2 and a half

Butter and the armoire

This is f-ing gross.

Here's a normal looking doll house armoire. Something that might have, say, doll clothing in it, or perhaps jewels or some other small item my girls like to hoard.

Open sesame and... a bar of butter. Not just any butter, but organic unsalted butter - the kind that, you know, little girls 3 years of age like to eat apparently. Oh, and keep in their armoires. 

Clearly it was a big bite. Put some in your armoire today.

Happy Thanksgiving, from Barry and... oh yeah, the rest of us too

Black Widow, part II

My last post was my first shot at an infographic. Not sure why finding a Black Widow in our garage inspired me to try doing one but it did. Perhaps my fear of spiders (I hate them) had some perverse inspirational effect, or it may have just been that it had to happen at some point and this was that point. Regardless, though, the lackluster response from my (small) base of readers means that I either did a crappy job or that nobody cares about the possibility that our house could be infested with Black Widows.

On that latter point, it may be true. Upon returning home from dinner this evening, as we were walking up the stairs from the garage into our house, I noticed another 8-legged creature hanging from the underside of the lip of one of the stairs. He was a large, rather-disgusting looking brown spider - the kind that would make a big mess if you squished him. But then, as I glanced to the left, I noticed another spider hanging from the underside of a ridge of drywall that runs parallel to the floor.

Another Black Widow. But this was no baby like the one I found before. No, this one had to be the mama, based on the size of her. It gave me the chills just looking at her. My wife and little girls were all with me and we weren't sure whether to proceed up the stairs as we normally would or wait, for fear the spider might attack us. It likely wouldn't - it had probably been there, inches from our legs and feet, for days or weeks as we used those stairs, watching us carefully through its 8 beady little eyes.

Yuck.

My wife, who is much braver than I am, went back out to capture the thing and put it in a jar with our other specimen (the one you see in my infographic and which, amazingly, is still alive). But she came back inside with nothing, stating that the spider had retreated into a crack behind the drywall, which makes me cringe even more. Is there a giant nest of those things behind our wall, pulsating as little babies prepare to emerge from their eggs?? (I'm getting the hebejebes just writing this.) Perhaps. And that wall just happens to be adjacent to our pantry on the inside of the house. Could they even find a way through?

Time to call the Orkin man, if you ask me. I grabbed the Raid and went out to the garage to do some preliminary pest control. The Raid we have isn't for spiders, per se, but the labeling on the back says it works for spiders too, so I went out to do some damage. The brown spider, who was still in the same spot, didn't have a chance. The Black Widow was clearly smarter and had hidden, but I sprayed along the entire ridge of drywall where she had been hanging. And then, for good measure, I took to the other cracks and seams in the garage. I probably didn't get rid of them, but I definitely sent a signal. 

 

 

Black Widow

Sunglasses disaster

Note to self: Don't leave your sunglasses on the table on the back patio after doing yard work, knowing full well that your dog likes to hop up there on that table and lie around, and that if he does so he may find whatever is up there and chew it to shreds.

Witness the following diagram, which I have carefully laid out to illustrate the carnage that happened to me:

Shocking, isn't it? I might as well have set fire to two $100 bills. 

Imagine that you're walking through the yard, doing the job that every dog owner must do which is scooping up poop. You come across a brown object that looks like poop, but no - it's the pair of sunglasses that you lost two weeks ago. And they don't look like sunglasses any longer. They look like the picture above.

That was me, although I suspected Barry had gotten ahold of them but just couldn't come to terms with it until I knew for sure.

I might have to go with a pair of gas station sunglasses from now on.

How to fry your microwave

1. Take a plastic bowl - preferably one that's dense and designed to be indestructible, such as a sturdy bowl from a children's play kitchen set

2. Place bowl in microwave

3. Set microwave to 29:00 (that's minutes, not seconds)

4. Press start

5. Wait for a bit

After about 13 minutes you'll start to notice a noxious odor permeating your kitchen. At that point your microwave is probably toast so you can press the stop button. But, if you're feeling adventurous, let it run the full 29 minutes to see if things catch on fire. Either way, your microwave is unlikely to survive.

When you open the microwave door, DO NOT TOUCH THE BOWL. It might be smoking and look slightly charred and you'll probably want to toss it in the sink to cool it off, but you'll suffer severe burns by doing so. Instead, wait, and while you're waiting, open doors and windows and turn on the kitchen fan if one is available. If you must grab the bowl, use oven mitts. Oh, and keep kids away. Better yet, take them outside.

The next day, try to use your microwave. It might make sound but it won't work. Mission accomplished.

If you think I made this up, I didn't. Audrey did this to our Kitchen Aid, which now sits dead inside its custom-designed slot in our cabinetry. For a week or so we tried to make do, but using the stove or oven to heat up milk and other basic items became a hassle so now a new microwave is taking up several square feet of valuable counter space.

We're lucky, of course, that we discovered what was going on at 13 minutes, otherwise the house could've burned down.

One piece of advice: if your microwave has a children's lock available on the key pad, use it.

Ice rink

Today is the first day of summer so naturally we're talking about ice rinks. Or, their closest substitute.

We were in the backyard eating dinner and fighting off mosquitoes when Audrey exclaimed from the kitchen that Grace had dumped her bottle of Bubble Oodles on the hardwood floor. No big deal, I thought at first, hoping she didn't dump all of it. But when I heard a panicky cry and ran into the house, there was Grace, wriggling around in a massive pool of bubble solution. She struggled to stand up, like a newborn foal unable to get her footing. The surface was as slick as ice, and each time she tried to get up she fell again and cried harder.

I picked her up just as Audrey decided it looked like fun. She ran into the slick and immediately lost her footing and crashed to the floor. I expected tears but she laughed instead, getting up and trying to slide on her feet but then crashing again. It had to hurt and her head narrowly missed the corner of a drawer that protruded from the side. I demanded that she stop. The last thing I needed was a trip to the hospital with two little girls who had cracked their heads open.

I set Grace down to grab Audrey but Grace immediately ran back to the slippery mess, ostensibly forgetting the trauma she experienced moments earlier. Thump! Back on the floor. Both girls were covered in dribbling, gooey bubble solution by now. Think slightly runnier slime from Ghostbusters. If I didn't stop it all soon the encroaching solution would have me going down next.

My wife volunteered to take them for a bath since it was bath night anyway, which alleviated things - I was able to wipe Grace off enough where she could walk on dry flooring while Suzanne took Audrey upstairs. I followed, plopping Grace down in the bathroom so that I could return downstairs to clean up the mess.

You'd think the floor would be shiny after the cleanup but instead it has a dull, slightly sticky film on it. It will need a good mopping. 

No more ice rinks in the house.

Hiding

Grace loves to hide. It's her thing right now. I don't know why. I tried to look online for the psychology behind it but if you search online for "why do kids like to hide" you get all sorts of sophisticated but wrong-headed results. A few of the top ones: "do you hide treats from your kids?," "why women hide behind their children on Facebook" and "my kids want to hide their identity." What? Where's the innocence?

Anyway, I used to hide when I was a kid. But I think I was playing hide-and-seek at age 6 or something. Actually I recall I played hide-and-seek pretty much all the way through elementary school with my neighborhood friends, but that's neither here nor there. Grace likes to hide at 1 and a half. And she'll pick a good spot and remain completely silent.

The scenario might play out like this: Grace hides behind the large speaker in the corner of our living room. We'll notice she's not around and will start calling for her and will hear nothing in response. So we'll begin thinking she must just not hear us but, as we look around, nothing. Our heart rates start to pick up a bit but we know Grace *must* be around somewhere. Still nothing. Then a slight panic. Did she escape through the front door? Is she in the street? Did she wander down the block? Our search turns into a scramble and then, suddenly, one of us eyes her. "Grace!" we exclaim, happy and relieved and confused and stressed and frustrated and angry, all at once. Meanwhile, she thinks it's quite funny.

Growing up I remember my sister went to the neighbor's house and hid behind some sort of chair, as I recall. She may have been somewhat older than Grace, but toddler at most. Hours went by and, when no one could find her, the police were called. I don't recall who found her or when, but it caused lots of gray hairs for my parents, I'm sure.

What is the psychology of hiding? Does it make one feel safe? Does it make one feel clever? Is it just fun? Thinking back to when I used to hide behind a box in our storage room for hide-and-seek, I think I felt like I had escaped from things for a moment. It was peaceful. But there was suspense about being found. So it was also fun. And then it got boring if nobody found me, which sometimes happened. And then I wanted to be found.

When Grace hides it's not all bad. Grace's and Audrey's occasional game at bed time is to hide in one of their closets. Grace will announce, "I wah hide!" and will back herself in there and close the double doors, her fingers disappearing into the closet at the last moment. Audrey will join her and tell us to go count and then find them. Somehow her knowing that we know where she and Grace are hiding doesn't matter - it's when we "find" them that's fun. They'll have broad smiles and then Grace will begin to shut the doors again, eager to hide again.

Scrub brush

Only when one has small children does one find a kitchen brush in his bed. 

I'm not sure what Grace had in mind when she carried this object upstairs and dispatched it among the covers, but I don't want a prickly scrubbing brush that contains bits of scrubbed food in the same place I sleep. Number one, it's prickly, and number two, it's gross. But there it was, waiting for me as I laid down.

I'm sure Grace had her reasons for bringing it up there - maybe she's trying to tell me something about my hygiene? - but the other question that naturally comes to mind is: How did she get the brush in the first place? After all, it sits atop a counter that is maybe twice her height, and sits back a bit as well. Did she scale the cabinets like her older sister sometimes does? Did she use the learning tower or a small stool to assist? Even so, it would still seem difficult.

When it gets quiet

When it gets quiet, something is up.

Take Audrey and her friend Alexa. They have more fun together than Audrey does with most of her other friends and, as a result, tend to make lots of noise. You know - running around chasing each other, climbing on furniture, yelling and screaming - the sort of thing that toddlers do together.

But while we were eating dinner at Alexa's parent's house this evening suddenly the background noise stopped. Sure - Grace was on the floor playing with blocks and making a small racket but the noise upstairs stopped. In the midst of our conversation during dinner I noticed it, but, seeing as how we were talking and all, I figured it wasn't worth interrupting anyone.

When Audrey came down the stairs her mouth was full of something; when I asked her what it was she opened her mouth and could barely keep the mushed-up mass of brown, melted chocolate from spilling out of her mouth. "I'm eating choclllllit," stammered Audrey.

As if I didn't know.

She and Alexa had been upstairs getting into Alexa's candy stash. By her own account, Audrey had one hard candy and shared three Hershey's Kisses with Alexa. But my wife told me later that Alexa's mom said at least 10 chocolates were missing from the bag which means Audrey very well could have had 5 or so, and perhaps a lot more if Alexa wasn't matching her 1 for 1.

That's on top of a generous dessert of brownies and ice cream.

Surprisingly neither one was overly hyper but perhaps it's because they spent all their energy playing together.

Noise good, quiet bad.

Jewelry

If you have little girls, keep your jewelry locked up. Here's why.

Now that she is tall enough to reach it, Audrey loves to mess around in Mommy's jewelry drawer and doesn't distinguish between things that cost say, $10, and things that cost, um, quite a bit more. Like Suzanne's wedding band for example. It disappeared the other day and Suzanne asked me to stay on the lookout. Normally I'd say "no problem" but not when it comes to the wedding band. I'd find it then and there.

We both knew Audrey had been into the jewelry drawer earlier. She had just woken from a nap and I asked her, "Have you seen Mommy's ring?" She looked at me sleepily and then said with nonchalance, "Yes, I was playing with it."

I looked over at Suzanne and I think we were were both nervous about what she might say next. "Can you tell Daddy where it is?" I asked, smiling. "Sure," she said, beginning to walk down the hall to show me. "I put it in my laundry underneath all the dirty clothes." Generally one would pause here to wonder why on earth THAT particular location would occur to her as a place to stash a ring. But I was just glad she remembered where it was. 

But when we got to the laundry basket it was empty - no clothes and no ring. "Well, I KNOW I put it in here..." said Audrey. I looked around on the floor but saw nothing. Then Suzanne recalled, "I just did all her laundry! Let me go check the washer and dryer." I still had hope but was thinking that finding the ring in a pile of clothes would be like searching for a needle in a haystack. Not to mention the danger of all the drains and pipes and other nooks and crannies of a typical laundry room.

Moments later Suzanne walked back in smiling. "Here it is!" she announced as she showed the ring to us. "It was in the bottom of the washer." 

We smiled at Audrey because she had really helped us find it. I mean, who would have thought to look in the washer?? That ring could have been in there for days or even weeks.

Clearly we need to do something asap about safeguarding Suzanne's jewelry, but at least we had found it, and at least it was sparkly and clean.