If I Were Gutsier...

Five things I wish I had the guts to do...

1- Get a tattoo. The main reason I've never done it isn't a needle thing, it's a Mark thing. He hates them. Like, hates them. So I know it'll never fly. But if the day ever comes when he thinks it might be kinda sexy or kinda cool, it's happening. I don't know what I want or where I would get it, but I love the idea of getting inked with something that's the perfect combination of artsy and meaningful. (In the meantime I'm also halfway attempting to get him on board with a nose ring. I secretly think I could totally pull it off.) (It'll also never happen.)

2- Do zumba. I have been to a knockoff poor-man's-zumba class and it kind of kicked my ass. Those people are intimidating! With their workout clothes! And their dancing! And their pretty sweating! True story, folks: I am notsomuch pretty at the sweating. I wish I were the kind of person who could throw caution to the wind and just join into something I don't know, and not care how dumb I look.  In many situations, I am that person. But not when it comes to fancy latin dance workouts. Nope.

3- Eat weird buggy things. Don't get me wrong, I am not a picky eater. I'll try almost anything new, even in foreign countries where the food isn't exactly identifiable. I like fancy food and junk food. Again: not picky. But I can't eat weird things.  Like... bugs. And goat brains. And eyeball juice. And I am very sure that this ability is the only thing standing between me and a Survivor championship, or a million bucks for winning The Amazing Race. Actually, for a million bucks, I could totally choke down goat brains or eyeball juice. But having to eat a bug (or, let's be honest, just let one crawl on me without freaking the eff out) is way past what I have the guts to do. Just thinking about it, I'm fighting the urge to run into the bathroom and vom. I know, I know, I wouldn't be able to choke it down.

4- Cut my hair super short. Do you know how much I wish I could pull off a cute celebrity short-but-girlie look? A lot. But... I can't. I went down that road in like seventh grade and the results were not pretty. (Being called a boy, consistently, was actually the least of the problems.) My hair is flat and straight and stringy and basically everything you don't want it to be when you're trying to pull of short and textured and trendy. Oh and also I think it might make my face look fat. Someday I will be old enough that I will have to be brave enough for shorter hair (longish hair on older women? not my favorite) but for now, I will stay scared and boring with my coif.


5- Write a book. If I had a nickel for every time Mark or my mom told me to write something, I would go on vacation or something. And not write. Because here's the thing(s): Marky- writers aren't rich. It's really really rare for a writer to make a ton of money at it. True story. And mom- I'm not that good. I know you think so, because I'm your kid, and I admit that I do have a propensity to put down words in pretty much the exact order and sense that I'd say them or think them, which I know I'm lucky to be able to do. But there are really really good and talented writers out there. I don't think I have the bravery to try to be one of them. If I ever have a truly brilliant idea though, or something real to say, I just might try... Isn't this everyone's secret dream they wish they were brave enough to do?

Boxelder Nightmare

So the newest homeowner adventure we've been battling recently is the discovery that we're cohabiting with a bunch of boxelder bugs. And by bunch, I mean like... tens of thousands of boxelder bugs.  Do you know boxelder bugs?  I didn't know them til we moved here.  They look like this:

like roaches. with red trim. oh and they fly.
all togther now: *ew*

You might remember from Nathan's tick story that I'm not in love with bugs. That they make me cry.  And throw up.  And feel all panicky inside (and out). I'm a smart rational confident adult, but I do not do bugs.

We had noticed them outside the house sometimes, but didn't pay them any particular notice. Just another of the bajillions of bugs that crawl on our planet that I try not to think about too much.  Then a few weeks ago I saw one on Charlotte's bedroom wall and (calmly, I swear) asked Mark to kill it. But then we saw another.  And another. And pretty soon we had killed about forty. It was not a good start to date night.

Several days, several google hours, and one visit from our pest people later, we had more info.  Boxelder bugs, attracted to boxelder trees (note to self: find all boxelder trees in our neighborhood and cut them down), don't bite or eat plants, love warmth and sunshine. 

So they're mostly harmless except that as the weather gets cooler and they have a hard time finding their warmth and sunshine outside, they think they should move into our house to get it.

HA HA NO.

Our pest people brought a big truck and motor and spray system and ladders and attacked the house with poison.  They were liberal in the application. I told them I was more freaked out by the bugs than the chemicals.  I might or might not have stood outside crying and saying die mother f-ers while they were spraying.  (Not my finest housewife moment.) (Bugs bring out the worst best of my profanity abilities.)

(I also might or might not have spent an afternoon huddled in the kids' bathroom with two terrified children and one hungry baby after bugs were spotted in all their bedrooms and naptime just wasn't happening.  That day we were four out of four for people at our house crying.  Not my finest mommy moment.)

Charlotte's bedroom window. This is the stuff of horror films.

So basically they swarm around the southwest side of our house (the bonus room downstairs and Charlotte's room upstairs), where there is lots of sun in the afternoon.  And then come nightfall, they apparently find ways into the house to keep warm.  Dormer closets, crawl spaces, window frames, our baby's bedroom. Their numbers do seem smaller now, but I'm not sure whether that's because the spray was effective or they're just staying in the house walls now.

Excuse me while I throw up.  Again.