Shoo Bear

Since moving to FairyLand, I’ve consistently been told how shy black bears are, how they avoid human contact. My first bear encounter led me to believe it. My last was a different story.

I’ve come up with a new ploy to deter bears and other wildlife from getting into my garbage. Apart from taking it to the dump more frequently, I’ve also bungee corded the heck out of the poor chewed-up can. I’ve also tied it to my fence just outside my bedroom window. The reasoning for this is two-fold. 1—that the smell will encourage me to take it to the dump more regularly and 2—the motion light right there will discourage the shy bears and wildlife from digging in.

A couple of weeks ago, it finally cooled down enough to leave my windows open. About 4am my cat started sprinting back and forth from one of my bedroom windows, to my bed, across my head to stare out the other window. I subsequently woke up and noticed the motion light was on. I got out of bed, peered out my window and noticed a 400 lb (appx—I didn’t bust out the scale) black bear dining casually on my trash.

What did I do next you might ask? What would you do? I woke up my husband.

“Matt! Wake up! There’s a bear in the garbage!”

We’ve been told, “If you see a bear, just make yourself seem large and talk to it sternly like you would a dog and tell it to go away.”

Alright. “Hey! Go away bear! Shoo!”

The bear paused his dinner of dirty diapers and cat poop, slowly turned his head to look at me, turned back to the diapers and continued with his meal.

So Matt of course went to the kitchen and grabbed a pan, took it to the window and banged on it. He got a similar reaction.

I suddenly remembered that my children were in there beds, soundly asleep with the windows open. Recalling vague stories of bears eating children in their sleep, I ran in and closed their windows. This gave me another brilliant idea.

I ran to the front door, opened it and slammed it shut, then flashed the porch lights. I ran back to my window, slammed it shut a couple of times. Bear still eyeball deep in trash.

“What do we do?”

“Well, I don’t think we ought to go out there and clean up the trash just yet. Go back to sleep.”

Yeah, right.

I laid back down, my head propped up, staring at the bear. Then he casually sauntered away. After a few moments, the motion light turned off and I laid my head back down, attempting to sleep. Alas, my reprieve was short-lived. A few moments later, our friend returned for seconds.

Eventually he left and eventually I got back to sleep. I wish I’d had the presence of mind to grab a camera instead of a pan. Oh well, next time. I’m thinking of leaving out bowls of ripe berries. Just kidding, my trash now resides in my shed.

Extreme

My eldest son has inherited and developed some personality extremes. He is extremely bright (got that from me), extremely handsome (his dad), extremely stubborn (me again), extremely short-tempered (paternal grandfather) and extremely sensitive. Last night he was also extremely tired.

I've been burning the candle at both ends with three part-time jobs (my excuse for neglecting my blog). Last night I was up until past 2am sorting music. I decided to call it a night, turned out the lights and went into the bathroom to pee. As per usual in our one-seater household, my son's pee-dar kicked in. You see, he has a sixth sense about when you're in the bathroom and generally waits until those moments to nearly have an accident. Perhaps it's just the power of suggestion. Regardless, I was peeing at 2:15 am this morning when my child came rushing into the bathroom with an urgent need to pee. So, I promptly finished up and exited. It was then that he decided he'd like to pick a fight with me.

"You made the bathroom stinky!!!"

"I just peed."

"IT STILL STINKS!"

"I'm sorry, I wasn't expecting you. What are you going to do?"

"YOU NEED TO CLEAN IT!!!"

"Alright--there, all done" (can of lysol is a handy tool).

"NO! YOU NEED TO MOP!!!"

He didn't really want me to clean or mop, he really just wanted to argue. I called his bluff.

"Alright, let me get a mop."

"No! Now you left, you can't go back in!"

"Alright, I'll wait here with my mop. What are you going to do?"

"I NEED TO GO POTTY!!!"

"Great, have at it."

"NO! IT'S STINKY! YOU ARE MAKING ME STAY IN THE HALL! I'M GOING TO HAVE AN ACCIDENT!"

"Gee, that's terrible. What are you going to do about it?" I tried terribly not to giggle--it was hilarious in it's ridiculousness.

More screaming ensued. I think he was particularly miffed I didn't start arguing. Shortly thereafter, Matt awoke to all the screaming. He didn't find it as humorous as I did. Ethan was subsequently dragged into said stinky bathroom where his father sat in front of the door and waited for him to do his business. Again, much screaming ensued and I think about 3am he finally gave in and peed. I sure hope it was worth it.

Craigslist 101

I’ve never enjoyed bartering. My missionary companion and I discussed this after attending an outdoor market where bartering was expected. We preferred to pay the asking price. We knew we were not getting a bargain, but considered it a no-bartering surcharge.

Nowadays, I like to sell the stuff I no longer need. I generally do this on Craigslist. As I have no storage and am putting my baby-bearing days behind me, I sell stuff as soon as we grow out of it. Having been a bad barterer, I understand where poor-bartering comes from. Let me offer a couple of tips that I have picked up on over the years.

1) First rule of thumb—do not respond to emails, even just to be polite, that say anything about sending an agent with a money order from some far away place. Pardon my generalization, but if the emailer obviously does not have a reasonably strong grasp of English, it’s best not to respond.

2) In the Craigslist arena, it is generally assumed that unless someone indicates their price is firm, making them an offer is accepted, frankly it’s almost expected. (The guys with the money order always want to pay you full price.)

3) If you want to make me an offer, please MAKE AN ACTUAL OFFER! Do not ask me “What’s the least you will consider?” I dunno, I’m not even sure myself. Make me an offer and find out. You are welcome to present a sob story with your offer—I have feelings too, but with your sob story, please make an actual offer.

4) If you ask me “What’s the least you will consider?” and I reply “Make me an offer,” and you again ask “How little will you take?” I will more likely than not, tell you a price that is higher than I would have accepted had you made me an offer. Again, this is the surcharge for people who refuse to barter.

5) Do not be afraid to insult me with an offer. I will either say yes, no, or counter-offer. If you’re embarrassed to offer, don’t. Pay me my asking price or go find someone listing the same thing in crappier condition for less—or wait to see if I lower my price on my own. It’s all a gamble.

6) If you do not like to barter, especially face to face, Craigslist is the perfect venue for pre-bartering. You can initiate an email exchange similar to the following:

“Hi, I’m interested in your item. Is your $50 price firm?”

“I dunno, make me an offer.”

“How about $30—if I still like it when I see it?”

“How about $40—if you still like it?”

“Sounds reasonable, when can I come see it?’

You can always decide it wasn’t what you were expecting and bid lower when you get there, but pre-bartering saves gas and discomfort.

7) Just as you are welcome to tell me a sob story with your offer, you are also welcome to explain to me why you want to lowball me. For example you may say—“Hey, I’ve noticed you’re asking $50 more than similar items on Craigslist, would you consider an offer of $40 less?” This gives me a chance to explain why my item is worth $50 more than the rest, or accept or decline your offer. You are still free to purchase the item from someone else. However, do not try and shame me into reducing my price. For example, if there are no comprable items listed, and the item is from IKEA and the nearest IKEA is a 10 hour drive, do not say something like

“Hey stupid, why are you selling an IKEA bookshelf for more than what it costs at IKEA?”

Because I will respond with something along the lines of:

“Hey stupid, if you could read and do math, you would have realized that this particular combination of shelving and accessories (as itemized on my posting and verifiable through IKEA’s catalog and website) is not only just one year old, and in like-new condition (as listed) but is certainly not being offered at more than what you would pay at IKEA—it is in fact (once you do the math), a few hundred dollars less. And that does not take into consideration the fact that you would have to borrow your friend’s truck because you’re too cheap to buy or rent your own vehicle, drive your mathematically challenged self 10 hours to IKEA, purchase the items, pay sales tax, drive them back and spend several hours assembling them yourself. Which, considering that IKEA uses only pictures in their instructions, you just may be able to handle. As a matter of fact, thanks for the tip. I think I’ll tack on a surcharge for labor, shipping and handling, literacy and mathematical ability.”

If you don’t like the price I’m asking either make me an offer or don’t. Please refrain from insulting me. Don’t you have a World of Warcraft game to play or something?

That’s it in a nutshell. Happy Craigslisting.

Some things I have bought on Craigslist:
Minivan
Supersaucer
Portable Dishwasher
Freezer
Play Kitchen
Lincoln Logs
Baby Backpack
Infant carrier
Dehumidifier
Vacation Rental

Some things I have sold on Craigslist:
Supersaucer (same one I purchased above—sold it for more than I paid for it)
Portable Bassinet
Changing Table
Kitchen Table and Chairs
IKEA bookshelf combination
End tables (these were surprisingly hot items)
Baby Clothes
Sit ‘n Stand Stroller
Infant seat with stroller and car base
Sideboard
Rocking Chair
Hutch
Another Kitchen Table and Chairs
My bed
Pack ‘n Play (currently listed)

Mozzarella

I mentioned that a friend taught me to make cheese recently. Somehow I neglected to order the supplies for some time. Every time I saw milk on sale I’d think—darnit, why didn’t I order the rennet? Well, I finally did and now I’m ready. Bring on the discount milk, we’re having fresh mozz!

This One Goes to Eleven

Elliot has begun counting—and annoying his big brother with all kinds of other mimicry. He can count all the way to eleven, but he especially likes the sequence 8-9-10-11.

The Secret Lives of Wasps

My ultra-strong-willed child decided to head out on a rebellious jag the other day. Threatening to run off by himself to an activity I forbade, he found himself lingering outside the house, waiting for me to intervene.

I did intervene, but not until I heard a blood-curdling scream. He ran to the front door, his hand cupping his ear, screaming. I moved his hand and discovered a wasp. When all was calm again, we found only one sting. I bit my tongue and managed not to say anything like “serves you right you rebellious little almost kindergartener!”

Instead, my mother-bear instincts kicked in. As I have been religiously murdering insects as they slept in little holes in our walkway, I somehow managed to miss the three (or possibly more) nests of yellow jackets having taken up residence in our siding.

Since this discovery, I have begun a nightly ritual of massacring them all with a ridiculous amount of deadly chemicals. This ritual is not a simple as it may seem. You see, last week, I too was a victim of a vicious yellow jacket’s sting. Never having been stung before, I whimpered and whined and cowered in my house. Now terrified of more attacks, I figured I’d arm myself to the hilt. I borrowed the local bee-lady’s bee hat and gloves, tucked my shirt in my pants, my pants in my shoes. Duct-taped the bee hat to my hoodie zipped to my chin, strapped on a head-lamp, grabbed my cans of deadly foam and headed outside.

It was a terrible scene—foam spraying, insects dying. But before dying, some of them managed to swarm the crazy lady in the ridiculous get-up just so they could watch her scream and run for the house trailing a stream of wasp-killer.

“WHAT DO I DOOOOO?!!??!!”

It would have been hilarious to watch, had I not been said crazy lady.

"I waznot elekted to watch my people zuffer and die while you dizcuss this invasion in a komittee." --QA

Can You Say Sphincter?

I am so glad I got a college degree. Granted, my degree was in theatre and some days I wish I'd studied psychology, medicine, or a myriad of other subjects. Nonetheless, my college education comes in handy oh so very often (you know, all those classes on bum sniffing, cleaning up puke, child restraint and such).

In my tenure as a mother, I have had some terribly fascinating conversations. Just yesterday
I had the following exchange with my two-year-old:

"You stink. Lay down and let me change your diaper."

"Mom, look poop!"

"I don't know why you like to look at your poop so much, but sure, whatever floats your boat. Look."

"Mom! Cut poop?"

"What?"

"Cut poop?"

"No, we don't cut poop, that's gross."

"Mom, what cut poop?"

"Oh, well, your bottom cuts your poop."

"Where?"

"In your bottom is your rectal sphincter, which cuts off your poop."

"Oh! Wekaoo Finker!"

"Yes, exactly."

Some day I'd like to teach motherhood 101. Maybe I'll just write a book instead.