Myths about Rats

So, I am the proud owner of two little rats--one Dumbo rat and one Fancy rat.  My children decided that they wanted them for Christmas, and so they got them.  Well, I should say that they got two Dumbo's.  The original two were Stuart and Scabbers.  Stuart lasted 17 days before passing.  He was then replaced by one that we did not name, which is a good thing, because he died 9 days later.  He was replaced by Stuart II, who also lasted 9 days.  All three of our deceased rats were Dumbos (called such because their ears are lower set than a normal rats' and are bigger).  We decided after Stuart II died that we would try one last time, but we would switch it up and get a Fancy rat.  We named this one Rocky.  He has now survived over three weeks, and is living happily in the cage with Scabbers.  So, myth #1 is that rats are impossible to kill.  My hubby and I have successfully proven that this is not the case.  Bring them to my house--they just drop dead. 

Myth #2:  Rats enjoy swimming and generally like the water.  I tried to bathe my stinky pee-smelling rats today.  I started with Scabbers, as Rocky is still pretty timid and freaks out quite easily.  I gently placed Scabbers in the tub that had about 1/2" of water in the bottom.  I learned that, from a standing still position, a rat can jump straight into the air about a foot and a half high.  He very nearly caught a hold of my face trying to get out of the tub.  In addition, we will claw and scratch and climb your bare arm in about a half of a second to get out of the water.  So, no--not ALL rats enjoy swimming OR like water. 

Myth #3:  Rats do not bite.  This is both true and false.  I have not yet, in my two and a half months of owning pet rats, had any of them bite me to the point of drawing blood or even hurting significantly at all.  Nor have any of my family members or any friends that have come over to play with the rats.  They are very friendly.  However, I assure you that if you've just eaten a bag of Doritos or had a great taco dinner, you can be certain that there will be a little nibble of your fingers if you stick your hands anywhere near that cage. 

I will say that I have come to absolutely adore my rats, particularly Scabbers.  I know it sounds crazy, and people give me the most ridiculous looks when I tell them that I have pet rats.  But they are a lot of fun to watch, and they are very, very smart.  I have truly enjoyed playing with them and getting to know them.  Now, let's just hope that these two last.  Otherwise, I will officially rename my blog "The Exterminator's World." 

This is Scabbers, eating a piece of dog food, sitting in the hood of my sweatshirt on my shoulder. 

My Drug

I realized today something that I've always known, but have just now put a name to.  I absolutely LOVE to do nice things for people, completely unexpectedly.  The joy and surprise on their face gives me a high.  I don't know if that's a good or a bad thing, but it does.  I don't do it for the "Look what Rachel did" results.  I do it for that sheer look in their eyes and on their face that tells me that they are completely caught off guard by a good deed.  Good deeds are my drug.  I took flowers to two of my friends that are both in the hospital.  I say friends rather loosely.  I mean, they are friends, but not in the close-I'll-call-you-on-the-phone sort of way.  One is the wife of a guy I worked with in high school, so I've known her since then, because they were dating way back then.  We see each other around every once in a while and we're friends on FB, so I know what she's up to all the time.  But calling us "friends" I guess is a bit misleading.  She was having surgery today, so I dropped by to give her some flowers when she got out of surgery.  Her hubby (my old friend) was so surprised and shocked to see me.  I got this really huge hug.  He was so grateful.  And I was high.  It gives me the warm and fuzzies to do stuff like that. 
The other is the girlfriend of one of my regular's at work.  I see them usually at least once or twice a week.  Her man bakes, and he's GOOD at it.  He brings us cookies a lot, and I love it.  So, I wanted to spread some good cheer.  She, also, was really shocked and surprised to see me.  She mentioned that she'd miss having our soup at work tonight.  So, I left, went and got the soup, and came back with it for her.  Double shocked.  And thrilled (as hospital food is GROSS).  I was high. 
My boss calls me a bleeding heart.  I guess I sort of am.  I just know that doing nice things for others, no matter how small, is the best feeling in the world.  With me, though, you can't expect it.  Your birthday?  Yeah, I'll forget it.  Your anniversary?  Uh....don't even think of holding your breath.  But, for some random reason or if you have something kinda bad going on and everyone else has dipped on you--that's where I like to come in when I can.  I'm the girl who sticks around when it's not fun anymore.  I won't know what to say, and I'll have no words of wisdom to comfort you, but I'll listen.  And I'll be present.  I know in my past when I have gone through hard times, those are the people I valued the most--the ones who were just there.  They shut up, because they knew nothing they said was going to make it any better.  They just were with me, all the way through the storm. 
So, I don't know what all of this says about me.  I've always been a "pay it forward" kind of girl, or at least, I try to be.  But what does it say about me that I get a high off of doing stuff like this?  It puts me on cloud nine.  I love to make someone's day, whether they know it was me who did it or not.  Giving back is my drug.  Today, I had two fixes, and I'm still high.  :)

So NOT the perfect Mom....

I definitely don't claim to be perfect, especially when it comes to being a Mother.  I have undoubtedly made a mistake or two, as all mothers do.  It just hurts especially bad when it becomes blatantly obvious that you made a mis-judgement. 

Yesterday, my nine year old spent the entire afternoon at school in BCR--the behavior control room... (kinda sounds like a place with padded walls where someone is strapped in a vest, doesn't it).  It's the "new" acronym for what we all used to call detention or in-school suspension.  He was also written up.  Turns out that he was telling another boy about a video he'd seen on YouTube where Elmo kills Barney.  He was quoting a line from the video where one person or character apparently tells the other to "Shut the F up."  Just like that--he actually said the letter 'F', not the whole word (thank God, not that that makes it any better). 

So, in retrospect, I have to admit that I've clearly made some mistakes.  Yes, I KNOW he's going to say these words at school.  We all did.  Yes, I know he's going to hear this language at school.  We all did.  But, I made a mistake in a couple of ways.  Here are my admissions of guilt:

1.  First and foremost, I do not regularly take my kids to church.  I'd like to blame it on work, because I do, in fact, work a lot of Sundays.  But I don't even take them on a regular basis when I'm not working.  So, that's going to change immediately. 
2.  I have allowed my kids to play on YouTube.  Usually, I am in the room.  But, clearly, I haven't been paying enough attention.  So, he's lost YouTube for pretty much a permanent basis until he's forty years old. 
3.  I have allowed them to listen to or watch music and shows with adult language in them.  Let me say, in my defense (not that it matters at this point), that I have always had conversations with my boys about trust.  They are ONLY allowed to listen to or watch stuff that I approve of, and then only if I can trust that they know the difference between what is acceptable to say and what is not, and that I can trust them not to repeat the stuff they know is unacceptable.  Obviously, I cannot trust that anymore.  Trust broken. 

Now, there's two parts of me waging war.  The first says that this isn't such a big deal.  Even his teacher kinda defended him in that he was just relating a story and he didn't actually say the word, but it was still inappropriate and needed to be disciplined.  I get it.  She says she hears much, much worse on a regular basis and that this is not normal for my kid (thank God).  But the other side of me says that if I go easy on him, this is just opening a door for worse language.  That is NOT okay for me.  I do realize that this is totally normal--I went through the same thing at his age.  You want to see the reaction from the other kids when you drop the bad word.  It makes you feel all tough and big.  I get it.  But, I don't in any way want him to think that I condone this behavior at all. 

But I did feel horrible last night.  My hubby brought him up to work to face me and tell me about what had happened.  I was horrified, disappointed, and embarrassed.  I let him know in no uncertain terms all of those things.  He was crying (which ALWAYS breaks my heart, no matter what he's done).  I doled out his punishment before kissing him and telling him that I loved him.  And then they drove away.  Is it normal for me to still hurt after I've made him cry, even if he did deserve it?  Despite his "tough man show" exterior, I know that he is a very sensitive, self-conscious kid.  I don't ever, ever want to break his spirit or make him doubt himself.  And I worry about that all the time.  I always, always, always follow up punishment with love.  I want to make sure that they know that poor decisions to not cause me to love them any less.  But is it enough? 

I wonder if other mothers worry about the same things that I do.  Like I said, I know I'm going to make mistakes.  I just want a three things for their lives:

1.  That they are saved and have a strong faith in God.  (I've led them both to be saved, and for that I am very proud.  Now I just have to reinforce it--see back to mistake #1 above.)
2.  That they know they are immensely, unconditionally, and forever loved by their parents.  That they know how grateful to God I am that they are mine and that I've been blessed with raising them.  That they know they ALWAYS have a home.  That they know how proud I am to be their mother. 
3.  That they are happy.  That they know how to live life to the fullest, laugh at themselves, and not take things so seriously all the time.  Learn from their mistakes, accept the challenges that life hands you, and know that all things happen for a reason.  That they know how to love and be loved. 

I suppose if I achieve these three things in life, I shall consider myself a success. 

Things I've learned from Children's Sports

My boys have played t-ball, baseball, and now basketball for about five years.  Growing up, I dreamed of having two little boys who played sports.  I swore to myself I wouldn't force them (just strongly encourage).  This year, my oldest has decided that he's "retiring" from baseball.  I must admit--I'm heartbroken.  But, I promised I wouldn't make him, so I'm not.  Instead, I'm praying that he'll regret it and beg me to play next year he'll find something else that he loves that will keep him involved with other kids his age. 

But these are the things that I've observed about parents (not the kids) over the years in watching these sports:

1.  The parents of the morbidly obese child that are just certain that enrolling them in sports is going to whip them into shape.  Meanwhile, the kid is sitting in the dugout or on the sidelines with a large bag of Doritos and an ice cream cone, completely uninterested in the game. 
2.  The parents of the strangely akward and lanky taller-than-every-other-kid-on-the-court kid, who are certain that because of his height, he is sure to be an awesome basketball player.  Nevermind that he runs with all limbs flailing like Gumby coming down the court or that he trips over his own feet every other step or that he can't hit the broad side of a barn with the ball--because he is tall, he is going to be good. 
3.  The parents of the socially akward, shy child who are certain that this interaction with other, more outgoing children is going to make him come out of his shell and spread his wings like a butterfly to new and exciting social encounters.  Instead, the poor kid ends up overwhelmed by the loud, bossy, and over-bearing peers and seems to coil even further into his shell.  (To some degree, I am one of these parents.....)
4.  The parents of the children with a mild degree of talent who seem to have put their whole future hopes on the fact that their child is going to one day make millions playing professional sports, ensuring that the parents will never have to work again.  These are the parents that push coaches out of the way to scream at their child for missing a basket or striking out.  "You KNOW how to do this--what is your problem?!?!"  You know these parents by their screaming and hollering from the sidelines--the ones that are so obnoxious you wish the people behind them would throw popcorn at them so they'd shut up.  Their kids are the ones that walk off the court or the field looking like utter failures if the team has lost.  It's sad and disturbing.
5.  The parents who could care less.  These parents are not so easily recognizable, as they drop their kids off for practice and disappear for an hour of quiet.  They are never present, unless they have to be, and then it's clear that it's an inconvenience.  At the games, you can usually tell them apart because the children of these people are the ones who, when they do something awesome, immediately look to their parents to make sure they are watching.  The kids appear so starved for attention or approval that you cheer for them yourself, regardless of which team they are on. 
6.  The parents of girls who wish that they had had boys (I would probably have been this parent if I hadn't had boys, and I admit it.)  Let me preface this by saying that I totally agree and am okay with girls playing sports with boys.  I advocate it.  However, there is a degree of girly-ness that they bring to the sports world that is, admittedly, slightly obnoxious.  The high-pitched screaming across a court, the tears, the sassiness, the "I'm as tough as you are" attitude....ugh.  (Thank God I had boys.)  There are the girls that you are sure will be great athletes one day, displaying a clear degree of talent (my sister was one of these).  There are the ones that you're certain are lesbians in training (don't shoot me--my best friend is gay).  There are also the ones that are so girly that they are so clearly out of place on the court or the field that you feel they are better served as a cheerleader.  I mean--matching bows, shoelaces, and ribbons?!?!  This is SPORTS, people!!!  You're supposed to get dirty!!!!!
7.  The parents who live vicariously through their children.  I would like to think that I fall into this category.  These are the parents that get excited no matter what--win or lose.  These are the parents that get involved, not just with their own kids but with other children as well.  These are the parents that help the association sponsoring the games and the coaches and moms helping the teams.  These are the parents that realize that this is just a game, that their child is probably not going to grow up to play in the NBA or MLB.  These are the ones that realize that this will teach their kids that nothing good comes without a little practice, teamwork, and effort, and that playing sports while growing up is meant to be fun and teach good sportsmanship, friendly competition, and how to overcome obstacles. 

Fortunately, most of us fall into this category.  But if the rest of that stuff sounded familiar at all, maybe those people need to reevaluate things.  I did when my son told me he didn't want to play baseball.  Like I said, I was heartbroken.  I want him to play so bad--all the way up through high school and even college.  But, this is not my life--it's his.  So, I have to let him make some of his own choices.  He knows that I have a couple of rules:  1.  If you start something, you finish it.  (In other words, if you sign up for a sport, you will play the whole season--we don't quit in the middle.)  2.  You don't just not go because you don't feel like it.  You're a part of a team, and you don't let the team down.  (AKA--Unless you're sick or there's an emergency, you will play every game.)  3.  If you choose not to sign up, you don't get to participate at all.  In other words, you won't be allowed to "practice" with the team just so you can get your fix in without obligation or responsibility.  You either play, or you don't play. 

Thank God, my youngest swears he's going to play for the rest of his life.  Maybe my oldest will be the brainiac of the family?!........

Play ball, people!!

My Debilitating Fear

I guess it's normal to have some sort of phobia.  I find that there's very few things that I am phobic about.  Snakes don't bother me at all.  Neither do spiders.  I mean, I don't want to cuddle up with either of them, but I can handle it if they are close to me.  I can hold a snake and it doesn't bother me.  In fact, I find myself mildly intrigued by snakes and lizards and other slimy, scaly things.  I once screamed at a bunch of Cub Scouts for killing a frog.  Yeah--I'm that girl.  I'm a little psycho about animals. 

But I do have a fear of one thing that is pretty much crippling.  Like flip-out-and-make-a-giant-jackass-of-myself upsetting for me.  Roaches.  I think it bothers me most because roaches can't really hurt you, so I know that the fear is somewhat irrational.  They don't bite or sting or suck your blood or anything that would hurt.  But I am absolutely terrified of them. 

Growing up, I lived in an area where you just didn't have roaches unless you were really, really, really dirty.  I don't remember ever even seeing a roach or knowing what they looked like until I moved to my current location.  My new region of the country, however, is rampant with them.  It doesn't matter how clean you are, the bigger, flying variety WILL get into your house.  They have various names:  water bug, Palmetto bug, whatever.  They are roaches.  I've literally seen them as big as almost three inches long.  They are hideous.  And they fly--THEY FLY!!!! 

I've written several FB notes about this subject.  I'm convinced that I emit a pheromone that attracts the stupid things.  They KNOW that I am terrified of them.  They KNOW that I am afraid to even kill them because I can't stand the hideous crunch they make when you step on them and GOD FORBID you don't get them just right, because they WILL keep moving after you've stomped them a couple of times (hearing that CRUNCH EACH TIME). 

The first argument I ever got into with my husband was over a roach.  There was one in the bathroom (trying to attack me), and the hubby was at his brother's.  I called him to come save the day so I could get ready for work, and he laughed at me.  HE LAUGHED AT ME!!!!!!  I hung up the phone on him and had to handle the crisis myself.  I used the plunger and suction-cupped the stupid thing to the counter top.  No exaggaration--ten hours later, he was still alive!!!!  Trapped under a bathroom plunger with no oxygen for TEN HOURS.  And he was still alive. 

Here are other occasions when I was attacked:
1.  On the phone with the bestie as a teen when one flies across the room at me. 
2.  In my bed reading as a teen one night when one crawled INTO MY BED, trying to steal my book from me.
3.  Out with a friend and her grandmother one night, sitting at a patio table, when one flew across the sky and landed ON MY LIP!!!  I think it was trying to rip my face off...I'm not sure. 
4.  Giving my two children a bath one night when one snuck up from behind and tried to take me out.
5.  Multiple occasions when I have taken out my husband, half of the patio furniture, a friend, and possibly a child or two trying to get away from one attacking me on our porch. 

If they get on me, you're going to see flailing.  It's certain.  If they're on my clothes, the clothes are coming off.  Like, I don't care where I am--I am stripping.....No, seriously....  There's going to be a lot of screaming, hyperventilating, and possibly some tears.  If my husband dares to betray that he's fighting back laughter or a smile, there's going to be a fight.  My kids are probably going to panic because they will think that I've momentarily been possessed by the devil.  It's just a bad, very ugly situation. 

They're out to get me.  It's a plot.  I'm convinced it's my hair that they want.  They think that if they can get into my rat's nest of an excuse I call hair, they can build an indestructible fortress and take over the world......

My Friends

I guess you have to live in my community right now to kinda understand what's going on or what prompted this post....but since you probably don't, let's just say that there's a little bit of racial tension these days that is highly unusual in my community.  So, on the way home, I was thinking about my friends.  I'm so, so lucky.  Amongst the people that I consider my close friends--the ones I would drop anything for if they needed me--, I have blacks, an Egyptian/German, an Indian, and several Asians.  I have every denomination of Christianity, Muslim, Hindu, agnostic, and atheist.  I have a couple of lesbians and gays.  I have strong right-wingers and conservative left-wingers.  I don't think of this stuff often, though, because I am not friends with any of them because or "in spite of" these things.  I am friends with them because of who they are.  I am friends with them because they'd drop anything for me, too.  I am friends with them because they are amazing people who respect my right to believe in God and be extremely liberal about some things and extremely conservative about other things.  I am friends with them because we can have "political (or religious) discussions" that are just that--discussions and sharing of thoughts and ideas.  They are not debates, they are not arguements.  They are an acceptance of our differences and a respect for the things that we each value and care about.

I am a straight Christian white girl.  But I would proudly march with my friend for gay rights.  I would proudly fight with my friend for their civil rights.  I would proudly fight with my friend for their religious rights.  I would proudly respect my friend's right to pray to their God and I would respect their right to choose not to pray.

Do I agree with all of my friends?  Heck, no.  In fact, I disagree with my friends on a regular basis.  I'm not friends with them because we are exactly alike.  I am friends with them because they are amazing people.  They have hearts of gold, and they add to my life.  They open me up to new ideas, new thoughts, and new perspectives.  They make my heart bigger.  They make me feel like I'm as important as I think they are.  They're my friends, and I am so, so very proud of that fact.
  

Forget lemons--what about when life hands you poo?

So, we've all heard the adage "When life hands you lemons, make lemonade."  What if it's not lemons?  What if it's poo?  I don't think making anything from poo is going to make the situation any better.  As a matter of fact, as opposed to an end result that leaves you smelling like Pine-Sol, you'll end up dirty and smelling like...well, poo. 

There's a lot of poo out there in life, too.  And the sad thing is--we get it in all shapes and forms.  Some smells horrible and makes us nauseous.  Sometimes it's just that lingering aroma of poo that let's us know that it was here.  Either way, I have a solution for dealing with the poo in your life (it's how I deal with mine)--FLUSH IT.  Then, walk away and let the room air out. 

It's a fact of life that is negativity in the world that you just can't do anything about.  We're kind of dealing with it right now in my city.  There's a lot of people just pooing in other people's bathrooms, so to speak.  As a result, everyone is griping and complaining about the poo.  Because their bathroom is now contaminated, they are then going to other people's clean bathrooms and pooing.  Negativity breeds negativity--poo breeds poo. 

I don't mean to quote an old infomercial, but can we just "Stop the Insanity!!"  Don't poo in another person's restroom--flush the toilet in your own.  Get rid of the poo.  Make a little Pine-Sol lemonade and clean up the mess left by the other person's poo.  Let the bathroom air out.  And then, if you must, poo in your own bathroom!!  Keep it to yourself!! 

I don't mean to make light of a bad situation or of problems that we have in society (aka "poo").  I am also not suggesting that we sweep problems under the rug.  But, let's treat the source of the problem.  If you have diarrhea, you take an anti-diarrheal medicine.  If you're constipated (maybe you have some pent-up frustration and you NEED to get some stuff out), you take Ex-lax.  Clean yourself out, flush it, and move on.  Treat the problem--don't make more problems for others.  Sometimes, you just need to poo.  Poo then.  But keep it in your own restroom (or in a closed stall if it is necessary to do it in public).  Wipe, flush, clean up any mess that you may have made (God forbid), and MOVE ON.  If there's air freshener available, USE IT. 

I work with the public.  As such, I at any given time, may be called upon to clean up the poo that someone has left behind in our public restroom.  Not a pretty job, and I usually require the help of one of my very loyal and dedicated team members (as I gag quite easily in response to poo).  I don't hover over the poo and complain about it.  I don't bring others in to show them the poo.  I just flush it and ensure that the mess is cleaned up. 

Moral of the story:  If there is negativity being spread around--whether in your community, your workplace, your family, your group of friends, or even your church (let's not be naive, people, it happens)-- be the place where it stops.  Don't spread it to new people.  Don't even share it or "gossip" about it with your close friends.  Go to the source and stop the negativity.  Bring positivity (air freshener and some Pine-Sol) to the situation.  Turn the negatives into positives.  If someone needs to get something negative off their chest, let them (as long as it is productive).  Hopefully, they will feel better for getting it all out.  Then, redirect them.  Give them some hope, some faith, some love--a light at the end of their dark tunnel.  Be real with them.  Sometimes, we just can't see things the right way and needed to be given a little light. 

Okay....that's my thoughts for the day.  When life hands you poo, FLUSH IT!!

How do you do it?

So I met someone new at work today, and I was talking about my kids and school and some other stuff going on in my life.  She looked at me like I was crazy and said, "How the heck do you do it all?"  It made me stop.  The truth is, I don't know. 

I work 50-55 hours a week, every week.  I do not have the luxury of a 40 hour work week.  I wouldn't even begin to know what to do with myself if I did.  I work nights, weekends, early mornings--you name it, I work it.  When I'm not working, I'm happily married (yes, really) and have two growing little boys, who are (for all intents and purposes) extremely smart, extremely happy, extremely loved little boys. 

I'm also working towards my bachelor's degree.  I've been back in school online for a year, and I will FINALLY get my degree in December.  I will have my BSA.  Don't ask me what I'm going to do with it--I have no idea.  I just know I will have accomplished a goal, and I'm proud of myself for finally doing it.  Oh, and, by the way--I'm on the Chancellor's List, not to be confused with the Dean's List--I have a 4.0 GPA.  Yay, me!!!  :)

My kids are both playing basketball, and I have yet to miss a game this season.  My youngest also just signed up for his 3rd or 4th year of baseball (I can't remember....).  My goal is to not miss one of those games, either. 

I also have a menagerie of animals at the house.  If it weren't for my hubby, I'd undoubtedly be an animal hoarder.  At present, we have a St. Bernard, a cat (that I had to nurse as a baby when she was abandoned in a box), a bird, two Dumbo rats, and some fish.  And, I am happy to say, I have enough love for all of them. 

So, how do I do it?  With a lot of help from my amazing husband, for one thing.  But other than that--I have no idea.  It's not without the occasional complaint, I assure you. 

On the other hand, I'd like to know how these people do "it"--
1.  Single parents--I admire you, and have NO IDEA how you do it.
2.  People in abusive relationships--I do NOT admire you, and do not understand WHY you do it.
3.  People raising daughters--I never wanted to do it.  Not that I wouldn't have loved and worshipped any daughter that the hubby and I could have been blessed with, but I always wanted boys, and thank God He saw fit to give them to me.  I just can't see myself with girls, and I don't know how people  raise daughters in this world.....

Compared to these things, I think my life is pretty darn easy.  A little hectic, maybe.  But no sweat (most days).  Nothing like a little blood, sweat, and tears to make for a little more appreciation for the kisses, hugs, and laughter.