Centipedes, Wolf Spiders, and Stag Beetles, OH MY!

Right now, as I type this, I'm guessing at least 3 bugs are within arm's reach of me, and I just can't see them.

I'm actually cool with it.

Well, sometimes.

I hate bugs as much as the next normal person.  I don't see a spider and think, "Oh, that's cool!  I want to pick it up and pet it!"  I don't have a spider tattooed on my arm... you know, I'm pretty normal.

The house we currently rent was built sometime in the '50s, I'm guessing, and I doubt anyone ever had any sort of pest control here.  For some reason, old houses hide creepier bugs.

Our number 1 bug is the centipede.  I see probably 1-2 a day, and those puppies are FAST.  If you don't get them right away, you might as well give up.  It'll be gone by the time you race back with that tissue in hand.

Our number 2 bug, as Fall has arrived, seems to be the stag beetle.  These suckers are evil.  They have little pinchers and will use them if they get scared.  They are also super fast.  My 8-year-old, Natalie, had a run-in with one of these this summer.  She stepped on it and started screaming.  I thought she stubbed her toe and was doing her normal dramatic "my toe is going to fall off" bit.  When the screaming didn't stop, I looked and saw the beetle attached to the underneath of her toes.  Talk about disturbing!  They seem to be coming out of every little crack right now.

Yick.

Number 3, and my least favorite, is the wolf spider.  I assume we have a great quantity of these, but they just stay hidden.  They can also be pretty quick, but I really hate that they are hairy.  Any bug large enough to grow a 'stache really makes me shiver.

I will say, though, that living here has helped me with my aversion to all things creepy and crawly.  I see so many, that it's kinda normal now.  If I kill 1-2 a day, I actually feel like I've accomplished something.  I wouldn't say I'm a bug ninja yet, but I'm getting there.

We really want to purchase a farm with an old farmhouse, so getting used to bugs is important.  If this is what 60 years brings, then imagine 100 or more.

And no, no bugs have ended up in our coffee yet.

... At least that I know of.  My husband probably wouldn't tell me.

And yes, we have some stink bugs, too.  Those are pretty lame, though.  If it can't outrun me, I'm not too worried about it.

I only really have two major concerns about the bugs in the house:

1. I don't want a kid to get bitten.  I don't think our centipedes are big enough to bite, but if you google "centipede bite", the pictures are disgusting!  Also, wolf spiders are poisonous, and can have very painful bites.  And, who wants a beetle attached to their kid?

2. I want to have a yard sale.  I have piled up a bunch of stuff in two areas of our basement, and I am more than mildly terrified of what is hiding inside the boxes and linens.  I am sure there will be spiders.  That seriously makes me not want to touch it.  How am I supposed to get it out of my basement if I don't want to touch it?

Maybe I'm not as cool with the bugs as I thought.

In case you think I may be exaggerating, let me give you an idea of the size of the wolf spiders in our house.  (And FYI, the centipedes are usually between 1-4 inches long.)

One night, our killer cat, Shawn, started staring at something under a shelf in our foyer.  My husband said, "What is he staring at?"  We started to watch him.  He went under the shelf a little, pawing at something.  A spider about the diameter OF A BASEBALL ran out and then back in.  The cat went after it for a second then walked away, like "oh well".  I literally couldn't sleep that night.

Is that sucker still in my house?  Yep, most likely.

It's probably in my yard sale pile.

Say a prayer for me,

Kristin

Stink Bug Coffee

Let me first say that coffee is completely psychological for me.  I can literally drink a cup and go right to sleep.  But for some unknown reason, I feel the need to drink it to wake myself up every morning (and sometimes in the afternoon).

I blame my first real boss, wherever he may be, for my coffee obsession.  In my first job out of college, I was a consultant in DC.  I worked on health care litigation cases.  Very exciting, right?!  Well, most of my job was watching queries run on huge databases in order to pull data to then transfer to Excel spreadsheets.  My boss, God love him, thought that this needed to be done into the wee hours of the night, EVERY NIGHT.

So I learned to drink coffee, lots and lots of coffee.

In fact, my very first coffee came from Starbucks during New Hire orientation for that job.  It was a Caramel Macchiato.  It was a good standard to set.  Of course, we drank 8 O'Clock coffee at that job, which isn't quite Starbucks.  It did its job, though.

I take my creamer and milk with a little coffee.  I am one of "those people" who hate dark coffee.  I like a little bit of flavored creamer (Coffeemate Naturals are my favorite), a little bit of milk, and then one Splenda with my joe.  I was at two Splenda packets per cup, but I've gotten myself down to one.  Yes, you could say I don't like to taste the bitterness.

I'd say my coffee consumption over the past decade or so has been pretty consistent.  I don't have to drink 5 cups a day anymore like I did in my consulting job, but I'm usually at 1 or 2, depending on whether or not I need something to keep me going in the afternoon.

Again, it's completely psychological.

Now, my husband has had quite the change in his coffee consumption since we met.  First, he was strictly into Frappacinos.  I'm not too sure those even qualify as coffee, but we'll count it.  They are delicious.  He never drank coffee on a daily basis.  Then, we had kids.

Kid #1 = Coffee on the weekends only (weird, I know), only 1/3 cup consumed.

Kid #2 = Coffee every day, 1/2 to 3/4 cup consumed.

Kid #3 = Coffee every day, whole cup consumed.

Kid #4 = Coffee every day, whole cup consumed.  Optional second cup in the afternoon.

Why the stink bug in between kids 3 and 4?  Well, one morning, my husband got up to go to work and found a stink bug floating in the Keurig water reservoir.  He knew that he wouldn't have time to stop and get coffee somewhere on the way to work, so, faced with that knowledge, he brewed his coffee.  And he drank it.  Stink bug water and all.

I almost vomited.

Now, maybe you understand the importance of coffee in our house.

We started with Keurig-style machines probably some time around #3.  It was so easy to do one cup at a time that we quickly got addicted to it.  Over the years, we have cut out the expensive K-cups, though, and now we just refill the reusable cup.  It's actually pretty simple.

But, in order to enjoy one glorious cup at a time, you have to endure the dreaded Keurig death rattle.  If you've owned one of these machines, you know what it's like.

• You try to brew your 12 ounces one morning but come back to only 10.  You pretend you don't notice.
• A couple days later, you try for 12 ounces again and come back to 6.  It's like a punch in the gut.  You brew another 6 and move on with your day as the dread starts to creep in.
• A few days after that, you go for 12 (because that's the definition of insanity, right?), and you get 4.  You go on a rant about why the machine even has a 4-ounce brewing option.  It's un-American!  
• And then, after maybe another 1-2 weeks of brewing 3 times to get a full cup, one morning the machine just doesn't turn on.  Grief sets in.

We're in stage 3 of the process right now.  We went through stage 4 about 8 months ago.  We were still under warranty for our Cuisinart and mailed it back to them.  2-3 weeks later, they sent us one back THAT WAS REFURBISHED.  

What is the point in a warranty that just trades in one broken appliance for another one that has already broken?

Boo Cuisinart.

So, surprisingly, we are already back to where we were 8 months ago.  And, of course, out of warranty.

We've had 1 Keurig, which lasted under 2 years, and then the Cuisinart, which made it about 2 and a half before the replacement piece of crap.  They are so expensive for such a short lifespan.  But what do we do now?  

Do we go back to the Stone Age of coffee making?  Multiple cups at a time?  I mean, I know those Paleo people love the Stone Age.  Can I handle washing a carafe and a filter bin every day?

Sigh.

Maybe it's time to give it up.

But, I just can't quit you, coffee.

Say a prayer for me, 

Kristin

A Flaky, Delicious Phase

There are different phases in life...

• The I-think-bars-are-cool phase
• The I-think-thigh-high-boots-will-be-awesome phase
• The I'm-gonna-run-the-world phase
• The I'm-gonna-run-my-house phase
• The I-need-a-minivan phase
• The French-fries-in-the-car-bother-me phase
• The My-house-can-be-clean phase
• The I'll-never-buy-another-minivan phase
• The I-can't-believe-women-leave-the-house-without-makeup phase
• quickly followed by...
• The I-can't-believe-women-wear-makeup-every-day phase

... 

And on and on. They all last varying lengths and have varying degrees of intensity.

My current phase?

The I-think-anything-can-be-made-with-canned-biscuits phase.

Anything.  Period.

Chicken pot pie?  Check.  Garlic knots?  I'm sure.  Monkey bread?  Haven't tried it, but I'm going to!  It's no wonder why Costco sells gigantic packs of Crescents.  What can't you do with this stuff?

Breakfast last weekend:

A layer of flaky Grands on the bottom of a casserole dish, split in half and pinched together

Leftover taco mixture from the night before, spread out on the biscuits

4 Eggs, lightly scrambled, mixed with shredded cheese on top

Bake at 350 until the eggs are set 

YUM!  Best idea for leftover taco filling, EVER.  Seriously, EVER.  I must say, though, I've perfected our taco filling over the years.  I'll have to share it one day.

Breakfast today:

Grands split in half, stretched apart and pushed into a muffin tin to form a little cup

Cooked link sausage, cut in half, with two halves in each cup

Top with egg and cheese mix again

Bake at 400 about 18 minutes, until egg is set

The kids loved it.  Requires no utensils.  I'm going to experiment with some other fillings in it, but it was so simple and good.

I also tried to make Bacon Crack this morning.  I think I made two mistakes, though.  It ended up more like a baconlava.  Or Baclava.  

First mistake was that I used the big flaky Crescents.  It was too fluffy.  I think you need need the dough sheet.  Second mistake was that I had cheap thick-cut Wal-mart bacon in the fridge.  Next time, I'd buy normal cut, and something a little more fancy.  It's OK, just too gooey because the crust didn't dry out like it should have.

Did I mention that my husband and I are trying to lose weight?

I'm trying to leave my biscuit experimentation for the weekends.  Leftovers kinda tend to stretch over the week, though.  Maybe this phase will end as quickly as the I-think-thigh-high-boots-will-be-awesome phase.  

Let's hope so.

Do you have any adventures in biscuits  to share?  Feel free to comment below.

I'm trying to not make this horrible looking dessert, called a Churro Milky Bun, as we speak.  It's a good thing I'm out of biscuits.

What is wrong with me?  I don't even like sweets.

Say a prayer for me, 

Kristin

One of THOSE Days

Good Thursday evening to you from Winchester!

It has just been one of those days...  One.  Of.  Those.  Days.

It all started off well; new blog post, good page views, and eggs and toast for breakfast (with a little sriracha mayo).  Nice, right?  It was all going so well...

Then the two middle terrorists and my oldest child got home from school.

Let's discuss the first problem, which I always totally lose my cool over: lying.

Terrorist #2, aka Natalie, told us at the beginning of the week that she had no homework.  I believed it.  It was a short week with Labor Day, and it sounded entirely plausible.  I asked her several times, "Are you sure?", and she said, "Yes", while looking me straight in the eye.  Mind you, she is 8.

This morning, I found a paper in her backpack (dated for this short week) listing 20 spelling words and different activities.  This is her typical homework.  She is supposed to do 4 activities per week, one every night until turning it all in on Friday.

Terrorist #2 had no idea where the sheet came from and how it got into her backpack this morning.  This afternoon, after a rough interrogation, she admitted that she lied to us at the beginning of the week about it.

Let me just say, I hate my kids' homework.  I hate it more (I think) than my own homework from when I was still in school. Why do I hate it?  Because it's like I have to repeat school myself.  It's all this interaction and checking and quizzing!  What happened to checking it in class and dealing with the consequences?  The last thing I want to do is re-visit the regions of Virginia and math strategies that simply make no sense at all to a normal human being.

I never remember my parents having to help me with my homework.  Can't we go back to those good ol' days?

Back to Terrorist #2.  After losing my cool and tacking on hard time to her current grounding, we were still faced with 4 spelling activities to do.  Shoot me now, I thought.

So then we hit Terrorist #3, otherwise known as Jesse.  He asks to play Wii.  OK, no biggie.  I forget, and conveniently so does he, that he has reading homework.  He rushes downstairs to play for 30-45 minutes, our normal time limit.  By the time he's done, #2 is done with 2 activities and I'm ready to go to the gym.

Note: my gym has childcare, the best thing ever.

I tell #3 to get ready to go.

Fit #1: He's hungry.  I have scheduled snack time after they get off the bus and if he chooses to not eat (because Wii is too important), then he doesn't get to come back and snack later.  Ohh... we've only discussed this about a billion times.

Fit #2: I didn't tell him we were going to the gym.  See, he likes to play on the XBOX at the gym, and if he's already played Wii, that means no XBOX.  Totally my fault, right?  I mean, my plans always need to be ironed out with my 6-year-old.

Ensue tantrum.  Crying.  Writhing.  Screaming on his bed.  Punishment of 2 days with no video games is assessed to the terrorist, who finally pulls himself together, and we're off to the gym.

We get to the gym.  Being child-free is in my sight, literally, as we are walking towards the front door.  I set Cassidy down to walk, and she immediately falls flat on her face on the sidewalk.  Scraped knees, no blood.  OK, looking good.

Then the blood starts pouring out of her mouth.  The inside and outside of her bottom lip is totally busted.  I yell at Calvin for a baby wipe, and we head back to the car.  No gym.  No childcare.

So, I sit there for a minute.  The bleeding has stopped but Cassidy is an emotional wreck.  What am I going to do?  We discuss leftovers, and who wants what.  I think, I don't need to get fast food.  There's plenty in our fridge.  What do I need, though?  Alcohol.

We head to the ABC store.  I'm on a kick to recreate a "Texas mule", as the bartender called it, from a restaurant we went to on our anniversary recently.  I needed grapefruit flavored vodka, and I needed it now.  On the way, though, I see that we're going to pass Costco, so I figure I'll fill up the tank.

The line was worse at that gas station than I've ever seen in my adult life.  You would have thought a hurricane was about to make landfall in the Shenandoah Valley, followed by an earthquake and a gas shortage.  I peeled off and immediately decided that the kids were going to eat McDs.  No doubt about it.

So then we went to the ABC store, 4 kids in tow, and really, shouldn't they give discounts per child in there, sorta like a tax credit?  And then Cal, who to his credit, had to pee as soon as we left our house, was about to pee his pants.  Thus, we went into Dollar Tree to fix that problem.  Mind you, we're about 3 minutes from home at this point.  $10 later with no idea what 10 items I purchased, we are at McDs and I am able to not order anything for myself!

Success!  I am made of solid willpower.

Or, I am saving those calories for Texas mules.

Yes, one of those.

I am currently one mule down, the kids are in bed, and I think my husband is finally home from work.  Either that, or someone has broken into my house upstairs.  I survived.

Oh, and yes, Natalie did finish her homework.  But now that I think about it, what if she only had to do 3 for this short week?  I made her do 4...

Ugh.  Milk bomb.

Say a prayer for me,

Kristin

The Milk Bomb, Of Course

It's Thursday morning in Winchester, Virginia.  Good morning!

My name is Kristin.  I am a Domestic Engineer.  A Familial Law Enforcement Officer.  A Stay at Home Mom.

I have some other titles, too.  I am an insurance agent, part-time, mostly from home.  I also profess to be a college football blogger (random, right?), an insurance blogger, and well, now I guess I'm a lifestyle blogger.  I am a preschool volunteer at church, and also a greeter (both once a month).  And when I can, I cook meals for families in need via a church group called Cooking for Christ.  

I am a wife.  

I am a mommy to four munchkins... or terrorists, depending on the day.

I do not negotiate with terrorists.

The "milk bomb" blog has been a dream for a while now.  It's time to get this baby up and running!  

Milk Bomb

noun   \ˈmilk ˈbäm\

: a white liquid produced by a woman to feed her baby or by female animals to feed their young; especially : milk from cows or goats that is used as food by people

+

: a device that is designed to explode in order to injure or kill people or to damage or destroy property

: something that is a complete failure

=

That obnoxious, frightening, hideous milk catastrophe that happens when a child drops anything containing milk (whether in a supposedly spill-proof cup or not).  It covers such a large area that the viscosity of milk begs to be studied by science.  Parts of the fall-out hide, waiting to curdle and turn into inedible cheese.  It is the bane of my existence as a mother.

It can also be a failure at parenting.  No one is perfect, especially this lady.  

I hate the milk bomb.

So, there it is.  

Right now, I am being used as a pillow (luckily, I have some extra padding) by an 18-month-old that seems to think she is the Dictator of this house.  All hail Cassidy of the Size 5 Huggies!  Terrible twos have always come early to my children, and she is no exception.  I think it is God's way of telling me that we don't need a fifth child.  This whole terrible twos thing gets really old when you are in your mid-30s.  

The current Master of the Milk Bomb in our house is my second youngest, Jesse.  He has had to go into the kitchen to drink his milk for quite some time now.  His drinks have been banished from the dining room.  He has a knack for not paying attention and has quite a little attitude problem at times.  I think both of these characteristics are integral to professional milk bomb-making.  Jesse is 6.

My other bomb-makers are Calvin, 9, and Natalie, 8.  Although they have had their moments, they are both competent enough right now to house a cup at their place setting at the table.  Success!

So that's it.  This is my life; I hope you can relate.  If not, enjoy the show!

I am off to destroy the planet, aka, do enough laundry to clothe a small village.  

Say a prayer for me,

Kristin