Tuesday, September 14, 2010

Monday, a Day Late

I had a different post planned out for today.  It involved cats.  Anything that involves cats, in my book, is tops.  Then again, nobody ever said I was normal.  Which is probably why I have six cats in the first place and why, if you look closely at the photos from yesterday's post about the Wii and Big Brain Academy, you can see bits of fur stuck all over my un-vacuumed carpet (though honestly most of the fur is attributable to the dogs, and I'm not just saying that because I like cats better.  The dogs are WAY worse about shedding.)  Disclaimer:  The floor isn't usually that bad, but I'm on a cleaning strike until this weekend when I am going to deep clean the house so I can have 11 women over on Sunday and serve them food. 

I really don't like seeing fur on the carpet when I'm serving food to other people.  I'm not a germophobe, but there is a line.

Anyway, so the cat post has gotten shoved out of the way for a day or two.  It'll make an appearance, don't you worry, but it's gone by the wayside for now.

Why, you ask?

Because Monday arrived a day late.

Mondays are when all bad discoveries should happen.  Then we can get them all out of the way and move on with the week, and by Friday, it's all blown over and we can enjoy our weekend.

I hate it when life doesn't listen to me.

M1 decided he didn't feel well this morning.  I say "decided" because he wasn't running a fever, and by the time we'd gotten through all the school I felt compelled to put him through unless he threw up, he was fine and being a bouncy boy again.


However, for the sake of saving face, I told him that it was tough noogies that he suddenly, instantly, magically felt better the instant "school" was "over," and that he had to go rest in his room anyway, because if he WAS coming down with something, I wanted him to have plenty of rest.

*angelic blinky eyes*

Aren't I wonderful? 

He didn't think so, but he plodded off to his room.  I took a book in to him a few minutes later, a book that I wanted him to browse through just to see if he'd enjoy it or get anything out of it or maybe fall asleep reading it.

I turned around to walk out of his room, and a spot in his closet caught my eye.  It was on the back wall, black, looked to be about an inch across, and was shaped rather like a circle. 

Now, a few weeks ago, I probably wouldn't have noticed it, because before we moved into this house, teenage boys lived here, and they firmly believed in throwing shoes into the closet, so the walls in the closets were streaked with black and gray.  I am completely anal retentive, though, so I bought plain white primer and have been randomly painting closets throughout the house.  I did the kids' closets about a month ago. 

So I *know* there wasn't supposed to be a black spot on that wall.

My arachnophobia kicked in and gave my chest a squeeze and said, "OMG SPIDER!!!" 

Logic kicked back and said, "Then where are the legs, you idiot?!?  Your eyesight isn't THAT bad."

I stepped forward.

M1 took a nosedive under his covers, which is never a good sign.

I stepped even closer, wondering if my eyes were deceiving me.

I blinked.

My eyes focused, and I saw it again.

A hole.



The boy claims to have made it with a drumstick.  I have no doubt that this was made for the purpose of being able to talk to his sister when they are both supposed to be in bed, as his room adjoins to hers through that wall.  I need to check behind her chest of drawers and see if, in fact, he did make it through, but I haven't brought myself to do it yet.  I've been eating 1/3 of a pan of lasagna to console myself that my boy isn't deliberately trying to destroy my house one wall at a time.

M1 will be helping Oz repair that hole and will be repainting that particular part of the closet.  His drumsticks are now fire kindling.  I suspect the rest of the tools in his room will be relegated to the garage permanently.

I'm done now.  Can Monday be over yet?

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