The Gopher Apocalypse Part 3: The Hunter and The Hunted

It's been pretty quiet around here lately - and by quiet I mean the badgers have moved on out to the East side, and most of the gophers have hit up deluxe apartments in the sky . . . until today.

If you missed my previous blogs on this topic, please feel free to catch up by clicking the links below . . .

The Gopher Apocalypse Part 1

The Gopher Apocalypse Part 2: Descent into Madness

Today is not so quiet. There are four of the creepy creatures frolicking in my yard without a care in the world. Yes, I know it's only 4 - but still, gotta send those little beasts a message.

It's time to pull out the big guns. Or in my case, the pellet rifle that sounds more like a cap gun with the scope so out you probably can't hit the side of a barn . . . or maybe it's me that can't aim properly. I'm gonna go with it being the scope.

Gopher hunting is not for the faint of heart. Those little suckers are slick I tell you - and they WILL mock you at every turn. If you can't handle the frustration, don't pick up the gun. Thankfully I have three little children running around the house that try my patience at every turn, so I'm used to dealing with frustration - but even I was unprepared for the feelings of inferiority that come along with being beaten by a gopher.

The last time I went out hunting, I got within 8 feet of the hole where a sentinel was chirping out orders to his crew. I'm not sure what kind of trouble a gopher has to get into to be relegated to a sentinel role, but it must be bad. At any rate, I decided right then and there that I was going to take him out.

I carefully raised the gun to my shoulder and spent the next few minutes trying to see him through the scope. Finally I got him in the cross hairs and I took a deep breath then exhaled slowly so as to get my heart rate down - just like in the movies. My trigger finger twitched, pulled back and - pop.  A big puff of dirt flew into the air just behind the gophers head and he just looked at me. 

I repeated this process 20 times - the only time the sucker moved was to turn around and shake his a$$ at me like I was stupid.  I managed to make a pretty good divot in the ground though - so next time he will know I mean business.


Well, time to go dust off my camo pants and load up on ammo . . . on second thought, maybe I'll just add a little more Bailey's to my coffee and let the little buggers die another day. When my husband is home. So I don't have to cry myself to sleep because I'm a horrible hunter.


Yup, Bailey's it is.

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The Gopher Apocalypse Part 2 - Descent into Madness

Monday, June 18. 2012

While getting Zach ready for school, I watch as the gophers confer with one another about how best to take over the property. I shudder . . . and for good measure, I shudder again. I open the window - one looks up at me - chirping and mocking. I close the window and pull the blind. This cannot be happening. They were all supposed to die. Why, WHY, WHY can they JUST.NOT.DIE?

I look out the front window at the three crows on the roof of our shop. My, my, my - now what do we have here? They are feasting . . . feasting on a . . . gopher? YES! I feel positively giddy and grossed out simultaneously!

Mike has gone back to work - so I alone hold the fate of these gophers in my hands. And yesterday, I discovered the secret weapon. A weapon so unexpected . . . so novel . . . it is sure to send these little suckers on their way to gopher heaven in less than a week. There's no gassing here - no shovels, no guns. I have the perfect weapon, and today, I declare WAR!

In this bag lie 57 packages of Bubblelicious gum in an assortment of flavours. I am told that the gophers will try to eat the gum, but as they cannot swallow it, they will suffocate and die. AWESOME.

I proceed to put on rubber gloves and peel the gum wrappers off (you know, so the little suckers don't know this is from me - heh heh heh). 

The kids clamour up on the counter - eager to watch what I am doing (or hoping for a stray bubblegum - not sure which). Soon, we are all salivating.

We must.chew.gum.NOW!

Oh man, this is soooooo going to work.

After unwrapping 250 pieces of gum, we put on our hunting gear (gloves), grab a shovel, and head out to work. 

Mike, being most concerned for my safety, decided to set four traps last night before leaving to work. Hmmmmm . . . thinks I, wonder if we caught anything?

We head to the first hole. In it lies a gopher with its eye pecked out. The kids stare at it wide eyed. I almost pee myself. I want to vomit. I summon up every ounce of courage I have and try to pick it up with the shovel. Well, actually, I dig a huge hole because I'm scared to touch it with the shovel. But I digress. I grab a plastic bag, urge the kids to hold it tightly, close my eyes, scoop up the gopher and quickly deposit it in the plastic bag. Elizabeth says "My knees are shaking". Mine are too. Is this really what hunting is all about?

We proceed to a number of holes and deposit the gum, when we come to a trap. Oh Gawd. There's a gopher in it! I tell Zach to get it out. He looks at me blankly. I squeal as I pick up the trap and try to free its prey. I try and I try and I try to get that freaking gopher out of the trap and you know what?! I did the only thing any sane hunter could do - texted my bestie. She rushed over, plopped the gopher into the bag, and to her credit, didn't tease me once about it.

Feeling sufficiently grossed out, I rush around to the other holes, depositing my precious gum and praying for a speedy death. 

Later that evening, I get a text from my neighbour asking if I put the gum in the holes or beside it. Son of a . . . .

I look outside the window - they are EVERYWHERE - chewing like cows and blowing bubbles. I close the window and pull the blind. This cannot be happening. They were all supposed to die. Why, WHY, WHY can they JUST.NOT.DIE?

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Subway Shenanigans

The other day was a busy one - Mike was due to come home and the house still looked as though a bomb went off. I managed to convince the kids to help me out for a couple hours (amazing, right?), and then they took off and did their own thing outside.


Ben was being a bit stubborn that day, and was in full refusal mode about getting dressed. Not really a big deal as we live on an acreage and it was hot out - all the more power to him if he wanted to rake grass in his ginch.


I decided that for supper that night, we would just run to Subway and pick something up. Normally the kids stay in the car and watch a movie while I quickly run in and grab the subs. I piled all the kids in the car, briefly thought about making Ben get dressed, then decided that world war 3 could be fought about something different.  Off to the store we went.


Midway through ordering the subs, I happened to look out the window. There's my Ben, trying to do cartwheels in the parking lot in just his ginch and that's it - not even any shoes. His brother and sister were hanging out the car windows, cheering him on. 


Sigh. I had to leave the line up, go holler at him to get back in the car, and return to many snickers and some outright laughter as I finished my order. Safe to say I will not be able to return to Subway for at least a couple weeks.


There are some days when I just wish I could be rescued from the madness  . . . thank goodness for Gin. Lots and lots of Gin.




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The XXX Summer Olympics

Sigh.

Ever since Mike brought this to my attention, I can't stop thinking of the summer games as the Naked/Porn Olympics.

Even worse, we have 40 more years before XXX is no longer part of the countdown! One would have thought that they might just skip years 30 - 39 lest there be any kind of confusion or cheap knock off sport videos sprout up somewhere.

Then again, who knows? Perhaps our species will evolve over the next 40 years, and in the future, athletes may discover that all the spandex and gaudy uniforms really don't have an impact on performance so they might as well be naked.

In truth, watching the mens cycling this morning, one has to wonder why they even bother covering up - other than the padding on their a$$ might make the seat more comfortable. There are already naked cycling events that take place - why not move into the forum of the Olympics? 

Gymnastics? One only has to look at the popularity of Cirque du Soleil's Zumanity to understand that naked acrobats are entertaining. Although they may have to eliminate the pommel horse event - that thing looks like it's designed to be a nut blaster even WITH pants on.

That being said, I'm not so sure that any sport involving balls would be appropriate to play au naturel. In particular, Table Tennis comes to mind - one wrong move and BAM - there goes an entire lineage of table tennis hero's! Of course, if you got some talented strippers playing, you might not even need a paddle - just saying.

I just got finished watching some women's tennis. It really is the XXX games - at least if you close your eyes. Is grunting like that mandatory? Talk about leaving nothing to the imagination.


Well, that's my two cents worth. Now I want to know what YOU think? Should the Olympics go naked?


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Bedtime Story?

The other night when I was putting the kids to bed, the topic came up about how they were born.

I explained that they had to cut my tummy open to take Ben and Elizabeth out. Elizabeth came out first, then Ben started to cry and peed all over me before they could even take him out. This caused great gales of laughter and I had to pantomime Ben peeing several times before they were able to settle down.

Then Ben asked about Zach and Emily. I explained that Zach and Emily grew inside my tummy, but that I had to push them out of my bottom.

Their eyes grew wide - Zach and Ben began laughing and shouting "FOR REAL?!?!" repeatedly, while Elizabeth started this weird hyperventilating laughing that wasn't really laughing but an attempt to show she wasn't as grossed out as she felt.

After about 20 minutes they were all settled, and I assured them that no matter how they got out of my tummy, I loved them all just the same. They seemed ok with this.

I proceeded with the bedtime snuggles. As I was rubbing Ben's back, he started to whimper. I asked him what was wrong . . .

"But I wanted to be pushed out like poop too - just like Zach".

Sigh.

Sometimes, there is just not enough gin in the world.

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Me vs. Him - I'm Right . . . Right?

Normally I don't discuss disagreements my husband and I have, but tonight I'm going to make an exception - simply because he is taking longer than usual to finally come to terms with the fact that I, of course, am right.

The issue is this:

I don't believe it is appropriate to pass gas (him) while standing around having a conversation with someone (me). Don't get me wrong, I'm not talking about the little ones that inadvertently 'slip out' before you realize what is happening. Of course you have little control over that.

No, I'm talking about him being in the middle of saying a sentence and letting the thunder roll for 10 seconds without even altering the conversation in any way, shape, or form - then acting like NOTHING just happened.

To his credit, it probably is a gift that he can make his farts so loud and long - I certainly have never met anyone with quite this same capability in my lifetime - and he is obviously very committed to his motto of "it's not worth doing if you can't share it" - but seriously?

Here is a typical conversation:

Me: How was your flight?

Him: Well, it was pretty good, but for a while there (cue start of fart) it got really bumpy and at one point my stomach felt upset (end fart) but then things settled down and it was very smooth.

Me: (Disgusted) I think your stomach is still upset!!! Was that your way of introducing mood music to illustrate your point???

Him: What?  I don't know what (lays a blackie) you're talking about.

Me: THAT! That's what I'm talking about.

Him: Just because you can only push out squeakers doesn't mean that I can't be amazing!

And if I'm honest - he might be a little bit right. I'm more of an SBD kind of girl to be sure - but sometimes it would be nice to pack a little punch. I'm pretty positive I could eat a thousand pounds of beans and NEVER make a sound like that - and if I did get so lucky, I wouldn't even WANT to look in my underpants! 

Sigh. 

So whose side are you on?

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Double Exposure

After listening to the kids whine and complain about not being able to go swimming, I finally relented and agreed to take them to the pool. What's the point of parenting if you can't be inconsistent, right? Sigh.

All went well for the first hour - kids were having a blast on the waterslides and were generally very well behaved. Then they came into the pool to play. It was all going great until Ben reached over to grab me, caught my bathing suit, and whipped out my boob for everyone to see. Well, perhaps I exaggerate - my boobs are so small, even if one is whipped out, it's likely no one will notice.

I got everything tucked back in, and we had a fantastic time - then someone pooped in the pool and it was time to clear out. After a quick shower and change, we packed up and headed out. On our way through the lobby, Ben started yelling 'fox, fox, fox' and pointing to the fox pictured on the wall. Unfortunately with his speech delay, it sounded more like the other F word and we were able to get some really interesting looks from people walking by.

On our way out to the car, Ben decided I was going too fast and gave my pants a quick pull. Yup - I got 'pantsed' in the parking lot by my 5 year old. Sure glad I was too lazy to put on my underwear when I was getting changed. Fox.

I can hardly wait to go swimming again . . . only this time, Ben might have to stay home.

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