So my first baby is finishing his run at the middle school, and will be headed for the junior high (aka sesspool of adolescence). My other baby is closing out her time in elementary school, and is headed for the middle school in the fall. I guess what this means is that I really don't have any babies! There's one box of tissues...sad. The good news is that the people they are both becoming are pretty fabulous, and they've surrounded themselves with some incredible friends. Another box of tissues...happy.
In an effort to keep busy, the oven is on once again. I am currently waiting for the timer to go off on what is part of batch number six of chocolate chip cookies, since last Thursday. There were a variety of causes that led to the homage to Nestle and its fabulous Tollhouse recipe. Three batches were for a coworker's daughter's graduation party and one batch was for the people running the corporate challenge at my aunt's office. The other two batches were the easiest/most cost effective way to say "thanks and farewell" to the myriad of teachers my children felt compelled to acknowledge (yeah, yeah, yeah...I felt it too). The baked goods covered all of our bases at the middle school, once my son reluctantly accepted that they were a fine alternative to gift cards. Since our daughter will be going to that school next year, his departure lacked any sense of finality for me (there could be some fuzzy logic or denial mixed in there, but keep that to yourself, and do not feel compelled to point it out to me).
The waters got a little murkier for the elementary school farewell. Melty morsels sufficed for some. However, it was not only the girl's good-bye, she can draw a swell card with her own message, but rather this mom's good riddance as well. How do I say "good-bye", and perhaps more importantly "Thank you", while keeping in mind that this isn't about me? (Cue another box of tissues!) With the help of my ten year old, we were successful in finding ways that we felt would let people know we were thinking of them. Those people extended back to her first grade, up through her fourth grade teacher. Nobody can shake us that easily...we just keep coming back! Sure there appeared to be some sort of hierarchy to the gifts, but nobody else needs to know that. There were some cards that I had to add my own two cents, but most others are tear-jerkers on their own. It's so funny to me how she is at the kitchen table right now drafting away at things, that sent me running out of the room before she saw the waterworks coming, with a big grin on her face. She clearly has a better hold on "Don't cry because it's over....smile because it happened" than I do. I am working on it...really, I am. It is worse to imagine us having spent the past six years someplace we were more than eager to leave.
Lately my musings over what to be when the kids grow up have become tangled with a growing sense of wondering where I belong (that is a whole other blog on its own I think). In moments of panic, I found that I could belong in the halls of the elementary school...room parent, literacy volunteer, spectator. That era ends tomorrow morning when I will "belong" there for the last time (tissue, please). Oh dear, I don't look terribly forward to belonging in front of my washing machine or behind my vacuum cleaner!
Monday, June 21, 2010
Thursday, June 10, 2010
What did I just eat...and why?
Today was not a "hand over the chocolate and nobody gets hurt" kind of day. Rather, it was more about some crunchy salty goodness. But when she got there...the cupboard was bare...yeah, but she didn't have "none"! I spotted a crinkly bag of some sort of frito-lay family chips, Doritos to be exact. Not just any Doritos, the All Night Burger flavor. OK, my 12 year old talked me into these, as he claimed they were "awesome". I guess they are kind of awesome in a "holy crap, what on earth is in these things to make them taste just like a Burger King burger" kind of way. However, that awesome-ness quickly fades as the crunch lives on, and I begin to remember why I don't really go to the BK Lounge anymore. I didn't bother checking the ingredient list as I was certain that would provide no comfort. It took only three chips to seal the deal for me that I'd had enough.
Now the whole idea behind meal flavored chips is a little perplexing to me. Sometimes I like chips with my burger, but not chips that taste like said burger. Plus, if I am in the mood for a burger, a better idea would be for me to just eat one (instead of a bag of chips). It makes me think of the Jetsons with some futuristic food capsule, or Willy Wonka with Mike TV getting his meal flavors out of chewing gum. Ranch flavored chips make sense to me, as they save me the trouble of keeping dip around at all times, and keep the fat content of my indulgence to the chips themselves. I just wish I could see the mystical spice rack that enables the production of the flavor varieties on the shelves. I feel like a scientist when I mix honey and mustard for honey-mustard, and am pretty sure I could time travel when I make pudding or meringue, and see them actually take form!
There was another food finding recently that turned my stomach in another way. My daughter has a fairly strict "no thanks" policy when it comes to eating breakfast, and the realm of breakfast food in general. She mentioned that she tried a Jimmy Dean breakfast bowl at a friend's house, and wanted to obtain some of her very own. The thought of one less battle before 8:00 am held some appeal, so we peered through the glass doors of wonder that are the frozen food section, and there they were! I don't usually hear Jimmy's name thrown around much in the American Heart Association cookbooks we have, so I decided to just quickly scan the nutrition facts. I couldn't focus on the fat content, which is what I was after, because there was the largest number I'd ever seen, on a box panel, flicking me in the eye. It was the cholesterol content..of course I don't remember the grams, but I do remember that the amount was 128% of the recommended DAILY value per serving. Does Jimmy think cholesterol is a good thing? It was almost like having it in plain sight made it ok. I know it's required to have that info on the food, but WOW! Is it just me, or does it seem that product warrants a warning as much as a bottle of wine does?! "The surgeon general warns that you might as well drink bacon grease", or "The Surgeon general recommends that you refill your Lipitor immediately".
I took a moment to come up with my response as my daughter waited (with drooly visions of her bacon, cheese, egg scramble). Then I showed her the numbers on the box, and apologized for being unable to make that purchase. The only concern I had left on the subject was how that information might translate to her friend, who gets to snack with Jimmy after school. A little goofy to think that I can sleep better giving her milk, donut holes and a piece of fruit...breakfast of runner ups?
Now the whole idea behind meal flavored chips is a little perplexing to me. Sometimes I like chips with my burger, but not chips that taste like said burger. Plus, if I am in the mood for a burger, a better idea would be for me to just eat one (instead of a bag of chips). It makes me think of the Jetsons with some futuristic food capsule, or Willy Wonka with Mike TV getting his meal flavors out of chewing gum. Ranch flavored chips make sense to me, as they save me the trouble of keeping dip around at all times, and keep the fat content of my indulgence to the chips themselves. I just wish I could see the mystical spice rack that enables the production of the flavor varieties on the shelves. I feel like a scientist when I mix honey and mustard for honey-mustard, and am pretty sure I could time travel when I make pudding or meringue, and see them actually take form!
There was another food finding recently that turned my stomach in another way. My daughter has a fairly strict "no thanks" policy when it comes to eating breakfast, and the realm of breakfast food in general. She mentioned that she tried a Jimmy Dean breakfast bowl at a friend's house, and wanted to obtain some of her very own. The thought of one less battle before 8:00 am held some appeal, so we peered through the glass doors of wonder that are the frozen food section, and there they were! I don't usually hear Jimmy's name thrown around much in the American Heart Association cookbooks we have, so I decided to just quickly scan the nutrition facts. I couldn't focus on the fat content, which is what I was after, because there was the largest number I'd ever seen, on a box panel, flicking me in the eye. It was the cholesterol content..of course I don't remember the grams, but I do remember that the amount was 128% of the recommended DAILY value per serving. Does Jimmy think cholesterol is a good thing? It was almost like having it in plain sight made it ok. I know it's required to have that info on the food, but WOW! Is it just me, or does it seem that product warrants a warning as much as a bottle of wine does?! "The surgeon general warns that you might as well drink bacon grease", or "The Surgeon general recommends that you refill your Lipitor immediately".
I took a moment to come up with my response as my daughter waited (with drooly visions of her bacon, cheese, egg scramble). Then I showed her the numbers on the box, and apologized for being unable to make that purchase. The only concern I had left on the subject was how that information might translate to her friend, who gets to snack with Jimmy after school. A little goofy to think that I can sleep better giving her milk, donut holes and a piece of fruit...breakfast of runner ups?
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
WTF???
And by that title, of course I mean...What The Font?!?!?!?!? A trained chimp could probably figure out blogger, as it is so easy to use, yet I cannot keep a consistent font style in a consistent size (preferably one that doesn't require a page magnifier). And when I do go in to reset any particular post, things go even wackier...sheesh! I think this may be where I need to focus all of my energy and anxiety right now. All of that end of the school year crap can wait, I have bigger issues to take care of! I can't have the fives of people who follow this blog being visually challenged on a regular basis. My little man is leaving for Philly on his first school trip tomorrow, but instead of worrying about that, I should focus on why proper formatting is eluding me so! This could take all of my brainpower (and several handfuls of licorice!)
What's the Deal?
When my daughter and I returned from soccer practice last night, there were some Walgreens bags on the kitchen counter. I was only slightly dismayed that things were muck-a-lucking up my counter, as I was sure the bags were filled with useful items. I also realized that this meant that the men had probably gone for a bike ride, and was pleased at the notion that another hour of eye-burning electronics had not taken place...fresh air and male bonding!
Then I looked in the bags...9 bags of licorice: twists, bites, and pull & peel (I don't even know why I am qualifying this). Um...excuse me? I thought I had splurged a little bit the other day when I bought ONE bag of cherry bites for the snack shack (supplies were actually getting low...and I was actually relieved). I inquired as to what was going on-assuming they were a gift. Nope...Mr Sweet Tooth said they were on sale. I really couldn't fathom what kind of sale warranted more than four bags. Did I miss a new study deeming cherry Twizzlers to contain more antioxidants than blueberries?
I mentioned that it added insult to injury that he left his bags of unnecessary goods on the kitchen counter, that I apparently LIVE to clear off. That is when I was told that the licorice was three for $4.00 and with that purchase he got $10.00 off his next purchase (which I suppose I should be grateful wasn't nine more bags of licorice). He couldn't even blame it on the boy child because he was waiting outside the store, where he kept busy by falling off his bike and having the pedal eat part of his calf.
There were also two boxes of granola bars that he bought for himself. That information was provided when I asked why additional granola bars were being added to our collection of uneaten ones. They were the kind he liked and he was bringing them to work. As some sort of a compromise, he told me to pick out five bags of licorice to keep at home and he'd bring some to work. OK. I got the sense that his feelings were hurt that I was not more appreciative of his financial wizardry regarding the acquisition of an early Halloween. My feelings were a little hurt by his suggestion that I wasn't buying enough teeth rot in my weekly Wegmans run (nor do I select the appropriate Nature Valley goodness).
I maintain that spending $12.00 on something, you don't need, to get $10.oo off your next purchase, in a store we don't purchase much at, is fuzzy logic. Maybe it's just me...and now I feel like a hypocrite if I give in to the cherry Twizzler bites craving I've got brewing!!!! Thank goodness I bought a bag of those myself...might have to move them to my sock drawer if I intend for them to last long enough to prove a stubborn point!
Then I looked in the bags...9 bags of licorice: twists, bites, and pull & peel (I don't even know why I am qualifying this). Um...excuse me? I thought I had splurged a little bit the other day when I bought ONE bag of cherry bites for the snack shack (supplies were actually getting low...and I was actually relieved). I inquired as to what was going on-assuming they were a gift. Nope...Mr Sweet Tooth said they were on sale. I really couldn't fathom what kind of sale warranted more than four bags. Did I miss a new study deeming cherry Twizzlers to contain more antioxidants than blueberries?
I mentioned that it added insult to injury that he left his bags of unnecessary goods on the kitchen counter, that I apparently LIVE to clear off. That is when I was told that the licorice was three for $4.00 and with that purchase he got $10.00 off his next purchase (which I suppose I should be grateful wasn't nine more bags of licorice). He couldn't even blame it on the boy child because he was waiting outside the store, where he kept busy by falling off his bike and having the pedal eat part of his calf.
There were also two boxes of granola bars that he bought for himself. That information was provided when I asked why additional granola bars were being added to our collection of uneaten ones. They were the kind he liked and he was bringing them to work. As some sort of a compromise, he told me to pick out five bags of licorice to keep at home and he'd bring some to work. OK. I got the sense that his feelings were hurt that I was not more appreciative of his financial wizardry regarding the acquisition of an early Halloween. My feelings were a little hurt by his suggestion that I wasn't buying enough teeth rot in my weekly Wegmans run (nor do I select the appropriate Nature Valley goodness).
I maintain that spending $12.00 on something, you don't need, to get $10.oo off your next purchase, in a store we don't purchase much at, is fuzzy logic. Maybe it's just me...and now I feel like a hypocrite if I give in to the cherry Twizzler bites craving I've got brewing!!!! Thank goodness I bought a bag of those myself...might have to move them to my sock drawer if I intend for them to last long enough to prove a stubborn point!
Saturday, May 22, 2010
For the birds...Part three: My Other Husband
I admit, I was feeling a little full of myself for the fabulous anti-barn swallow measures I had taken. I decided to proceed to the front door that following morning to admire my handiwork. THAT is when I saw the shoddy workmanship of the person who replaced ONE piece of cardboard. The cardboard pretty much lined the ledge...providing a nice smooth nesting surface!
I spent a moment trying to find a logical explanation for what I was seeing. Maybe the cardboard was put up at an angle, but the birds used all of their might to stomp it back down to a ninety degree angle. THEN I noticed that 2x4, and how it is on top of the cardboard...no way the birds managed that on their own! The birds are clearly paying my husband rent on our porch, and he is doing his best to be a good landlord!
With steam pouring out of my ears, I demanded to know why the cardboard was replaced in this manner. I was told that it was temporary, and he had no idea they would start to rebuild so quickly. Temporary? Like the useless wire from three years ago? Or the birdie balance beams? Those birds would be disappointed to know that their rebuilding efforts were questioned like that!
On my way to work, I realized there was only one person who might understand my dismay. Let's call her my other husband...the one who understands. That is what so many of us women need...those friends who truly empathize with our plight and have the time/interest/energy to listen to/put up with/help us. I went to this friend's house last week to perform my husbandly duty of helping her to move a ginormous chair up the basement stairs. Now for a man and wife, the moment when we got the chair and ourselves lodged in a stairway with two bottom steps missing could've been the makings for a heated exchange and one really lousy evening. However, we laughed ourselves silly, knowing we'd figure out something, and then have a snack--hooray!
Anyway, back to the birds...this is what I came home to after work that day...
You guess which husband did it!
p.s. It's been four days, and there are no birds, and no poop....just a delightful sound of bugs "tinging" off the tinfoil at night, if I leave the porch light on.
I spent a moment trying to find a logical explanation for what I was seeing. Maybe the cardboard was put up at an angle, but the birds used all of their might to stomp it back down to a ninety degree angle. THEN I noticed that 2x4, and how it is on top of the cardboard...no way the birds managed that on their own! The birds are clearly paying my husband rent on our porch, and he is doing his best to be a good landlord!
With steam pouring out of my ears, I demanded to know why the cardboard was replaced in this manner. I was told that it was temporary, and he had no idea they would start to rebuild so quickly. Temporary? Like the useless wire from three years ago? Or the birdie balance beams? Those birds would be disappointed to know that their rebuilding efforts were questioned like that!
On my way to work, I realized there was only one person who might understand my dismay. Let's call her my other husband...the one who understands. That is what so many of us women need...those friends who truly empathize with our plight and have the time/interest/energy to listen to/put up with/help us. I went to this friend's house last week to perform my husbandly duty of helping her to move a ginormous chair up the basement stairs. Now for a man and wife, the moment when we got the chair and ourselves lodged in a stairway with two bottom steps missing could've been the makings for a heated exchange and one really lousy evening. However, we laughed ourselves silly, knowing we'd figure out something, and then have a snack--hooray!
Anyway, back to the birds...this is what I came home to after work that day...
You guess which husband did it!
p.s. It's been four days, and there are no birds, and no poop....just a delightful sound of bugs "tinging" off the tinfoil at night, if I leave the porch light on.
Friday, May 21, 2010
For the birds...Part Two: Their Unlikely Ally
Well, the birds proved to be as insane over this situation as I was becoming. They did stay away from the recyclable plastic forest I was trying to create. However, they started doing a balance beam routine on the pieces of wood that once held them at bay. Here we see the swallow doing an inspection before flinging any more mud in that general direction...
And here you can see less than a full day's work...
I am sure you appreciate the fact that I am sparing you the visual of their bathroom renovations...ugh! I can see these charmers right from the chair I sit in when I am on the computer, and get the full picture every time I open the front door. I neglected to mention that they sleep up on that ledge (nest or not) at night...and do not fly away when we come and go. It's a little creepy to me because I can't see them when I am coming in until I am already on the porch...with them.
Now every now and then, I like to pretend that I am in charge of the inside of the house, and Mister Weedwacker's domain is anything outside. I might as well go all in and pretend I am a pretty princess in a posh castle with a moat to keep me safe, and legions of people catering to my every whim...not because they are in my employ...just because they love me so, and wish for my happiness. Well, these birds are outside (thank goodness), so I wanted them to not be my problem to solve. Mister did what he thought was his part, and took the nests down a few times...um, okay, but that didn't solve the problem. His strategy each year seems to be, try one thing then stop (regardless of what kind of, if any, results are achieved).
I was starting to think he may LIKE the birds. We used to be avid cardinal, nut-hatch and chickadee fans and feeders at our previous home. I was wondering if his fondness for those days of feathered friends was making him latch onto the wrong crowd. How else to explain why he wasn't doing more? A friend tried to explain to me that it just wasn't his priority, like it was mine. OK, but I could not understand how ceasing to have a bird poop cluttered front porch was a "back burner" type of an item. Why weren't we forming our own team, drawing up blueprints, making a PLAN! I was chatting with neighbors about the birds and they were full of suggestions, offering to cut wood. I knew these folks were under no obligation whatsoever to invest any time, energy or manual labor in assisting me. And once again, this was the Weedwacker's domain, ergo his obligation.
This is where my fuzzy logic often comes into play. I obviously am the only one living here who operates under the impression that we all have job descriptions. I'm not sure who I believe conducts our performance reviews, but I'll be happy to tell you how everyone is doing! Fuzzy logic might be better than when logic completely escapes me and I decide that even if it is not Weedwacker's priority to deal with the poopsters, he should be doing it because of how much it upsets me (mmm-hmmm, back to my castle fantasy perhaps). For better, for worse, richer, or poor, her priorities are your priorities...oops, did I dream that?
Finally I decided that I would just feel better if I just dealt with the situation...made it go away. Maybe I'd even feel a sense of accomplishment. I didn't want to leave the house because the kids were out playing, so I had to do the MacGyver-what's in the garage that I could use? The birds appeared to be off on some mission, so the timing was great. First I gathered up a few more water bottles (with no sense of how wide our porch is). Then I hauled a five inch by eight foot plank up the ladder, and placed it on the ledge. I took it down when I realized our children's safety was important to me. Then I grabbed a cross-country ski (the look on my daughter's face told me I was losing my mind). I found a couple of 2x4s and some cardboard in the garage, and realized THIS was going to be the answer (at least for that day). I wedged the pieces up on the ledge at an angle, as the key is to take away their flat surfaces. Now all the while, I was on the phone with my dear friend (obviously a dear friend, because who else would stay on the line, calmly telling me to flap the cardboard, while I was screaming that the birds came back and were flying at me?). She stayed on the line with me until I had all of the available cardboard in place. (This was in exchange for the times I have stayed on the line with her to keep her company when she has to put away laundry or empty the dishwasher.)
One piece of the cardboard fell, and I did NOT have the energy to get the ladder back out, so I asked Mister Bird-friend to put it back up, and mentioned that it might need a tack. There were several of other pieces in place, so I thought it would've been insulting to give any further directions in how to replace it. My friend tells me all the time that we have to put the dots pretty close together for our husbands (do not be offended ALL men...I think she literally means our two husbands, for the most part). Well, for once I felt I really put the dots close together, so I didn't give the porch another glance that evening...phew!
And here you can see less than a full day's work...
I am sure you appreciate the fact that I am sparing you the visual of their bathroom renovations...ugh! I can see these charmers right from the chair I sit in when I am on the computer, and get the full picture every time I open the front door. I neglected to mention that they sleep up on that ledge (nest or not) at night...and do not fly away when we come and go. It's a little creepy to me because I can't see them when I am coming in until I am already on the porch...with them.
Now every now and then, I like to pretend that I am in charge of the inside of the house, and Mister Weedwacker's domain is anything outside. I might as well go all in and pretend I am a pretty princess in a posh castle with a moat to keep me safe, and legions of people catering to my every whim...not because they are in my employ...just because they love me so, and wish for my happiness. Well, these birds are outside (thank goodness), so I wanted them to not be my problem to solve. Mister did what he thought was his part, and took the nests down a few times...um, okay, but that didn't solve the problem. His strategy each year seems to be, try one thing then stop (regardless of what kind of, if any, results are achieved).
I was starting to think he may LIKE the birds. We used to be avid cardinal, nut-hatch and chickadee fans and feeders at our previous home. I was wondering if his fondness for those days of feathered friends was making him latch onto the wrong crowd. How else to explain why he wasn't doing more? A friend tried to explain to me that it just wasn't his priority, like it was mine. OK, but I could not understand how ceasing to have a bird poop cluttered front porch was a "back burner" type of an item. Why weren't we forming our own team, drawing up blueprints, making a PLAN! I was chatting with neighbors about the birds and they were full of suggestions, offering to cut wood. I knew these folks were under no obligation whatsoever to invest any time, energy or manual labor in assisting me. And once again, this was the Weedwacker's domain, ergo his obligation.
This is where my fuzzy logic often comes into play. I obviously am the only one living here who operates under the impression that we all have job descriptions. I'm not sure who I believe conducts our performance reviews, but I'll be happy to tell you how everyone is doing! Fuzzy logic might be better than when logic completely escapes me and I decide that even if it is not Weedwacker's priority to deal with the poopsters, he should be doing it because of how much it upsets me (mmm-hmmm, back to my castle fantasy perhaps). For better, for worse, richer, or poor, her priorities are your priorities...oops, did I dream that?
Finally I decided that I would just feel better if I just dealt with the situation...made it go away. Maybe I'd even feel a sense of accomplishment. I didn't want to leave the house because the kids were out playing, so I had to do the MacGyver-what's in the garage that I could use? The birds appeared to be off on some mission, so the timing was great. First I gathered up a few more water bottles (with no sense of how wide our porch is). Then I hauled a five inch by eight foot plank up the ladder, and placed it on the ledge. I took it down when I realized our children's safety was important to me. Then I grabbed a cross-country ski (the look on my daughter's face told me I was losing my mind). I found a couple of 2x4s and some cardboard in the garage, and realized THIS was going to be the answer (at least for that day). I wedged the pieces up on the ledge at an angle, as the key is to take away their flat surfaces. Now all the while, I was on the phone with my dear friend (obviously a dear friend, because who else would stay on the line, calmly telling me to flap the cardboard, while I was screaming that the birds came back and were flying at me?). She stayed on the line with me until I had all of the available cardboard in place. (This was in exchange for the times I have stayed on the line with her to keep her company when she has to put away laundry or empty the dishwasher.)
One piece of the cardboard fell, and I did NOT have the energy to get the ladder back out, so I asked Mister Bird-friend to put it back up, and mentioned that it might need a tack. There were several of other pieces in place, so I thought it would've been insulting to give any further directions in how to replace it. My friend tells me all the time that we have to put the dots pretty close together for our husbands (do not be offended ALL men...I think she literally means our two husbands, for the most part). Well, for once I felt I really put the dots close together, so I didn't give the porch another glance that evening...phew!
Thursday, May 20, 2010
For the birds...Part One: Don't Mess With Crazy
This current event topic of my life has evolved at such a rapid pace, that I did not keep up with it here in blog-land. I think it is a tale worth telling...the story arc, the battle between good and evil, inner conflict, and of course...a hero. I don't anticipate anything else exciting happening in the next few days, so this will be a three part tale...
Have you ever met a barn swallow? They don't give a bad first impression, but don't let that fool you. About five years ago, we allowed a charming couple to build their fabulous mud nest on our porch...fascinating to watch...all mud (I'll continue to look for a photo, from way back when we were still enchanted enough to take photos for pleasure). After the babes flew we took the nest down-sayonara. That's the way the bird thing worked as far as we knew-at least that's what the robins had told us. Imagine our surprise when they rebuilt, and we took down, and they rebuilt, we took down, etc.
Subsequent seasons brought ruder relatives of theirs who must've been told about our palatial porch, complete with ledge for growing families. These birds are what I will call swoopers, in that they use a diving technique to show their feelings of bitterness towards anyone who intrudes on them. By intruding I mean things like, opening MY door to MY house, walking to my front door. They move up to the gutter along the roof of the porch and squawk about us until we take cover.
Another key feature of these birds is their damn near toxic poop. I had a scrub brush that was merely nicking the top layer off the concrete. I also used a power washer aimed right at the stuff from about two feet away...still a spot. So they live along the top inside ledge of the porch, and use the edge of the porch floor as their commode...the whole length of the porch.
This season, I decided to start early, and sprung into action at the first sight of the enemies. I looked up at the ledge where ghosts of failed efforts past stood...the wire that was too low and they built on top of it...the pieces of wood that did not quite span the entire length of the porch, leaving two corners with as good as a "for sale" sign on them...the memory of one of those inflatable creepy eye scare the birds away things (THAT was attractive...and useless!) It was time to get creative. I could see my husband in the window as I hauled out the ladder and climbed up with my inflatable ball and some empty water bottles, oh and masking tape (I know duct tape is really the answer, but I didn't have any!). A temporary fix as I needed to buy a little time (it's amazing how fast two birds can use their beaks to carry mud to build a foundation).
As to not actually be how I spent my weekend, I chose last Friday afternoon to borrow a power washer and get to work. I got the nest remnants down from the one corner, and got as much of their industrial strength poop off the porch. THEN, I showed these bird I meant business by crafting one corner out of water bottles. The other corner (well I forgot their was another corner, so that didn't get cleaned out as well) got my brink of insanity treatment as featured below...
I mean, come on, who's going to mess with a Mr. Crab sand sifter with two half-pint water bottles working back-up (the masking tape adds a certain pizazz as well). More importantly, who is going to mess with the person who thought this was a good idea. My hope was to let these barn swallows know that they were dealing with a touch of crazy lady. When I told my army neighbor my logic, he confirmed that the army knows that you just leave crazy alone--it's unpredictable. I then took bets with the children as to whether or not this plan would work. They were pessimistic, as you probably are, knowing there are two more parts coming to this story!
Have you ever met a barn swallow? They don't give a bad first impression, but don't let that fool you. About five years ago, we allowed a charming couple to build their fabulous mud nest on our porch...fascinating to watch...all mud (I'll continue to look for a photo, from way back when we were still enchanted enough to take photos for pleasure). After the babes flew we took the nest down-sayonara. That's the way the bird thing worked as far as we knew-at least that's what the robins had told us. Imagine our surprise when they rebuilt, and we took down, and they rebuilt, we took down, etc.
Subsequent seasons brought ruder relatives of theirs who must've been told about our palatial porch, complete with ledge for growing families. These birds are what I will call swoopers, in that they use a diving technique to show their feelings of bitterness towards anyone who intrudes on them. By intruding I mean things like, opening MY door to MY house, walking to my front door. They move up to the gutter along the roof of the porch and squawk about us until we take cover.
Another key feature of these birds is their damn near toxic poop. I had a scrub brush that was merely nicking the top layer off the concrete. I also used a power washer aimed right at the stuff from about two feet away...still a spot. So they live along the top inside ledge of the porch, and use the edge of the porch floor as their commode...the whole length of the porch.
This season, I decided to start early, and sprung into action at the first sight of the enemies. I looked up at the ledge where ghosts of failed efforts past stood...the wire that was too low and they built on top of it...the pieces of wood that did not quite span the entire length of the porch, leaving two corners with as good as a "for sale" sign on them...the memory of one of those inflatable creepy eye scare the birds away things (THAT was attractive...and useless!) It was time to get creative. I could see my husband in the window as I hauled out the ladder and climbed up with my inflatable ball and some empty water bottles, oh and masking tape (I know duct tape is really the answer, but I didn't have any!). A temporary fix as I needed to buy a little time (it's amazing how fast two birds can use their beaks to carry mud to build a foundation).
As to not actually be how I spent my weekend, I chose last Friday afternoon to borrow a power washer and get to work. I got the nest remnants down from the one corner, and got as much of their industrial strength poop off the porch. THEN, I showed these bird I meant business by crafting one corner out of water bottles. The other corner (well I forgot their was another corner, so that didn't get cleaned out as well) got my brink of insanity treatment as featured below...
I mean, come on, who's going to mess with a Mr. Crab sand sifter with two half-pint water bottles working back-up (the masking tape adds a certain pizazz as well). More importantly, who is going to mess with the person who thought this was a good idea. My hope was to let these barn swallows know that they were dealing with a touch of crazy lady. When I told my army neighbor my logic, he confirmed that the army knows that you just leave crazy alone--it's unpredictable. I then took bets with the children as to whether or not this plan would work. They were pessimistic, as you probably are, knowing there are two more parts coming to this story!
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