Tenacity

I've blogged before about our neighborhood birds's stubborn refusal to accept no for an answer. Yes, after all that, the vent birds have returned each year. It used to be grackles. This year, it was some stubborn starlings that pried the corner off of our newly-installed access flap in their eagerness to nest.

In. the. dryer. vent.

I did the dryer-pulsing dance repeatedly, but heat and incredible noise are no deterrent. In the end it took T climbing up and removing the cover, reaching right at the birds to get them to leave--then screwing the corner back down quickly before they returned.

Now that we've found (temporary) victory over the starlings, the robins are nesting.

This is not the first time birds have thought the playhouse/swingset would be a good place to build a nest. Why they think this is a mystery, given that three sets of reckless hands and feet (attached to three still disturbingly curious mouths) clamber in and out of it, loudly, daily.

But bird logic isn't the point here. Pictures are!

This year's bird again staked out the little shelf under the window in the playhouse.

See the shreds hanging down? Does this look like a safe nesting spot to you?

I chased off the bird, pulled down the half-done nest, and covered the shelf with pine cones, thinking they'd discourage it from coming back.

It didn't work. Pine cones that are too heavy to carry can still be kicked off the ledge!

So I chased him out again and pulled the twigs and stuff down again.

THIS is more discouraging: a chunk of 2x4 that doesn't roll, and a stinky cat food can half full of water.

So far, he hasn't come back a third time. He did eye me from his perch on the fence for a long time, though.

It's feeling kind of Hitchcock around here.

Saying strange things

It seems we're still speaking in tongues around here, though perhaps not with the frequency we did when I posted the original list of weird things that come out of our mouths when kids are involved...or the second list of oddball kid-related sayings. Time for a new list!

1) See, that's why you should keep your pants on.
2) Okay! Whose turn is it to hold the rubber chicken?
3) Don't chew on Johnny Depp!
4) We do not drink bath water. [I'm disturbed to note that I put this one on the first list; I had it in the second list, but then realized I'd already written it and deleted; it is still a mantra repeated to ALL kids at EVERY bath. I do wonder how many years this one will continue to linger.]

There are plenty of others I simply haven't bothered to record. You know, on second thought, I bet the commonness of this kind of quote hasn't changed at all. We still say plenty of strange things, all the time. We've just become immune to their weirdness since it's the norm around here!

We swallow this stuff

I'm constantly rolling my eyes at product labels. The marketing spin (Read: outright lies) is just incredible sometimes.

I generally don't commit my product rants to print since they're just so negative, and what's the point anyway--and we have plenty of happier things to blog about, right? But this one truly takes the cake. And I suppose it could be interpreted (loosely) as humor, so what the heck. Here goes.

This quote comes from the little marketing blurb on the back of a tube of baby toothpaste, whose well-known and generally well-respected manufacturer for some reason I'm withholding:

...more natural protection for your infant's teeth with ingredients like what's found in mother's breast milk.

Then farther down the label, the ingredient list begins:

Glycerin, Water, Xylitol, Sorbitol, Propylene Glycol [Wait! Isn't that the main ingredient in ANTIFREEZE?], Pectin, Xantham Gum, Colloidal Silicon Dioxide...

I'd like to know from what mystery species' mother they derived THAT formula!

Overheard, Episode 2

Boy 1: (continuing a seemingly endless string of imaginative prattle) ...and there's a new dog there.
Me: What's the dog's name?
Boy 1: He's name is Uncle Dog.
Me: His name is Uncle Dog?
Boy 2: No, he's name is Uncle Joe.
Boy 1: Yeah! Uncle Joe!
Boy 2: Uncle Joe!
boys: (shouting) Yay, Uncle Joe!

Don't ask me why, but I think Uncle Joe would actually be a great name for a dog!

Overheard, Episode 1

T: Who threw Pooh down the stairs?
disembodied voice from upstairs: Boy 1! Boy 1 did throw Pooh!
T: Go pick up Pooh and put it back in bed where it belongs!

Sounds innocent in print, right? Read it out loud.

That sound you hear in the background is not muffled laughter. It's A. A. Milne doing backflips in his grave!

Welcome to Entropy Manor

Note: It's not too often I try my hand at humor writing. Bear with me (and please don't tell me) if this is just not funny at all. Thanks! ;)

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If I were to give a pretentious faux-Southern name to our home, I know what it would be: Entropy Manor. Or maybe even Entropy Plantation, since around here, we don't just entertain this irresistible force, we cultivate it.

I was in eighth grade when I first learned about entropy. It was mentioned in my physical science book. I was stunned. There was a name for this phenomenon? Sure enough, there it was in black and white:

entropy (n.) the universe's natural tendency toward chaos

Since stumbling on Entropy's identity (and yes, I think of it as a living, thinking, Capital-Lettered Entity), I've found myself constantly, consciously battling it. I admire its tenacity, but it's darned annoying. No matter how close the neatness-and-order prize may seem, I always lose in the end. The fight can be a one-way ticket to the funny farm for a slightly compulsive, very Type-A kind of gal.

Entropy's tortures started small. Like, in 8th grade, I would bring a clean set of gym clothes to school each week. Before gym class started, I'd reach into my bag for those fresh, crisp clothes and come out instead with a handful of crumpled knit, already hopelessly limp. If I boldly dared to replace gym clothes daily, they turned soggy before I even left home.

Score One--one of millions to come--for Entropy.

Because, of course, the pattern of endless correction continued. Entropy isn't a force you outgrow. It tortured me throughout high school and college. I foolishly believed, when we moved into our first tiny apartment, that the 800-square feet we were allotted were within my control. Nope. Entropy has a mean streak reserved especially for first-time income tax payers. Carefully categorized and filed documents went missing, showing up again in unlikely places only after the sweating, cursing, and general panic were well underway.

But in the last few years, I've discovered that nowhere is Entropy a more sure victor than in a house populated by children. Children are Entropy's slaves. 

Children don't play with toys; they disassemble them, spread the parts across the house, and play with the box they came in.

Children wear far more food than they eat.

Children cannot pass by a hanging curtain or towel without tugging it free of the wall.

Children are incapable of occupying the same space as unbroken, functional household objects.

Children are driven to madness by tidily folded or neatly hung clothing.

There is no more certain way of tossing Entropy a win than by taunting it with extra effort. Go out of the way to, say, steam-clean a carpet instead of just vacuuming it, and Entropy strikes back in exponential fashion. Suddenly, snug diapers leak. Clean, neat meals crumble or drip onto clothes, then transfer. The cat develops hairballs and bulimia.

Oh, did I mention the cat? While kids usually seem to be hapless, innocent victims of Entropy's influence, cats are shameless traitors. Pumpkin joined Entropy's side way back in kittenhood. Appear with a basket of freshly dried laundry, or bring home a piece of stunning new furniture, and you can almost see the naughty little wheels turning in his head. Prolific shedding, a delicate stomach, the need to groom his claws are his weapons of choice

And all the while, Entropy watches and laughs. If you can abide the sneering, welcome! Welcome to Entropy Manor!

Fourteen MORE things I never imagined I'd say...and then I had kids

Last March, I wrote a post about some of the crazy things that have come out of T's and my mouths since we became parents. Somehow, posting that list did not end our insane babble. (Imagine that!) Here, then, is another assortment of crazy bits of conversation you'll hear around here.

1. Come pick up all your ears, please. [Mr. Potato-head parts left strewn on the floor]
2. No cat treats for you, Mister.
3. And we do not play in the litter box.
4. Two whole days with no emergency laundry. Woo hoo!
5. Peanut butter for Christmas dinner? Hmmm...I'll think about it.
6. Where are your pants? [which is a corollary to...]
7. We're not leaving until everyone is wearing pants.
8. You did it! You tinkled on the potty! Yay! High five! Good job!
9. No Wiggling until you put your toys away. [as in, singing and dancing with a recording of The Wiggles]
10. Did you just whack your brother? [Who are we, the Corleones?] 
11. Will you please stop kissing your sister.
12. No licking the window!
13. Thank you for sharing, Buddy, but Pumpkin doesn't want any lemonade.
14. Who needs a zerbert? Gonna get ya! Gonna get ya!

At this point, I'm pretty confident this second list will not be the last one.