One early spring Sunday morning (I mean it was early in spring, not that early on Sunday) I was coming home from a walk. As I got closer to my house I noticed some smoke rising behind it. I thought, wow, that's nice. My husband has picked up the trash that has collected over the winter and is burning it in the fire pit behind our house. We have a woods directly behind our house which was one of the whole reasons I wanted to buy it in the first place. I love having that little bit of wilderness in the middle of the city. So, upon arriving home I thought I would go check out his progress.
I jogged around back to give him a pat on the back for his efforts. What to my amazement . . . he wasn't back there at all. There was no fire in the fire pit. Just a huge blazing brush fire burning in our back yard. I glanced to the outside faucet but our hose had been put away in the garage for the season. Next I tore into the house to alert my husband about the ordeal. He happened to be in the shower. While he was frantically getting dressed, I got the hose out of the garage and ran to the back with it. With shaking hands and after what seemed to be an eternity I some how managed to get it hooked up to the faucet in the back. T. took over and started spraying the hose. By arcing it as much as he could he was barely able to reach the farthest part of the fire. In his haste, he hadn't bothered to put his shoes on and as he was fighting the fire he would come upon hot coals and start doing a really cool dance!
Thank goodness he was able to contain the fire and we did not have to call 911. Also, thank goodness that most of the neighbors were at church when all of this was going on and upon their return to the neighborhood hopefully they just thought someone was having a huge barbeque!
So, what do you supposed caused all of this excitement? Oh, did I forget to mention, that my son K. had been out on our deck the day before experimenting with firecrackers and apples? And throwing them into the woods and blowing them up? Yeah, just take that has a friendly child rearing hint. Apples and firecrackers don't mix.
Monday, April 28, 2008
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Meet the neighbors
When I was fairly newly single, I bought a house. I remember that week distinctly. I had a final exam in a class I was taking, it was end-of-the-month in the business I was working at which was the busiest time of the month, I had some kind of a court hearing to finalize the divorce and I was scheduled to close on the new house. Somehow I made it thru all that. I closed on the house on the last day of the month of April and the day was a Wednesday.
I couldn't afford to pay one extra day of rent so I had cleaned up the apartment, loaded all of our stuff into a Uhaul with the help of a friend and moved into the "new" house . It was very late by the time we got settled in but the next stay I shooed the kids out the door to their new bus stop and I went to work as usual.
By that Friday eve I was happy to be "home" and excited to really start getting settled in. It was about 5:45pm and I was talking on the phone to a girl that I worked with, trying to make some social plans for the following weekend.
When all of a sudden, my daughter K. blew into the house all out of breath trying desparately to get my attention. (yeah, yeah, hold on a minute . . . . let me just finish talking to my freind.) But really I could see panick in her face so I told my friend I had to go and hung up the phone. "Mom, mom, the back yard is on fire" yelled K.
OMG, I had not owned the house for more than 2 days and it was about to go up in smoke. I looked out into the back yard and all along the fence a fire was blazing. I commanded K. to go over to the neighbor's house to see if they had a hose. We had one, but where it was and how long it would take me to find it and hook it up is something I didn't have time to deal with. Then with hands shaking, I dialed 911 to tell them my back yard was on fire. I could barely remember my new address but somehow related it to the dispatcher.
My first thought was that the night before I had been mowing the grass and had spilled gasoline right outside the shed door. Although I had no idea if a day later the gasoline would still make that more dangerous, I was praying that the fire wouldn't reach that spot to find out.
I ran outside to see what was going on. K. had done her duty and the nice next door neighbor man who we hadn't even met yet, had his hose hooked up and was arcing the water stream from his back yard into the edge of ours. With the very highest arc ever, it was just barely hitting the fire. Then, within minutes I could hear fire engines roaring up the street and the fire-fighters came to save the day and they successfully put the fire out in a matter of minutes.
By this time a huge crowd had gathered to watch all the drama unfolding. As the fire was being contained by those brave fire-men, I looked at all of the strangers and started waving to them. "Hello, we're your new neighbors. This is K. and this is K." "Hello, hello, so nice to meet you."
Ha, what an introduction. And that is the infamous way we made our presence known in our new neighborhood.
P.S. - We did find out what had happened to cause the fire. Some boys were bike riding by our fence. Our yard was located right next to an access sidewalk to a park. The boys innocently threw a firecracker over the fence and the sparks caught the dried leaves on fire.
I couldn't afford to pay one extra day of rent so I had cleaned up the apartment, loaded all of our stuff into a Uhaul with the help of a friend and moved into the "new" house . It was very late by the time we got settled in but the next stay I shooed the kids out the door to their new bus stop and I went to work as usual.
By that Friday eve I was happy to be "home" and excited to really start getting settled in. It was about 5:45pm and I was talking on the phone to a girl that I worked with, trying to make some social plans for the following weekend.
When all of a sudden, my daughter K. blew into the house all out of breath trying desparately to get my attention. (yeah, yeah, hold on a minute . . . . let me just finish talking to my freind.) But really I could see panick in her face so I told my friend I had to go and hung up the phone. "Mom, mom, the back yard is on fire" yelled K.
OMG, I had not owned the house for more than 2 days and it was about to go up in smoke. I looked out into the back yard and all along the fence a fire was blazing. I commanded K. to go over to the neighbor's house to see if they had a hose. We had one, but where it was and how long it would take me to find it and hook it up is something I didn't have time to deal with. Then with hands shaking, I dialed 911 to tell them my back yard was on fire. I could barely remember my new address but somehow related it to the dispatcher.
My first thought was that the night before I had been mowing the grass and had spilled gasoline right outside the shed door. Although I had no idea if a day later the gasoline would still make that more dangerous, I was praying that the fire wouldn't reach that spot to find out.
I ran outside to see what was going on. K. had done her duty and the nice next door neighbor man who we hadn't even met yet, had his hose hooked up and was arcing the water stream from his back yard into the edge of ours. With the very highest arc ever, it was just barely hitting the fire. Then, within minutes I could hear fire engines roaring up the street and the fire-fighters came to save the day and they successfully put the fire out in a matter of minutes.
By this time a huge crowd had gathered to watch all the drama unfolding. As the fire was being contained by those brave fire-men, I looked at all of the strangers and started waving to them. "Hello, we're your new neighbors. This is K. and this is K." "Hello, hello, so nice to meet you."
Ha, what an introduction. And that is the infamous way we made our presence known in our new neighborhood.
P.S. - We did find out what had happened to cause the fire. Some boys were bike riding by our fence. Our yard was located right next to an access sidewalk to a park. The boys innocently threw a firecracker over the fence and the sparks caught the dried leaves on fire.
Spice it up
One day I came home from work and noticed that my son's hair looked a little strange. I zoomed in on it and looked closely. What to my amazement . . . it looked singed!
I asked him, "K. what the heck happened to your hair? It looks like you burnt it." Sheepishly he admited that while I was at work, he was bored and so he turned on the gas burner and was experimenting by sprinkling different spices into the flame. Apparently one had sparked a little more than he had anticipated and caught his hair on fire.
My gosh, fire is so dangerous. Can you imagine if he hadn't been able to put it out? This is a mother's worse nightmare. I'm guessing he was about 11 yrs. old at the time . . definitely old enough to know better. I tell you, it was hard. I mean he was really too old to have a babysitter, yet based on this incident too young to be left alone.
I asked him, "K. what the heck happened to your hair? It looks like you burnt it." Sheepishly he admited that while I was at work, he was bored and so he turned on the gas burner and was experimenting by sprinkling different spices into the flame. Apparently one had sparked a little more than he had anticipated and caught his hair on fire.
My gosh, fire is so dangerous. Can you imagine if he hadn't been able to put it out? This is a mother's worse nightmare. I'm guessing he was about 11 yrs. old at the time . . definitely old enough to know better. I tell you, it was hard. I mean he was really too old to have a babysitter, yet based on this incident too young to be left alone.
Saturday, April 12, 2008
Easter in November
One cold Friday night in the month of November K. and K. had gone over to their dad's for the night. It had been a long week at work and I was looking forward to the weekend and some relaxation but at the same time I really needed to get into my son's room and clean it while he wasn't around. That way I could bring a garbage bag in and do some serious purging without him witnessing the act when things he hadn't noticed or touched in six months would suddenly become his favorites.
So I compromised with myself, poured myself a glass of Zinfandel, put some music on and went at the task. I had been dreading it so much because it was so long over due, but the wine and the music kicked in and curiously enough I was having a grand old time tackling that shambles of a room.
I was a good 3/4ths of a trash bag into the room when I came across a blue and yellow plastic Easter egg. My kids loooovvved hunting Easter eggs and candy on Easter morning and I always made a practice of counting the Easter eggs and items that I hid so I wouldn't come across any unwanted surprises later on. So, without even thinking, just sort of instintively, I just popped the blue and yellow Easter egg open, expecting to find some eight month old Easter candy in it.
Gaaaaaaaaagggggggggggggg me with a spoon. Baaarfff. Pungent rotten egg sulfur smell permeated the air. I bolted out of the room like there was no tomorrow. For the last eight months an actual hard boiled egg had been decomposing within that innocent looking air tight plastic egg.
And that my friends, is hopefully the last time I will celebrate Easter in November.
So I compromised with myself, poured myself a glass of Zinfandel, put some music on and went at the task. I had been dreading it so much because it was so long over due, but the wine and the music kicked in and curiously enough I was having a grand old time tackling that shambles of a room.
I was a good 3/4ths of a trash bag into the room when I came across a blue and yellow plastic Easter egg. My kids loooovvved hunting Easter eggs and candy on Easter morning and I always made a practice of counting the Easter eggs and items that I hid so I wouldn't come across any unwanted surprises later on. So, without even thinking, just sort of instintively, I just popped the blue and yellow Easter egg open, expecting to find some eight month old Easter candy in it.
Gaaaaaaaaagggggggggggggg me with a spoon. Baaarfff. Pungent rotten egg sulfur smell permeated the air. I bolted out of the room like there was no tomorrow. For the last eight months an actual hard boiled egg had been decomposing within that innocent looking air tight plastic egg.
And that my friends, is hopefully the last time I will celebrate Easter in November.
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
Another Bunny Story
This is another story involving a bunny rabbit.
My kids were always begging for pets when they were growing up. As a single parent I resisted their relentless nagging though because I had a hard enough time just keeping up with their needs and I was wise enough to know that after the novelty of a pet wore off I would be the one stuck with providing the pet care. I knew myself well enough to know that it would be easier just to do the feeding, walking, letting out myself than to insist that my kids do it . . . follow through on the chores with them has always been difficult for me to manage.
Over the course of time, we did end up with some small pets; the usual gold fish or two (if they count), Janet and Michael Jackson (the parakeets), Penny and Nickel (the hedgehogs that ended up making small change), a newt (lizard type thing that we brought back from Florida one year), a few gerbils, a scorpion and a bunny (whose name I can no longer remember.)
I can't remember why I finally gave in and let K. have the bunny, but I did. True to course, it started out small and cute and furry and soft but in no time flat that bunny grew big and fat and mean. I would grow big and fat and mean too if I were kept in a cage all day. I mean, I really don't blame the poor thing. We would let it out loose once in a while but that darn thing got pretty good at eluding our efforts to recapture it when it was time to put it back into it's cage. Then, it just got too stinky to keep in the house.
We had a very large rabbit hutch that had been given to us. We kept it outside up against the backside of the house. I felt better when we moved the bunny there in the fall. After all, the cage was bigger and the bunny could enjoy the fall breezes and fresh outdoor air.
The problem was that since the bunny was out of sight, it was sort of out of mind. I reminded K. on a daily basis to go and feed it but I'm sure there were times when she missed a feeding. As fall turned to winter, I wondered if the bunny could withstand the Michigan snow and cold but from all accounts I was told that it could. Sometimes I would go out and feed that poor bunny instead of K. and it seemed to be thriving despite the winter weather. As a matter of fact that rabbit (by now bunny seems too diminuative of a term to use on it) seemed to have not only grown a thick furry winter coat, but it looked like it had put on layers of fat to keep warm as well. The gosh darn thing almost looked like it had grown as big as a buddah bunny. It really had just grown huge and wasn't the least bit cute anymore.
I have to say that my conscience pricked me when I would go out to feed that thing and quickly open the hutch door, throw in the food, make sure the water was fresh and lock the door shut. All the while that rabbit, almost motionless, would follow me with it's small beady red eyes. It glared at me as if to say; "Yeah, and you aren't stuck in a cage freezing your arse off. You get to go inside where it is warm and cozy and there are fresh baked cookies." As I would turn my back I could almost feel those evil red eyes burning into my back. Well, I did get to go inside where it was warm and cozy but the fresh baked cookies was a stretch.
One particularly windy and freezing cold night, K. had gone to some school event or other, it was getting late and I thought I better go out and feed the bunny while I was thinking of it as I knew she had not done it the night before. I grabbed my jacket, put up the hood and ventured out back against the elements. As I approached the hutch, true to from, the rabbit was glaring at me in a motionless state. I opened the door to put the food in. THUNK! The rabbit fell completly over. The old bloated furry nasty beady eyed fluffy had frozen to death.
I hurridly shut the hutch and out of force of habit locked it too. I turned and ran back into the house feeling totally remorseful about that poor thing for about a second and feeling totally grossed out by it. Then the practical side of parenting kicked in. Now what was I going to do with that big old dead rabbit body? Save it for spring so K. could give it a proper burial? I think not. The next day happened to be trash pick-up day. I put my jacket back on, grabbed a couple of trash bags and went back out to the hutch. Making sure not to touch the carcass, I used one trash bag to scoop up the animal and the other to deposit it in. Then I lugged that heavy bag to the waste container and put it out on the curb for pick up. My most vivid recollection of that experience was the weight of that dead bunny. It was surprisingly heavy.
Needless to say, a couple of days went by before K. inquired about feeding the bunny and I had to gently inform her that it had passed away. I can't recall if I was truthful about it's disposal but I'm guessing that I sugar coated it in some way to soften the blow.
And that my freinds is the tale of our bunny. Please don't sic (sp?) the animal rights activists on me. The demise of the rabbit was not intentional but let this be a lesson to all of you parents out there who think it would be nice to get your child a bunny for a pet. Think twice.
My kids were always begging for pets when they were growing up. As a single parent I resisted their relentless nagging though because I had a hard enough time just keeping up with their needs and I was wise enough to know that after the novelty of a pet wore off I would be the one stuck with providing the pet care. I knew myself well enough to know that it would be easier just to do the feeding, walking, letting out myself than to insist that my kids do it . . . follow through on the chores with them has always been difficult for me to manage.
Over the course of time, we did end up with some small pets; the usual gold fish or two (if they count), Janet and Michael Jackson (the parakeets), Penny and Nickel (the hedgehogs that ended up making small change), a newt (lizard type thing that we brought back from Florida one year), a few gerbils, a scorpion and a bunny (whose name I can no longer remember.)
I can't remember why I finally gave in and let K. have the bunny, but I did. True to course, it started out small and cute and furry and soft but in no time flat that bunny grew big and fat and mean. I would grow big and fat and mean too if I were kept in a cage all day. I mean, I really don't blame the poor thing. We would let it out loose once in a while but that darn thing got pretty good at eluding our efforts to recapture it when it was time to put it back into it's cage. Then, it just got too stinky to keep in the house.
We had a very large rabbit hutch that had been given to us. We kept it outside up against the backside of the house. I felt better when we moved the bunny there in the fall. After all, the cage was bigger and the bunny could enjoy the fall breezes and fresh outdoor air.
The problem was that since the bunny was out of sight, it was sort of out of mind. I reminded K. on a daily basis to go and feed it but I'm sure there were times when she missed a feeding. As fall turned to winter, I wondered if the bunny could withstand the Michigan snow and cold but from all accounts I was told that it could. Sometimes I would go out and feed that poor bunny instead of K. and it seemed to be thriving despite the winter weather. As a matter of fact that rabbit (by now bunny seems too diminuative of a term to use on it) seemed to have not only grown a thick furry winter coat, but it looked like it had put on layers of fat to keep warm as well. The gosh darn thing almost looked like it had grown as big as a buddah bunny. It really had just grown huge and wasn't the least bit cute anymore.
I have to say that my conscience pricked me when I would go out to feed that thing and quickly open the hutch door, throw in the food, make sure the water was fresh and lock the door shut. All the while that rabbit, almost motionless, would follow me with it's small beady red eyes. It glared at me as if to say; "Yeah, and you aren't stuck in a cage freezing your arse off. You get to go inside where it is warm and cozy and there are fresh baked cookies." As I would turn my back I could almost feel those evil red eyes burning into my back. Well, I did get to go inside where it was warm and cozy but the fresh baked cookies was a stretch.
One particularly windy and freezing cold night, K. had gone to some school event or other, it was getting late and I thought I better go out and feed the bunny while I was thinking of it as I knew she had not done it the night before. I grabbed my jacket, put up the hood and ventured out back against the elements. As I approached the hutch, true to from, the rabbit was glaring at me in a motionless state. I opened the door to put the food in. THUNK! The rabbit fell completly over. The old bloated furry nasty beady eyed fluffy had frozen to death.
I hurridly shut the hutch and out of force of habit locked it too. I turned and ran back into the house feeling totally remorseful about that poor thing for about a second and feeling totally grossed out by it. Then the practical side of parenting kicked in. Now what was I going to do with that big old dead rabbit body? Save it for spring so K. could give it a proper burial? I think not. The next day happened to be trash pick-up day. I put my jacket back on, grabbed a couple of trash bags and went back out to the hutch. Making sure not to touch the carcass, I used one trash bag to scoop up the animal and the other to deposit it in. Then I lugged that heavy bag to the waste container and put it out on the curb for pick up. My most vivid recollection of that experience was the weight of that dead bunny. It was surprisingly heavy.
Needless to say, a couple of days went by before K. inquired about feeding the bunny and I had to gently inform her that it had passed away. I can't recall if I was truthful about it's disposal but I'm guessing that I sugar coated it in some way to soften the blow.
And that my freinds is the tale of our bunny. Please don't sic (sp?) the animal rights activists on me. The demise of the rabbit was not intentional but let this be a lesson to all of you parents out there who think it would be nice to get your child a bunny for a pet. Think twice.
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