Damn Sqirrels

Remember last Spring when I talked about our cracker jack plans for a garden? Well, we did end up with some fairly edible prizes to show for our labor. We ended up planting tomatoes (3 different kinds!), kakai pumpkin, black simpson lettuce, carrots, and approximates 42,000 strawberry plants. For a few months, everything was great--we harvested a bunch of lettuce, about 12 mamma mia tomatoes, a dozen or so strawberries, and had one heck of a pumpkin just sitting there, growing.



Then the squirrels caught on to or master plan. They found out that we intended to actually eat the foods that we grew, and they got together at their annual squirrel convention and came up with 14 different diabolical plans: each and every one culminated in them eating the veggies before we could enjoy them. For the last two weeks, as soon as a tomato turns even slightly orange, it's gone. The pumpkin was devoured, along with all of the lettuce and every single strawberry as soon as it showed any sign of turning red.



Or maybe it's the raccoons. Either way, I am pissed. And apparently, my cat is in on the deal. I mean, it's not like I ask much of him. Does a cat really need two eyes in order to spot, chase, and possibly eat a freaking squirrel?

At the very least, we have an herb garden on the back porch, growing in huge terra cotta pots: parsley, basil, rosemary, mint, thyme, oregano, thai basil, sage, cilantro, and chives. It would appear that our resident critters aren't fans of vibrantly flavored leaves and aromatic sprigs. There's no accounting for taste.



We had such grand plans for all of our lovely tomatoes. I'm glad we got to try a few of them, but it's very disheartening. This was our first attempt at gardening, and I hate to think that we've been had by some overgrown chipmunks. I just don't have the energy or desire to build fencing or anything other than watering and fertilizing the plants, and even that is starting to seem pointless. If they would just leave me one strawberry, maybe I'd feel more industrious. At least they haven't started digging the carrots out yet. We've been able to harvest about 7 or 8 tiny, yet delicious, little carrots. Sigh.

Cowboy Up

I loves me some animal cruelty. As long as it's adorable!

I'm not that innocent

Whoops! I did it again. And I'm not just saying that because I'm wearing my hair in pigtails with fluffy pink hairbands.

I let a whole week go by without blogging about the wonders of my life, the joys of raising the kiddo, the unending saga of Ozzy's general health and well being. For shame! How will I be able to sleep at night knowing that I have deprived you, my tens of readers, a regular inlet to my existence? Like this: zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

I've been dealing with the realization that all of my pictures from February to August of 2009 up and left my computer. Poof. Gone. Abracadara, you're screwed. Luckily, I seemed to have more or less fixed the problem, and will hopefully heed the lesson here, you know, the one about regularly backing up your important files? Riiight. That one.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go reassure Samson that yes, Nemo got taken away, and yes, his daddy will find him.

We went, we camped, we came home

It already seems like years ago, but we took Samson camping last Friday. He did really well, as well as can be expected of a 21 month old spending his first night in a tent on the ground. He and Ozzy were so good and listened so well, I was really astonished. They played in the dirt and ate hot dogs and marshmallows and had a blast all around. Of course, asking Samson to sleep in the tent was like asking him to sleep in a bouncy house. He basically ran around in circles, waving my head lamp, for an hour or so. Finally, we all fell asleep, and we stayed that way for most of the night. Kiddo woke up a handful of times, screamed his ever lovin' head off, then fell back asleep. The weather was great, nearly every campsite had young children in it (which meant that Samson was not the only one who showed off his late night screaming skills, thank goodness), and we really enjoyed using my folks' old camp gear. When a camp stove that's older than your older brother still works without a hitch, you know you're in for a good night.

Let's Get Dirty

Max and I are taking the kiddo camping tomorrow, and we're super excited. It will be Samson's first camping trip, Max's and my first camping trip together (wha? how is that possible?) and my first camping trip since the summer of 2000 (oh, that's how). We're going very close by, and only for one night--the perfect starter trip for a lapsed life-long camper. Between borrowing and renting, we won't be using any equipment of our own (which is good because we have none--the victims of many poorly planned moves). But who knows--if it's as much fun as I hope it will be, you may all want to buy REI stock real soon.

New World Order

A few weeks ago, Samson and I went to Portland to visit good ol' Dedi and spend some time with her toe headed progeny. We had great fun; everyone got enough sleep and took good naps, we beat the heat with a wading pool and a trip to the river. Auntie Mir was on hand to spoil the kiddos rotten. We even made s'mores. The best part, though, what the gift we got when we came home.

An obedient toddler.

Whaaaaa?

Well, obedient-ish. To be fair. But compared to pre-Portland Samson, this new kid is some kind of Catholic school honor student. Like, Mary Poppins couldn't improve on this guy. And it's all about being a no-nonsense, parent-channeling, voice-raising disciplinarian. As in SAMSON GET DOWN FROM THAT CHAIR RIGHT NOW but instead of your voice, it's the voice of a demon from hell that resides deep in your gut and hell yes I'll get down from this chair please don't eat me. Awesome!

I can't do it in public yet. Lord, no. Keeping a kid quiet at the grocery store is what videos on the iPhone are for. But when we're safely behind closed doors, I am a parenting force to be reckoned with. And all of a sudden, the cat can come out from his perpetual hiding place under the bed without the fear of a well intended but painful nonetheless toddler hug. I can finally keep the animals' water bowl in the kitchen without it doubling as a wading pool. He's definitely not perfect, but he keeps his grubby shoes out of the fish tank and things are just a little more manageable these days. Thanks, Dedi! Or rather, thanks, Dedi's mom!

My New Blog

To better reflect the direction my life seems to be going, I'm changing the name of this blog. The top contenders, in no particular order:

What Will Go Wrong With Ozzy This Week?
Crisis Mode
Blarrrrrrrrrrrg
Extra Super Crap

The other day, Ozzy began bleeding from his ear. A couple of trips to the vet and some super sonic ear surgery revealed a teeny tiny tumor on his ear drum, causing his ear canal to fill up with blood and spill forth from his giant doggy ear. Pathology reports are forth coming. Yay.

But there's no need to change our name, is there? My life is still Extra Super Fantastic, right? It's just a little pointy. And bleedy. And expensive. Right?

Right?

Whimper.