Gecko in the Car!

I was driving the kids to school and I heard Little Girl start yelling from the backseat, "Gecko! Gecko!"

Huh, I thought. She sees a gecko somewhere.

Then I saw it. Looking right at me.

SITTING ON MY DASHBOARD.

Then... it jumped at me.

AAAAAAAACCCCKKKK!!!!

Let me just point out that I did NOT crash the car. I may deserve a medal for that.

Now, I know a gecko is not exactly a man-eating monster, but I challenge any one of you to keep your cool when one JUMPS AT YOUR FACE.

Shudder.

So that thing was leaping all over the car and the kids were screaming...and I just had to keep driving. Finally we got it to jump out the door when we'd stopped at the school.

I thought that was the end of it. But then later I went to the drive-thru at McDonald's....

Is this thing following me?!

(As a side note, I took the top picture of the gecko in my car after my first round of screaming had subsided. Boo said, "What the heck are you DOING Mom? Are you going to put this on your BLOG?!" Really, how could I resist?)

UGH! Here we go again...

This week we played another round of that exciting game, "What the heck is that horrible smell?!"

This time we noticed a certain distasteful odor in the garage Sunday morning. We weren't sure of the origin, although a gas leak or sewer seepage were mentioned as possibilities.

By Sunday evening it was really bad. My husband came into the garage, sniffed the air, and said, "That's a dead thing." Then he left.

We looked around but the dead thing could not be located on first glance. I knew a full search would have to be performed on Monday.

I left the windows up in the van for the night to keep the smell from invading the car, and I hung a new air freshener from the rearview mirror.

Monday morning GG went into the garage to get something before school, and she immediately came back. "I don't really need it," she gasped, covering her mouth and nose and shutting the door quickly.

I opened the outside door to try to air things out, but the stink in the garage was still horrendous. We held our collective breaths as we ran to the van and shut the doors.

Inside the car the scent of Perfectly Pomegranate battled valiantly with the the stench of Dead Thing. The air was bearable, but only just.

It was imperative to that we find out the source of this bad smell, but I felt weary at the very thought of moving everything stored in the garage to try to find the horror that might lurk behind all those boxes.

ET said I should hire an exterminator. "I'll bet if you gave some guy a hundred bucks he'd find the dead thing."

I looked at her. "I'll give you fifty to find it."

"Done!" she said, a little too quickly. I probably should have low-balled her a bit more.

(Image from http://clutter-free-mind.blogspot.com)

When we got home I parked the van outside and left the door open. ET began moving things out of the garage piece by piece.

Then she stood still and thought. She knew it would be smarter to try and find the source of the smell, but somehow it seemed to be coming from everywhere at once. Then she saw a few flies buzzing around and she had a thought.

"Follow the flies," she said to herself.

Or maybe it was Yoda who said it. (Although wouldn't he have said "The flies you follow"?)

Anyways, she realized that the flies would go directly to the dead thing. So she waited, and the cloud of flies gathered and formed and hovered around....

THE VAN!!!  Under which she saw few flies darting around a couple of gray feathers.

"Eureka!" said ET, and she came to me. In her best elementary-my-dear-Watson-style, she triumphantly informed me of her conclusion:

"Mother! I have deduced that the dead thing is a bird, and that it is under the hood of your car! You owe me fifty bucks!"

With extreme trepidation, I pressed the button and popped the hood.

Ewwwwwwwwwwwwww................

"Now how am I going to get that thing out of there?" I wondered aloud.

ET shrugged. "That would cost you another fifty," she said, and went into the house.

Bug-Bombing the Van

I guess it was inevitable.

With five kids (and one mom) eating all kinds of meals and snacks inside a mini-van, and some of them not being very conscientious about cleaning up after themselves, well... it was bound to happen.

INFESTATION.

Or, to be fair, a suspected infestation, based on the sighting of one cockroach by a squealing teenage girl. Who took photographic evidence with her phone. Ewww.

(image from drugstore.com)

Drastic measures were required. I bought a bug bomb.

Then I took everything out of the van. Especially the trash. There was lots and lots of trash.

In fact, if there are not cockroaches living in my van, it's not for lack of edible bait. We practically have a sign up in there declaring: "Free Food! Come All Vermin! Come Eat And Be Satisfied!"

On the upside, I did not encounter any bugs while cleaning out the van. Although each time I stuck my hand in the deep recesses under the seats and pulled out handfuls of sticky plastic toys, empty chip bags, and mostly-empty candy wrappers, I shuddered inside.

Every time something strange brushed my hand, I jumped. (It was always just more trash.)

I closed up the car and set off the bomb. I'll air it all out tomorrow.

Will there be insect casualties? We shall see....

Getting the Clunker to Pass Inspection

Here in Hawaii we have to have our cars inspected yearly.

I don't know how many other states do this --I know we had to when we lived in Texas-- but I do know Alabama (where I grew up) isn't one of them. So I don't have a lot of experience with the process.

I just recently had to get the van inspected, and then had to replace a lightbulb in order to get it to pass. But that's our "good" car.

(image from http://www.roadtrucker.com)

Getting my husband's car to pass is a whole other ball game. His car is...special.

One of its main problems is the fact that the windows don't go down. Well, actually, the mechanism is broken so that the windows have to be permanently stuck closed.

This an annoyance on a regular basis, since we live on a gated military post, requiring a checkpoint stop every time you come in. And he works on a separate post. So that's at least two times a day to have to open the door  a little and snake your hand out of the crack for an MP gate guard to look at your ID. And hope nobody thinks you're going for a weapon when you unexpectedly open the door instead of the window.

Worse than the everyday annoyance was the time when his air conditioner broke, turning the car into an unventilated death-trap of a sweatbox if you parked in the the sun.

That was a bad bad scene.

Anyways, last year when my husband had his car inspected the guy wanted him to put the window down.

My Husband: Sorry. The window doesn't go down.
Inspector Guy: It has to go down for the car to
                        pass inspection.
My Husband: Okay. Hold on.

He got out a screwdriver and took the door panel off, loosening the mechanism holding the window in place so that the pane fell down inside the door. He put the panel back on and showed it to the inspector.

(image from http://www.buickforums.com)

My Husband: Okay. The window is down.
Inspector Guy: (making a mark on the inspection sheet) Check. You pass!

So when the time came to have the car inspected again this year, the plan was to have the windows already down when we brought the car in, therefore avoiding the whole problem.

I volunteered to take the car in for him. Which meant my husband took my car and I spent the whole day driving a car with the windows permanently open.

I'll let you take a guess as to whether it rained that day.

Yes. Yes it did.

But did the car pass inspection? Yep. On the first try!

Remember to stay humble

 

I did a favor for a friend the other day. It wasn’t a big deal, but she thanked me profusely and I left her house feeling pretty darn good about myself.

I got in my van and flipped on my iPod, blasting some nice-girl Christian music and heading out to get the twins from preschool. I’m doing pretty well today, I thought.

Then I backed into a ditch.

I’m not even kidding. I wish I was. I backed my minivan into a DITCH and got it STUCK.

I tried to get the van out of the ditch and my tires spun uselessly on loose gravel. My dashboard gave me a helpful “low-traction” warning light to let me know this was happening, as if the combination of vroom/SCREECH, vroom/SCREECH along with the continual NOT moving forward didn’t give me a clue that there was a traction PROBLEM.

(image from http://jeffwylerclarksvilletoyota.com)

I got out of the van and looked. Yep. Stuck in a ditch all right.

I tried going backwards. Which was good until I ran into something short behind me. So I tried going forwards again and got stuck in the same spot.

I tried not to panic. I tried again. I got out again.

A guy, attracted by my lovely vroom/SCREECH, vroom/SCREECH sound, walked up.

“I seem to be stuck,” I said inanely.

He walked around my van and agreed with me. “You’re probably going to have to call someone to pull you out,” he said. “You got TripleA?”

I was getting really upset. “I don’t have time for that!” I said. “I have to pick up from the preschool in ten minutes!” I think I actually stamped my foot.

The guy raised his eyebrows at me in an “Okay, Crazy Lady,” way and I realized I was acting like a nut, and alienating my only visible source of help with my nuttiness.

Fortunately at that point two other guys walked up and surveyed the scene. This kept Guy #1 from abandoning me on my own Crazy-Lady-Island, which I likely deserved.

Guys #2 and #3 discussed putting something under the back wheel and/or pushing the back of the van. Guy #1 looked skeptically at all of us.

The pushing plan was decided upon. I asked Guy #1 to drive while I pushed, because I felt bad that he’d gotten roped into this, and also because he weighed less than me. Plus I was terrified of accidentally backing over all three guys, since I‘d already proven myself to be a complete moron as a driver. I’m just being honest here.

Guy #1 got in the van and put it in low gear. He gunned the motor to make the vroom/SCREECH, vroom/SCREECH really crescendo while the three of us shoved on the tailgate as hard as we could.

The good news is, the van moved. The bad news is, I fell facefirst into the ditch.

But the van was out! I got up, saying cheerily, “I’m okay! I’m okay!” and limped away. I thanked everyone profusely and drove off. I hope they all were feeling good about helping me.

Probably they were thinking, “Wow. What a nut.”

Amazingly, I was only about ten minutes late to the preschool.

But I arrived humble.

Schedule, Interrupted

So it's the second week of school here in paradise, and I've got my drop-off and pick-up schedule pretty much down.

(Oh, you can skip the schedule and go straight to the beginning of the actual story if you want. I just want to feel validated by writing out the boring junk I do all day so it looks like I'm really accomplishing something.)

(image from http://post639.com)

Morning schedule:
7:05 Leave house
7:15 Drop ET and GG at their faraway bus stop
7:20 Bus picks up ET
7:25 Bus picks up GG
7:30 Drop Boo at the elementary school
8:00 Take the twins to preschool
8:15 FREEDOM!

Afternoon schedule:
(Monday/Tuesday)
12:30 Pick up the twins from preschool
1:45/1:55 Pick up ET at the high school
2:05 Pick up Boo at the elementary school
2:35 Pick up GG at the middle school

(Wednesday)
12:30 Pick up the twins from preschool
1:15 Pick up Boo at the elementary school
1:45 Pick up GG at the middle school
1:55 Pick up ET at the high school

(Thursday/Friday)
12:30 Pick up the twins from preschool
2:05 Pick up Boo at the elementary school
2:35 Pick up GG at the middle school
2:40 Pick up ET at the high school

Yeah. I know, that was tedious to read through. Believe me, it's worse to LIVE through.

Okay, here's the BEGINNING OF THE ACTUAL STORY:

Wednesday, in only week TWO of school, my schedule already got messed up.

There was a big monkey wrench thrown in, called My Kids Forgot Stuff. Perhaps you other moms have also encountered this little snag in the day's schedule before.


http://assistechblog.wordpress.com

We got to the elementary school, and Boo said, "I forgot my notebook."

I said cheerfully, "That's okay. We'll go back and get it. There's plenty of time."

We drove back home. On the way, my cell phone rang.

It was GG. "I forgot my school ID."

Since my oldest already went to the middle school I know this is a detention-punishable offense. So I said, still cheerful, "Okay. I'm going home anyways; I'll get it."

We got to the house and Boo ran in and got her notebook. I ran in also and looked on the hook where GG is supposed to hang her bag and ID.

The ID was not there.

Neither was it in the hallway, the bathroom, or the girls' bedroom.

I called GG and she didn't answer. I texted her. I gave up and left.
I took Boo back to school and my phone rang again. I pulled over in front of the school to explain to GG less-than-cheerfully that she needed to go to the office and tell them her ID was lost. Surely she is not the first seventh-grader who has forgotten her ID in the history of that school. They must have some provision for this situation.

While I was explaining this, a military policeman knocked on my window and informed me that I could not park there.

I said, in a non-cheerful way, that I was not parked. I hung up on GG and left.

Then I texted her:
You got me in trouble with the MP's.

She texted me:
Im sry
And yet ur still txting
niiiiice mom

I took the twins to preschool and walked them in, which takes about fifteen minutes since I have to make them hang up their backpacks, stow their lunchboxes, find the little turtles with their names, et cetera.

During that time GG informed me that I needed to bring her $5 for a new ID so that she would not get detention.

I seriously considered texting her back:
Im sry
And just moving on the the next item on my schedule: FREEDOM!

However my general policy is to allow a grace period for forgetfulness. That is, I will bring you your forgotten lunch/homework/whatever ONE TIME. If you forget again you are on your own. I am not your personal courier.

So I took her the five bucks.

I didn't get much gratitude for all this trouble. But I did get to resume my schedule.

I went on to... you guessed it!.. FREEDOM!

Teaching ET to Drive

So my oldest daughter --whom I call ET for blog purposes-- has a learner's permit. Yes, she turned 15 1/2, and now she's learning to drive.

In case you didn't know, ET stands for Evil Teenager.

Yes, I like to bestow friendly little pet names on my children.

Teaching her to drive is stretching my limits. In a big way.

Her father already did the "hard part," which is taking her out to a parking lot and putting her behind the wheel for the first few times. So now that she's considered "ready for the road," all that she requires is practice.

Which is where I come in.

Now every time we go somewhere, she's like a puppy, boucing up and down, "Can I go? Can I drive?"

The problem is, letting her drive turns me into a mass of anxiety.

I mean, I'm not normally an anxious person, but getting into the passenger seat of the minivan when ET is in the driver's seat sends me right over the edge.

(image from http://www.mysahana.org)

I bite my nails, twist my hair, pick at my skin and clothing, and generally start to look like the poster child for Xanax.

I make little whimpering noises when she changes lanes (too quickly) and cover my eyes when she hits the brakes (too slowly).

When she parks the car, I start to hyperventilate.

I feel the need to say, "Watch out for that!" about twenty times a minute.

I try to keep my tone even, pleasant, and heartening, but it comes out strained, trembly, and about two octaves higher than it should be.

When we finally stop, I really do feel like kissing the ground. But instead I say, "That was really good! You're getting better!" in my most encouraging --albeit breathless and tense-- voice.

ET rolls her eyes and says, "Whatever, Mom. I know you were totally peeing your pants the whole time."

Which is someting I can't really refute.

But the truth is, she really is getting better. And soon she won't need to practice any more.

Then she'll get her license... and my REAL anxiety will begin....

Barf Car

A few weeks ago my van began to take on an unpleasant odor.


Perhaps you can guess, from the title of this blog entry, the precise nature of said stinkiness.



(image from http://www.cartoonstock.com)

The thing was, no one had been sick in the car recently, so I couldn’t figure out where the smell was coming from.

I thought it might be Eau de Lost Sippy Cup. (You know, like the ones we’ve found under the couch with solidified milk offensively curdled inside them. Ewwww…)

But I couldn’t find anything under the seats, and all of the twins’ cups were accounted for. I couldn’t really find the precise location of the smell either; although it was definitely in the general area of the twins’ carseats.

There was nothing to do but clean the whole car.

Now, you may remember I had the car “detailed” after an accident not too long ago, resulting in the cleanest van ever known. (Read that story here, if you’re interested.)

So I didn’t expect the mess under the seats could have gotten too bad. I was wrong.

I spent a couple of hours giving the van an intense cleaning. I took absolutely everything out of the car. I removed the carseat covers and washed them in the washing machine. I threw away all the trash that had been collecting under the seats. I vacuumed AND shampooed the carpets and seats. Then I left the whole thing open to air out inside the garage for 24 hours.

I’m telling you, this was a THOROUGH cleaning.

The next day we all got inside the newly clean van. Everyone exclaimed over how nice it looked. I congratulated myself on a job well done. We drove for a few minutes in silence.

Then ET remarked, “It still smells like barf in here.”

And the annoying thing is, she was right!

So I resorted to spraying air freshener every time we got in the car instead, drowning the bad smell in a sea of floral friendliness.

Maybe I should have just STARTED with that, and saved myself a lot of trouble.

Chaos in the Car

 

The car can be a chaotic place when there are five kids in the family.

This week after evening fellowship at the chapel we all piled in with the usual confusion.

Boo was worried about protecting the sculpture of Noah’s Ark she’d made out of play-dough. GG had a friend she’d brought to church with us and they were conspiring busily. ET was telling me about the activities they’d done in youth group. The twins were just yelling.

ET: So we had socks filled with flour and--
Boo: Ack! Mommy! GG took my craft!
Baby Boy: Bug!
Me: GG! Give your sister back her craft! Boo, put it back in the bag!
GG: I don’t even HAVE her stupid craft!
Baby Boy: Bug!
Boo: She DID have it.
ET: Then we were supposed to run around with the socks--
Baby Boy: Bug!
GG: Like I would even WANT her stupid craft.
Boo: You SQUISHED it! Mommy! She SQUISHED it!
Baby Boy: Bug!
GG: I did NOT squish it!
ET: They wouldn’t let us actually HIT each other with the socks after LAST time--
Baby Boy: Bug!
Me: Boo, it looks fine. It’s not squished.
Boo: It IS! Right here on the edge!
Baby Boy: Bug!
Me: It’s fine. Okay, doors are closed; is everyone buckled in?
ET: Ack! There’s a cockroach crawling on the ceiling!
Baby Boy: Bug!

I looked up. There was, indeed, a roach directly above my head. (Just like Baby Boy had been trying to tell us!)

There followed much shrieking and ducking. I took off my shoe and pounded the ceiling with it. ET screamed, “Where is it? Where is it? Did it fall on me?” Boo hovered protectively over her sculpture. The twins laughed hysterically. GG and her friend, amazingly, remained oblivious to the whole thing.

When the bug had been dispatched to its final rest, and all the noise had finally died down, we were able to drive away.

All was quiet…until the next crisis….

above image from hasbro.com/playdoh

Stuck in the Car. ALL DAY!

Well, school’s been in session a couple of weeks, and now it’s clear how I’ll be spending all that free time I thought I’d have.

In the car. Driving them all to and from school.

After our move, it turns out that NOBODY is able to ride the school bus, due to the faraway location of the bus stop and the fact that the middle two kids wanted to stay at their old school (which we are no longer zoned for). Plus the twins go to preschool three mornings a week.

The thing that makes this really maddening is that the high school lets out at a different time every day.

I’m serious.

They get out at 1:47 on Mondays, 1:55 on Tuesdays, 1:47 again on Wednesdays, 2:30 on Thursdays, and 2:40 on Fridays.

Unless it’s a four-day week, in which case it’s 1:47, 1:55, 2:30, and 2:40.

Oddly enough, they do manage to START at the same time each day…

I cannot imagine who thought this was a good idea. Some anonymous administrator with no children?

In any case, I’m spending a lot of time in the car, and so are the twins, who are NOT enjoying being forcibly detained in their car seats for a couple of hours each day. And they’re not shy about voicing their displeasure.

I’m stocking up with snacks and diversions like I’m settling in for a siege every time we get in the car. I think they’re getting used to it…

But the worst part is being stuck in a long line of cars when a recently potty-trained toddler starts screaming, “I have to go POOP!”

I’d like to see that anonymous administrator sit through THAT a few times.

above image from free-extras.com