|You probably think this is cute, don't you? |
You obviously don't garden in Ks. If you did, you would
see this photo as an unspeakable outrage
(and it's probably the last daisy in the garden, too add insult to injury).
Things I overheard in my car this week, while driving the girls and their friends around:
* "I hate that girl." "Oh, right, me too, I totally hate her." "Wait, who are we talking about?" *
* "I went to my closet today and discovered that my mom shrunk all my clothes in the laundry. Either that or my mom got mixed up and sorted all my normal size clothes with my little sister's clothes." (I spoke up and asked this girl if it was possible that she had a growth spurt lately, and she vehemently denied any such possibility). The same group of girls had a discussion about how this very same mysterious clothing event had also happened from them from time to time. They also discussed elbow and knee pain that they were all experiencing lately, about thirty minutes later, and then went back to bemoaning their mother's organizational skills with regards to laundry. *
* "Why can't I go out? It's summer, I'm supposed to have fun."
"Ok, make sure you check in. Have fun."
"I can't believe you. You don't want me to have fun."
"I already said yes. Why are we arguing?"
"Mom, you neeeevvveerrrr let meeeeeee do aaaaaanythiiiiiing."
"Stop. Listen to my words."
"Never. You never want me to be happy."
"My. Words. Can. You. Hear. Them?"
(Taking her enraged but still sweet face in my hands and speaking two inches from her nose)
"You. Can. Go. Please. Check. In. As. Usual."
"Oh. Ok. Alright. Jeez. You're so weird, Mom." *
I'm taking the above conversations, and twenty others too absurd to be mentioned, as proof that the heat has boiled our brains. It's so miserably hot. One of my roses has died, and another is trying to commit suicide. Some of the roses bloom but most burn and die in bud form. I get up at five am to water the plants for an hour, but it doesn't seem to make a big difference. My garden looks so bleak. Even the day lilies look fried, and they're usually impossible to kill and impervious to the sun. The sunflowers are very tall and green, but no blooms. On the plus side, I might be winning the bunny war (maybe, possibly, I'm afraid to hope because the buns have crushed my spirit). The hoppity, adorable bunnies have mowed most of my garden down to the ground this year. When they get done eating the flowers, leaves and stems, they've been digging out the roots and eating that too. I've replanted Shasta daisies five times. Group six consists of four little scraggly plants that haven't bloomed yet, but they're still there, because I might have found a bunBgone method that actually works. For the record, Liquid Fence, Rodent Spray, garlic powder, chili powder, rotten eggs, hot sauce, cat hair, dog hair, human hair, ground pepper, blood meal, and fox urine don't work, at least not with the incredibly aggressive bully buns that are fixated on my yard. I bought a plastic owl in the organic section of the garden store, only because it came with a money back guarantee, but I didn't expect it to work. I shouldn't say this out loud, because the bunnies might be listening (they're a lot more organized than you would believe) but this fake owl has kept the yard bunny free for two weeks. I have to move it around every other day, but it seems to be working. Fingers crossed.
Final score: hippityhoppity buns- 108 plants me (and the owl) -4plants
(For the record, I resent these adorable animals turning me from a happy, smiling gardener into a modern Mr. MacGregor.)
In keeping with the weird, (but probably not in a way that obvious or apparent to other people) really kind of weird week, I watched a really scary movie from beginning to end, voluntarily. I don't like scary movies. I have no problem suspending my disbelief. It all seems real and possible and I just don't watch them because I know from experience that I will take the movie way too seriously. It averages out to about one every five, sometimes more, years. Movies like The Others, or The Sixth Sense don't truly, seriously bother or frighten me, I don't consider them horrific horror. This movie, Insidious absolutely bothered and frightened me. My stomach actually hurt while I was watching it.
Maybe the movie got to me because the one of the main characters is a stay at home mom. Or maybe because one of the characters is a baby. One of the clues that something bad is about to happen is when the baby starts crying. The baby cries off and on through the first half of the movie. She cries and cries. And cries. I'd rather be punched in the face repeatedly than listen to a baby cry for too long. Maybe the movie got to me because the plot seemed believable to me. Even when things are chaotic or messy, my house feels always feels cozy. When I'm alone and doing dishes and listening to the radio, life is sweet, not scary. But I've had two times in my life as a SAHM, where the house suddenly felt too quiet, like the walls were holding their breath, and the pets stood up and whined at the stairs and the hair stood up on my arms. It sounds like just another homemaker gone mad stories, but even today it scares me to remember when it happened.
|My inner cat was freaked with a capital F.|
This movie is scary the way the best horror movies are scary; there's no gore or violence, there's just insane tension that builds and builds and wait, what's that sound coming through the baby monitor during naptime, it sounds like a man whispering angrily, and wait a minute what was that thing in the corner of the bedroom, that can't be what I thought it was and your mind is only too happy to play along, because a chance like this to destroy you only comes along once every five years, did you really think your brain would let an opportunity like this slip away and by the time you understand what is really going on, well. It's. Terrifying.
I watched it with the girls and their friends, and they were quite pleased that I was whimpering and biting a pillow throughout the film. They felt quite brave and delighted in laughing at me. I don't mind, as long as I don't have to watch another scary movie until 2016, which is how long it will take me to forget that I don't watch scary movies.