Doot Doot Doo Lookin' Out My Back Door

It's been raining. And you know what that means: mud puddles.

Mud puddles filled with ticks, apparently. All three of us have found ticks on us this week. Apparently, they like the panty/boxer/diaper-line area. The chickens, apparently, are not doing their job. Apparently, we should've gotten guinea hens instead. They are solely carnivores and can consume more ticks than your average ol' egg layer. Apparently.

Unfortunately, all things in life are not so apparent. Kinda like George the Lizard when he's green and sitting in a pencil cactus outside the back door. Or like knowing what to do when you're faced with major life decisions. Doot doot doo, lookin' out my back door.

It is important to note that George (aka Jorge) was given the option of escape last weekend. At first he opted for residence in the pencil cactus, but eventually he ventured farther and farther away from the succulent, and we fear that he may have made his way into the chicken coop where he likely became Anole du jour.

But back to mud puddles ...

They're so much fun! One just can't get enough of a good mud puddle. And actually, if one should choose to spend 10 or so minutes splashing around and getting mud (and ticks) all over one's lower half, then one is not all that difficult to clean up ... as long as one's Mama simply dips one's guilty half into a bucket of rainwater.

Now, why was there a bucket of rainwater, one might ask? Well, indeed it is a pressing question.

You see, it all started on a Wednesday. It was laundry day in the Goosenest and Mama had been noticing that the spin cycle on the washing machine wasn't exactly in good working order. But on this particular Wednesday, not only were the clothes sopping wet (as usual -- no problemo, just crank up the dryer heat a little and don't worry if you're pants come out too short), but also they were still powdery. As in washing-detergent powdery. So Sears was called and then a cheaper repair center was called and then they got lost trying to find us, and finally a nice man in a navy blue jumpsuit came out and walked away with $100 in his pocket and a tick on his ankle. What is it with us and ticks?

So during the time that the washer was broken, The Dad and The Macy washed out clothes by hand. Hence, the bucket in the yard. Hence, a rainwater bath used to cleanse A Goose's Lower Half. Doot doot doo, lookin' out my back door.

And speaking of the Grandparental visit ...

That photo is the only proof thereof. Mama forgot to take pictures. Mama's been a little stressed out lately and she forgets things easily. Could it be the job search? The rabies outbreak in the local skunk population? The ticks? The unexplained 104 degree fever last Sunday, followed by the abdominal rash, followed by the head injury (involving a cart, mama's heel, and blacktop), followed by the red raccoon eye circles? And all accompanied by an incessant whining sound?

Doot doot doo, lookin' out my back door.

The years are short, but the moments are long. Sometimes.

And sometimes they're so fleeting. Like earlier today when the three of us were playing indoor basketball and then The Dad and I started asking for kisses and then The Goose started going back and forth between us doling out smooches as if they were high fives, or "cheers" toasts with glasses of milk, or any other everyday, mundane activity. As if tears weren't rolling down my cheeks.

Macy & Grandaddy got a good little taste of this when they were here last weekend. On Friday night, The Dad and I went to a wedding and Macy & G-diddy fed, bathed, and put down The Goose. During their spaghetti dinner (specially made by Mama with Laura's lean ground beef and a jar of Paul Newman's spaghetti sauce -- another delicious, and relatively healthy/low-fat meal (not that anyone's counting)), The Goose reached out his hands to both of them in an attempt to get The Heathen Grandparents to at least thank the Good Lord for the rations. It's been reported that they agreed to this endeavor and said "God is great, God is good ... " I know Macy, for one, won't forget that.

Let's see ... what else ...

• Did I once say that he was peeing in the potty 50% of the time? Hmm. That may have been a bit of an overstatement. But today he did stand up on the toilet seat and pee (mostly) into the bowl. Who needs percentages anyway?
• Did you hear? There's a new way to reply negatively to any question: raise up one shoulder, tilt your head sideways toward the lifted shoulder, and emit a clipped "ah" sound with a short "a" vowel as in the word "cat."
• Did someone really name the age around the 24-month mark "Terrible Twos"? And did it really catch on? Because I just can't figure it out. It seems easy enough to me, except for the uncontrollable curiosity, the iron-ore will, and the preference to either be neckid or always have on fire truck pajama bottoms.

Doot doot doo, lookin' out my back door.

Click a photo for more, and have a great weekend.