, and we stood back to admire him in all his glory, that he came crashing down in a pitiful heap of woodland gaudiness.  This, I expect, is why many adults added liquor to their tree trimming traditions.

In the end, Oscar stood and twinkled, perhaps less perfect than he was originally, but lovely all the same.  And somewhere in the future, when the stress is long forgotten and only charming memories remain, I expect we will do a real tree all over again.  This time wiser.  And with wine.

Oscar 2011

Pass the Remote

If my life were a movie, I think I would fast forward over this bit…  the bit where the wee ones see only the fact that Mommy asked Daddy to leave, and not the myriad of reasons that preceeded it…  the bit where they love Mommy, but don’t really like her much as a result of the changes she has brought to their comfy wee world…  the bit where everyone is trying to figure out what this new life entails…

Instead, skip me ahead to the part where the family finds peace in their new separate lives… where there are two convergent but separate happily ever afters.

And also, since were pretending my life is a movie, can I be played by some engaging, attractive starlett?  If I’m rewriting history, I might as well take full creative license and go for that makeover I’ve long desired 🙂

Then there were three

I had great intentions to revitalize this blog with NaBloPoMo, posting each and every day in November.  The challenge, I thought, would be just the thing to get me back in the practice of daily writing my thoughts here.  But new challenges arose instead.

As fortunes would have it, the evening of November 1st would not be spent at the keyboard.  It was spent shaking up my life reorganizing my sock drawer.  There are fewer socks now here in Sockville.

I have no crystal ball to see what the future might hold, but I am hopeful that when all the dust settles and everyone gets their bearings in this new way of living, that everything will be alright, no matter what household format that might be.  Because truly I hold no ill will towards the man I shared more than 20 years with.  I just seem to have just figured out where my line in the sand was actually located.

So, my apologies for the immediate NaBloPoMo failure, and general lapse in communication for a while.  I have no doubt the future will be filled with many a contemplative post as I map this new path.  It is my sincere hope that there is still someone out here to share it with.


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