Monday, September 08, 2008

Life Most Mysterious

First off, is it wrong that I go through most of my days planning how I'm going to blog about whatever it is that's going on? Does that just mean that I am truly back in the saddle? Does it mean I am a dedicated, intrepid blogger? Or does it mean I should really go and get myself a life or a suitable facsimile thereof? I've decided almost immediately after asking the question that it's kind of like eating sausage: don't look closely or ask questions!

Now then, something preposterous is going on here. I think those windows I've put up in my kitchen are indeed portals to another dimension and my family has somehow fallen into it. This morning, for half a second, I literally pondered whether I was dreaming.

My house? Is tidy. Our clothes? Are clean. My husband? Left for work on time having gotten a good night's sleep and eaten a home-cooked breakfast. My children? Were early for school (oh, yes, it's true) also after having eaten a hot, home-cooked breakfast. Get this: Man-Cub was awake before I was and sitting on the couch, fully dressed with a cherubic smile by the time I came down the stairs. And I? Am rested, content, dressed and cheerful, though a little perplexed and suspicious that Man-Cub may be sneaking my thyroid pills.

It's not even 2:00 and I've stripped and made the beds, done 2 loads of laundry, hung one load out on the line, done the grocery shopping, taken my mother to the airport, and now I have some time to blog and enjoy a slice of my rather healthy homemade pumpkin bread with a cup of tea.

WHAT IS GOING ON HERE? Is it too audacious of me to hope that this could last, that this could be permanent? That all my adult life I wasn't battling depression or laziness, wasn't trying hard enough or having enough faith, but simply had an underactive thyroid? It seems too good to be true...

Oh dear. What if I turn into one of those horribly obnoxious women? You know, those perky, perfect housewives who make all their own bread (after harvesting and grinding their own wheat, of course), sew all their children's clothes (after spinning the wool shorn from their very own sheep, of course), keep their houses white-glove clean, head the PTA, Blood Drive and local Girl Scout Unit, and run a few 5ks a year? What if I become an insufferable Alpha Mom?


Oh, I needed that! Okay, I feel better now. Honestly, can you see me going near a sheep? Smelly.

Now that I've got that off my chest, let me share a mystery that has been confounding us for a week now. No, not the mystery of that vile song, I Kissed a Girl, being stuck in my head all week (thank you, Plato's Closet, for subjecting us to that song twice while we were shopping there last Wednesday. I, and all the other mothers of the many young teen girls who shop there are most grateful). I refer, instead, to the mystery of the dying bee-like organisms on our kitchen porch.

Every night, late into the night, there are hordes of enormous winged insects that look very much like giant bees, flying around our porch light. Every morning there are a dozen of them dead on the porch floor. They're like lemmings; they won't stop this behavior even though it seems to lead to certain death. We don't know what they are, why they're out at night and why they are dying with such predictable regularity. I've tried looking them up online, but the only info I can find says I'm a doofus for thinking they're members of the bee family when they're actually moths, duh. I haven't brought one into the house and checked under a magnifying glass or anything (cause, ew, gross), but I've looked pretty closely and they do not have moth bodies or wings. These same insects made a mass grave in Redheaded Snippet's bedroom window, between the screen and the storm window, about 2 years ago. The buzzing used to drive her crazy. What are they and what are they doing here???

Okay, I'm purged now and I feel sooooo much better. But it's time to switch some more laundry and take my sweet-smelling sheets off the line so I must be off.

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