Oh what a week.
It’s only wednesday. Which means it’s only the second day of my week.
And holy canole, what a week.
As I sit here at the kitchen table, typing on my handy dandy little iBook, there is a LIVE armadillo snuffing through the grass right outside my door. Anyone ever seen a live one of these things? Funky. Just funky.
Let me give you a little insight as to what it means to be a frontier girl. Frontier Girl. capital letters thankyouverymuch.
We had a flood on Sunday. Hurricane Erin snuck up on us here in Oklahoma and screamed BoogidyBoodigyBoogidy and we all went back to sleep…until the flood waters came. 8.5 inches here. EIGHT AND A HALF FREAKIN INCHES. Well, we have a creek/river thingy just to the south of the property. Way out of banks. Flooded just a ridiculous amount. The end of our street, if you continued past the house, is completly closed. Ponchatrain. Boo.
Monday Stormy Soprano jumped up onto a cabinet and promptly set his hind quarter on fire from the lit candle. Smoke. Stinky burnt ass smoke. He was walking around smoking from behind. Oh good lawd but he stunk. poor boy. looks like I just took a hunk of hair and chopped it right off….like the fancy girl in Sixteen Candles who got her drunk ass hair stuck in the door and her friends cut it off…raggedy and nasty hair.
Monday night Sambo decided to hunt for things. He never came home. I called for him the next morning, Bonusmom ran around with a flashlight all night long. Nothing. I had a pit. Just freakin scared and sad. All day at work, I was sad clown. Then he decided to come the fuck back home. Not so much with the flooding is the city boy. he hasn’t so much as stepped one toe out the door since. Something bad is out there and he’s not much for finding out what it is again. thank goodness he came home. really could not take one more blow.
Tuesday night, all is well. I helped mow the frontier. And by mow, I mean with a push mower. And by push mower I mean no gas. No electric. just the propellers that swoosh swoosh flickity swoosh and chop the grass. Activity points for EVERYONE!!! damn. Frontier life is harsh. So we call it a night and come in. all the kids in but for Stormy Soprano, and he’s hunting and watching the four grey baby barn cats run around and chase the frogs that plagued us from the flood. Alll of a sudden i hear some nasty freaky kind of scatterwalling and I rush out. Nothing. I really don’t worry about him because he is after all, a bad ass and has survived spontanious combustion already this week. BonusMom sees him a few mintues later hauling it in to the door. After he comes in, I see some stuff on his backside…Firtch? (frontier word for whatever is on the floor or ground) no. It’s poo. Bleagh. We think he was taking a reprieve and something must have attacked or tried to have a date. whatever it was it literally scared the shit out of him. So we are running around wiping down, gagging, running for wet ones for him, bleach and soap for us. he’s mortified. the other kids get one whiff and haul it the other way. no good.
Frontier life is exhausting. I got home too late to finish the mowing. bonusmom is in nebraska for the week, home on sunday or monday. . . so it’s just me. me and the forty thousand frogs, 10 cats (counting the outside ones we feed) and one hungry armadillo.
somebody better be humming the theme to green acres. God knows I am.