Happy Memorial Day!

Shaun the Sheep

After lamenting J's Wallace and Gromit obsession to my cousin back in December, she mentioned being a fan of the spin off, Shaun the Sheep. Since she is expecting her first little one, I wanted to crochet her something and found this pattern online. I changed pattern for the eyes to look less creepy and gave him some nostrils when I had the inevitable moment upon finishing where I start to doubt if it even looks like it is supposed to.

Here is what we were going for if you haven't the foggiest what show I'm talking about.
















And since Shaun the Sheep has its own spin off, Timmy Time, I couldn't help but make Little Timmy too. I showed him to J, who smiled really big with this reply, "Sheep! Baby Sheep! Plug!" Glad she could tell the yellow blob was a pacifier, since he looks a little less like the clay fellow.

Mousecapades

We've had a small mouse problem over the last few months. They have inhabited our garage and and left their poop everywhere. I really mean everywhere. It was disgusting. As is the rest of this story so if you have a love of little rodents, just stop reading and spare me your judgement. You are warned this is a really gross story. So gross I have to share it.

We set a bunch of traps and had a kill count of 6 or 7 over a couple months. My dog even managed to kill one. We thought we had caught them all since there hadn't been any signs for some time.

Our washer also broke and we took it apart to fix it, finding mouse poop even behind the dials. No idea how they managed to get to space that took us an hour and several tools to get to, let alone why they would choose the washer.

After we fixed it, I bleached the entire thing.

Fast forward three weeks, I hear a scream from my sister as she goes to do a load of laundry. There was a mouse in the washing machine.

Since it was later in the evening, we just set some traps near by and decided to reevaluate in the morning.The next day Lil' Sis goes out to check and EEK! There are now 2 mice in the drum!

After some deliberation, I go and take a look. You have to go quietly or the mice hide under the rim of the agitator. They were constantly flinging themselves against the walls, occasionally gaining purchase on the drainage holes enough to scamper up a few inches. Thoroughly grossed out, we put a trap inside the drum, hoping it would solve our problem.

Since it is the kind with a cover (I don't want to see smashed up dead mice), they were using it as a step stool to leap a bit higher. Minutes pass as we dither between action plans. I decide to try and catch one with one of the empty containers that has amassed on the work bench. Lil' Sis wisely suggests the mayo jar since it has a lid. As the little critter gets half way up the drum, I slam the jar over it and let out a few EEPS! of my own as I muster the courage to right the jar and put a lid on it.

My success!

Normally I would feel a little like a bad-A for catching a mouse, but my happiness is stymied by the fact that I now have to dispose of said mouse. Not quite sure what to do, I free it immediately in front of my dear dog outside. I figure this way the mouse at least has a chance in gladiator-style combat. May the speediest animal win.

I didn't watch too closely, but I think my dog ate it.

We commenced Mouse Mission #2 with equal success.

At this point J has figured out something interesting is going on and joins us outside. She sees the mouse and keeps exclaiming how cute it is. I sort of agree and feel bad pitting the first one against such a superior foe as my pit bull. So we find the biggest gap in the fence to the golf course and sort of throw it out there. It can best the predators of the course without causing me any anguish.

Again, we thoroughly douse the washing machine in bleach.

This morning as Lil' Sis goes out to the garage to start a load of laundry and comes back freaked out. I assume there is another mouse and there is, but this one doesn't require catching.

This was originally taken just to show my husband 

It expired while trying to go through the funnel. Apparently the mice have chosen the washer to hold their last stand in the battle for our garage. 

And guess who has to deal with this disgusting problem? Me. The mom. So I put on my big girl panties, tell myself it is no big deal, grab a paper towel and pull on the tail, with the intent rapidly running it to the trash. I even have the garage door open and ready to minimize any contact with the rodent. I tugged on the tail.

It didn't budge.

So I pulled again, harder. Again, it didn't budge. I duck down and see a leg hanging out under the lip. I repeat to myself that this isn't big deal and swallow my disgust. I grab the leg and tail thinking it will come out with a bit more purchase and force.

The leg. ripped. off.

I'm not even kidding you. I dropped it and the paper towel, who knows where, and fled. I spent the next hour trying not to puke.

I officially relinquish my bad-A status and big girl panties and play my newborn card. Husband gets to deal with it now.

Some things require a full night's sleep to handle and this has officially become one of them.

The Birth Story of One Miles

I love a good birth story. I define "good" as filled with all sorts of unnecessary and gross details. I seriously can't get enough of them so I am sharing mine. And this will double as a journal entry for me so it includes random stuff I want to remember. Now it 6 novels long. You might just want to skip it entirely

Hold the Baby

I probably hold my baby too much.

Well I actually don't believe you can hold a newborn too much, but I definitely hold him more than I have to.

I could put him down after he passes out in his milk coma, he'd probably transfer without waking up. But I don't. I hold him close to my chest and listen to the little squeaks he makes and how he breathes these two or three little huffs before settling. My first child wouldn't sleep anywhere but on my chest for a few weeks, but M is different.

I don't hold him because he needs it. I hold him because I need it.

This motherhood gig is rather difficult. Especially these first couple weeks when your body feels broken and everything hurts and you can't escape the unfairness that you have to go through it all on very little sleep.

But we do. We go through it. Like generations of mothers before us. In part because we don't have an option not to at this point. There is no postponing it or escaping. There is very little relief or breaks. Just a marathon of difficulty staring at you in the face without a fixed ending.

There is some solace though. It is the the sweet little baby sleeping on your chest or in your arms. It is the overwhelming love that hits you right in the gut without warning. It is seeing this absolutely perfect little being and wondering how you ever lived your life without him.

So I will sit and hold my baby, even though I could be napping, could be showering, could be doing. Holding him while he is sweet and still lets the happiness rise up and cloud out the pain, discouragement, and work. At least for a little while.

I am going to sit and hold my baby.

Wehadababy Itsaboy