Again, the "chillin'" on my mood is because I'm COLD. Today was just damp and cold and rather dreary. Perfect fall weather, but I guess I'm just not used to it because I walked around in my "granny sweater" and sweats all day, constantly checking the kids' hands to see if they were cold, bitching about my own hands being cold and checking the thermostat. Man, I love winter.
Funny story: I teasingly call my husband "bitch" a lot. He's my "trash bitch" when the trash needs taken out and burned. The "light bitch" when a lightbulb has burned out. "Clothes bitch" when he has clean uniforms to hang up and I'm tired of moving them off the bed at night and back on again in the morning, but I simply refuse to do more than launder them. Anyway, I was cold all evening and had been curled up on the couch in a blanket when I heard him pull in. I went to the door and upon seeing no children around I said, "Get in here and build a fire, bitch!" Well, my sneaky near-3-year-old was right behind me and said, "Yeah, BITCH, build momma a fire!" Me and my big mouth. Of course, it was hilarious funny but being a parent I couldn't laugh, when this evening Abby came up front holding a blanket out at arm's length and said "Uhh Mom...the cat pissed all over this blanket." I wanted to just blurt out a big BWAH! at that, but instead I laid my head down on the edge of the cabinet, hid my face with my arms and said, "Oh Ab, please tell me you don't use the word pissed at school." She shrugged and said, "Oh my gosh no!" Whew. So she's only sailor-talking for her parents, how sweet. I really need to watch my mouth.
Speaking of cat, we brought the cat in the house today. We got her on Ab's birthday, but she's been strictly outside. Well, when I discovered on Saturday that our rodent friends had been feasting on ramen noodles in the pantry I cleaned it all out, disinfected it and put everything in Tupperware, only to find that Sunday morning they had decided that since the noodles were gone they wanted bread instead. So I told the bitch to set some traps. FINALLY he did. 2 in the pantry and 3 in the former "craft cabinet" (which is now devoid of anything but some dried up containers of play-doh and an old lunchbox). This morning there was one nasty sucker dead in a trap in the cabinet. All other traps were clear. This morning I was out here in my office when I heard one in the cabinet snap again. It wasn't checked until the kids got home and I gave them a flashlight and told them to see if there was a critter on there. Man, they had a jolly time with that. Sure enough, one more dead. When I was fixing dinner I noticed that one in the pantry was tripped but no critter was on it. I asked the kids if they had thrown something up there and accidently tripped it, but they denied it, however Abby did say she had heard it go off while she was in the utility room earlier. So when Paul got home he emptied the full trap and reset the tripped one. And what did the cat do all day? Sleep in my chair. Stupid cat. Sure glad we brought her in here to keep the mice at bay.
I started watching a new kid today. She's 16 months old. She's a very active 16 month old, too. Of course, I think they all are, I'm just out of practice. I'm used to the independent playings of 2 and 3 year olds. She's a sweetheart though, and I really enjoy having her here. Well, she made herself right at home here this morning. I was giving the cat a bath and if you've never bathed a half-grown cat, lemme tell ya, you haven't lived. I've bathed kittens before and that's okay, they don't squirm too much. Well, this little darling squirmed. Really not as much as I was expecting - I was expecting to walk out of there slightly resembling something from a Leslie Nielsen movie, know what I mean? Hair disheveled, clothing shredded, blood seeping from multiple scratch wounds...Yeah. Well, soon as she realized there was water running she started trying to walk up my arms, neck whatever she could get a claw on, but I just grabbed her in one hand around the neck, the other hand by the back feet and firmly dunked her. She sputtered, twisted and tried to escape so I dunked her again. She quit. Funny how that happens. After that she was sullenly content to be bathed. Until the one-year-old fell head first into the tub. So now I have one soapy hand on a soapy, cranky, borderline pissed-off cat and one soapy hand on the child trying to keep her from drowning and I'm screaming "PAUL GET IN HERE!!!" Fortunately he was home. Had he been gone already I would've had to let go of soapy cat and she would've shot outta that tub like a rocket and no telling where'd she have gone. Probably would've ended up under my bed to get dust bunnies in her soapy wet fur. But anyway, Paul came running and rescued the child, dried her off and then proceded to nearly collapse into laughter at the sight of me kneeling at the side of the tub, hair in my face, surrounded by squealing children, sporting a soaking wet sweatshirt. It was a Kodak moment, I'm sure.
I'm hoping that the reason the cat has slept all day isn't that she's lazy, but that she was just traumatized by the bathing experience this morning and that tomorrow I'll wake up to a pile of dead mouse carcasses and a proudly murderous cat. I'm hoping. I can always hope.