Pesty Control

I have a love-hate relationship with my pest control company. I love that they come and spray my apartment building and inside my apartment once a month. I love that this service is included in my rent. I like the friendly, older gentleman who usually comes. My feelings for his female counterpart are not so generous.

A couple of months ago, I was having ant problems. I mentioned them to my apartment manager, and she said she would pass the specifics on to the pest control people who were coming a couple of days later. When I got home on that day, there was a card from the pest control company, with a note on the back. I didn't save it, but it was something like: "Don't leave food out or you will get roaches."

It's true. We had chicken for dinner the night before and I had not cleared the bones from the table. I fed The Boy bread that morning, and there were some pieces on the counter still. But we did not have roaches. We had ants. And they were not on the food. They were not on the table. They were not on the counter. They were on the window sill. They were under the window sill. They were coming out of the electrical socket below the window.

I called the manager to see if the pest control had treated my ant area and she said she'd forgotten to mention it. Luckily, I guess, they were still at the complex and came back to treat it. The woman arrived and said "Oh, yes. You're the one who left the food out." I'm not even exaggerating. I was pretty brusk (for me anyway) in return: "Yes and you're the one who left the note." She didn't back down. "Yes. Yes I am."

Now every time pest control day comes I get angry all over again (like today). I feel defensive. I debate what approach I'll take if the woman comes to criticize me again. I stress about having the house presentable, or some semblance thereof. We did get rid of the ants in the dining room after a couple of treatments. Then they showed up in the kids room. Again, not on food. Finally, we got rid of them completely. We still don't have a roach problem.

I'm up too late

I can't sleep. My shoulder hurts and it won't stop. Don't tell my doctor, but I even doubled my pain medicine and it didn't make a dent. So I watched a movie on Netflix on my husband's iPod, hoping that I would fall asleep watching it and enjoy the rest of the nightin bed. Didn't work. I did finish the movie, though. "When In Rome" was much cuter than I expected.

So here are random things I've been thinking about lately. I don't know if it will help me get to sleep to lay them out, but I'm willing to try.

• I tried to give Stephen Colbert a piece of my mind, but couldn't find a way to contact him on his vast website. He used "begs the question" the wrong way on a recent broadcast. (See this post if you don't know what I'm talking about.) The elementary school where he attended has a good reputation, or at least it did. I think he may have sullied the good name of Stiles Pointe Elementary. Thank goodness Her Nibs doesn't attend there, that's all I can say!
• I really hope I can get the kids into a great school next year. Wherever we'll be, we'll be moving in after all the application and transfer deadlines and will just be starting on even understanding what's available and what we want for schools. Her Nibs will be in 2nd grade and The Boy is suppose to start attending after his 3rd birthday to receive therapy there instead of at home. I would love a school of the arts that did some bilingual (Spanish) stuff. The Boy loves music, and the only thing Her Nibs likes better than TV is art. That's a pretty big deal for a 1st grader... in our house anyway. She's been drawing since she was born, and she's pretty dang good, though I say it myself.
• I often think that there is no "after this" in our life. I find it highly possible that we will never get past these difficult "starting"-out years. I am supremely confident in Turtar's talent and credentials, but don't know if that will convert into an actual job with a reasonable income.
• I have blue-collar pride. I'm proud to work hard for my family. I've worked hard all my life, and many of my jobs were not behind a desk. I've worked some desk jobs, yes, but I've also done custodial, food service (serving and hosting), factory job, nanny, furniture refinishing, newspaper delivery, and now baking. It's a stressful job, but I like that it is physical. I like that I have a hands-on, tangible product to be proud of every night, even if it also invites constant critique and stress every night. It takes a lot of sacrifice from everyone in my family, but I'm proud of how hard our family works together.
• The thing I look forward to most about moving is actual being released from my calling. That's silly, but I do. I love serving in the Primary (I'm the 2nd counselor), but our ward doesn't have an activities committee. Since I'm in charge of activities for the primary, and the primary is in charge of the ward Halloween Party, I'm in charge of the ward Halloween party. It has gone great, and I think it will be great again this year, but I'm glad/hopeful that I won't have to do it again. I guess it's a good thing to know about myself: I wouldn't enjoy being an even planner, though they do get much bigger budgets to work with, which has to ease some of the stress. I shouldn't be so giddy about it. Maybe everything will fall apart and we won't move, or maybe I'll get a calling for which I feel even more poorly suited when we do move. Who knows? It's just a tiny, little dream of mine.
• I'm bad at telling stories. We went out to dinner with friends recently, and I learned just how bad I am at recounting things. I was trying to tell them about something completely hilarious that had made me cry and made my stomach muscles sore, and none of that came across at all. I gave far too much detail and, in hindsight, probably shouldn't have told even an abbreviated version. Note to self: Don't talk about self. You're not that interesting! (and you are not a captive of this blog they way our friends were captive at dinner. so blogging isn't the same thing. Don't judge me!)
• I watched this new documentary on HBO called Monica and David, about the first year of marriage for a couple who both have Down syndrome. I find myself increasingly drawn to things about adults with Down syndrome. While they grew up with fewer opportunities, for the most part, than The Boy (in terms of early intervention and acceptance), I want to see what their lives are like, what jobs and interests and abilities they have. I probably worry a lot more about The Boy's future than Her Nibs. Is it a bad idea to have a savings account in his name? Will Her Nibs ever feel burdened by him, especially if Turtar and I aren't still around? How independent will he be? Should we get a home with a mother-in-law suite to be for him? 
• For Her Nibs, because of our current situation, I mostly wonder how she would think about learning a trade before going to college so that she had something that she could do to pay for college, or to provide for herself, especially if she finds herself in a situation like mine: as a mother who needs to work, but still be at home with her kids. I fantasize about getting her graphic design training (and web design) from a nearby junior college/community college while she is still in high school, or maybe get training as a dental hygienist (good pay, very flexible hours). Something! The only long periods of time I have gone without working are the year immediately following the birth of each of my children. The rest of the time I feel like I'm always scrounging around for work that would be flexible enough to meet my needs, even in college (studio art classes are 3 hours each--hard to build a work schedule around a couple of those).
• The doctor actually wrote in The Boy's 2 year check-up notes that he has an infectious laugh. That makes it medical fact, right? Maybe we should take him to visit sad people in case he's contagious.

That may be everything. I hope so. Maybe if I empty my brain of these unproductive worries and trivial thoughts, my mind will focus in sharply on getting my house whipped back into shape tomorrow.

What's up with that?

The Boy is obsessed with Her Nibs' underwear. Whenever I'm doing laundry, that's the thing he wants to take. Yesterday, he got his hands on her tankini and pulled the bottoms over his head.