The Case of the FLS

I mean it, as tired as I am, I'm gonna force myself to try to do some of the things I normally do (specifically, write in this blog) just to regain a smidgen of the pattern my life once had. You know, I used to be predictable. I was organized, predictable, and one to-do list short of boring. I used to wave the flag of sameness, chanting the old adage, "If it ain't broke, don't fix it." Different = Bad, that's all there was to it.

But, now there's Rain. Rain is all about making each day different and (*cringe*) new. So, as expected, I'm having trouble adjusting.

...

OK, so I'm having a huff n' puff because I'm sleep-deprived. I know this feeling will pass. I just get bitter about my old printed schedules with lists that I used to check off as I completed tasks (seriously)--where, oh where, have they gone? Check the diaper pail, right?

BUT, I'm gonna make my little blog entry today, even if my eyes twitch and go pink. Now, who's ready for fun, darn it?

(silence)

I know, I'm frightening you all away. Sorry, I had a pity party and had everyone come. *Deep breath* Re-focus. Remember, Self: I am not the enemy. My baby is not the enemy. My husband is not the enemy. The enemy is ...

Nature.

The Case of the Four-Legged Stranger

Our apartment has been mosquito-free for one week. I had a couple of ants try to start a hotel in my bathroom, but I quickly showed them the dangers of a porcelain swimming pool. Flush! Anyway, so the other day I was folding laundry on the couch. I accidentally dropped some items behind the couch, but I decided I'd pick them up later when I was finished folding. Of course, I fell asleep shortly after and had to be led to bed by Tim (lately, this has become routine).

The next day, I brought the laundry I had left folded on the couch into our bedroom. I laid them on the bed to sort where they should all go. I put away the stacks while I chatted with Rain about the virtues of a well-folded T-shirt. Rain was lying on our bed, and as has been the case for a week, shoving her toys--and everything else--into her mouth. Just then, I remembered the items I had dropped behind the couch. So, I went to the living room, scooped up the last of the laundry I had left behind, and tossed the missing items onto the pile.

I dumped it on our bed. The second I dropped the pile, Rain grabbed the items from the floor to shove into her mouth. Out shot a lizard.

For the love of all that's good!" I grabbed Rain, shrieked, and jumped (not in that order). I ran to the living room, sat Rain in her baby chair, and grabbed the largest vase I had. I raced back to the bed. I slammed the upside down vase onto the stack of socks I had seen the lizard run under. Ha!

With great care, I slid each sock from under the vase, hoping to have a better look at my prey. Three socks later, I still had no visual. I removed all the socks until I only had one left. How big would the lizard be? How was I going to get it out of the house once I had it locked in the vase alone? I pulled out the last sock.

Nothing. He must've high-tailed it (no pun intended) to a different hiding spot when I had left the room (didn't I tell you different = bad??). He was probably already under the bed by now. I picked up the pile of clothes to be sure he wasn't in there.

He sprang out, of course. He scurried to the edge of the bed and fell off. I--with unusual precision--jumped to the side and trapped him under the vase. Woo-hoo! "We don't allow mosquitoes in this apartment, and we don't take lizards, either (even if you do resemble the GEICO guy)!"

I proudly told Rain of Mommy's conquest. I even told her, for good sportsmanship, I'd release the little guy back into the wild (well, my front porch, anyway).

I was true to my word. I took my little MVP (Most Vased Possession) outside and gently warned him that another infraction, namely breaking and entering, would cost him his life. A good deal, all in all.

That night, I told Tim about my newest run-in with Nature. Tim likes to photograph anything that we find in our apartment, so I'm sure he was sorrowful I hadn't kept him for a few extra hours (though more than a few bugs have died while Tim took his time snapping photos).

A few minutes later, guess who I spotted crawling on the wall by the front door?

"I can't believe it!" I said. "I warned him already!" I told Tim to hurry and get him before he got away. If I had the time, I'd go into the fiasco that happened afterwards, but let me just sum it up this way: at one point, I let out a deep sigh as Tim, holding an empty vase, said, "Well, maybe he'll eat the mosquitoes."

As we speak, I'm sure the lizard is sitting on the couch with Tim, watching CSI. Maybe I can train him to find the remote ...