The life of the common home-maker is highly underestimated.
It is action packed;
filled with the unexpected;
and intense in trying to understand
But of late,
I have been bombarded by attacks
in unfathomable numbers.
It began with these:
But I have dealt with these favorable edibles
for several weeks now.
I will not complain.
I will not be like the children of Israel who
whined for the foods of Egypt;
but when God gave them the quail in flocks falling from the skies,
they let the meat cause them to loathe the fowl gift.
No, I love apples, and our trees have been abundant.
We adventured to go pick 7 more bushels last week
and trekked to a farm and made cider as a field trip.
I greedily kept a bushel for myself to make apple rings.
Thus, my life is this:
Beware the living cloud when you enter my kitchen.
I made the near fatal mistake of sneezing while my hands were full the other day.
The 3 fruit flies that I inhaled on the intake of that sneeze
caused quite a malfunction to the finale of that sneeze.
Yes, I have my bowl of vinegar/water/dish soap
and it's doing a great job of catching and drowning the unexpected;
but I think a bathtub full of the stuff
may be the only solution.
Be gone ye tiny stenchers of rotting fruit funkiness.
So the episode of the fleas has morphed to annoying fruit flies;
a willing trade in my mind.
But I should have had an inkling of what was to come
when my son entered the kitchen the other day with a balled up fist
"I have a new pet, Mommy. I'm going to keep him inside with us."
Expecting a worm of some shape and texture,
I leaned in close;
he opened his fist and I peered into the eight shiny eyes of a jumping spider.
(They are called "jumping spiders" because of the reaction they cause to mothers,
The weather for the next few days is supposed to get wet;
so this evening, I headed out to the line after dark
and snatched off the garments from the clothesline.
I have this secret delight in racing myself while folding the laundry.
I fold fast and furious, impressing myself with the way I can whip my hand into a sleeve,
rip it right side out,
and then shake, flip and fold it in just a few swift motions.
It's a sad thrill, I agree,
but somebody has to do the job
and I may as well feel like I'm trying to break a world record
to make a menial task go by quickly.
Yes, I was about eight pieces of clothing into my Mario Andretti race
when I was jolted by the white patch
and slight movement.
The race came to a screeching halt.
Not two pieces of clothing later,
I found another...
I reached for the nearest weapon to keep on hand.
in the deep folds of the mountain of laundry.
I gasped in horror as I realized that the clothes were crawling with these
I sifted carefully through the already folded laundry
and shuttered as one dropped out of Lillie's sweet little dress,
I was now ready for all out war,
safely shaking the clothing at full arm's length,
picking off the hidden webbing and then smashing the scurrying enemy.
I was glad that my son was asleep.
He would be in tears at my ruthlessness
to his dearly beloveds.
It is a great place to be...
for the most part.
Except when you think you see a slight movement on your sock
only to find this creature secretly laughing at your absurd shriek.
Anybody want to come finish folding it for me?
There could be a free painted pumpkin involved.
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