Proper Pirates.

I've decided my pirates 

need pirate names.

They really do.  

On Saturday, whilst running past a bayou,

I realized that no self-respecting pirate,

would go by his or her proper given name. 

That would be ludicrous.

May I formally introduce to you:

My Pirates.

Robs & Plunders

Though she simply prefers Robs. 

Don't let her full name fool you- she's a dream.

She's also brave. 

This summer she took swim lessons, 

in a town we don't live in, 

with a group of kids she didn't know

and swam under the water without plugging her nose.

She's in kindergarten and loves Mondays.

Last night before bed she asked if she got to go to school this morning. 

After I said yes she came back with,

"Good.  I have not been to school since before I can remember!"

And then we have

Enrique.

Sometimes he's Enriqueface.

But mostly his name stands by itself. 

And so does he. 

Sometimes I offer to help him,

and he tells me, "No thank you, I can help myself."

He loves wheels of any kind.

Trucks. Cars. Bikes. Toys.

Left behind tires on the playground...

And he has no problem swinging in the pink swing 

left over from when Robs was an only pirate.

Sometimes I wonder if this will ever change, 

or if he'll always be this confident.

But you are who you are before you know who you are, 

so I'm hoping it will stay this way.

And finally?

Squísh.

She's completely delightful in every way possible. 

Which I didn't think was even feasible until last January, 

when she became my current squeeze.

Last Thursday I left her to play 

in her bedroom on the soft, soft rug while I 

made my bed across the hall.

She'd crawled into my room before I could fluff the final pillow.

Which makes her the fastest of the pirates yet.

(The other two waited until almost twelve months.)

She loves her fellow pirates more than just about anything.

She says dadada when she's happy 

and mamaa when she's sad.

Happy Monday.

Sometimes I get frustrated with living where I live.

(Is it too obvious?)

I get tired of my skin being allergic to who knows what...

and all the other fancy perks that come with the town.

I think to myself:

I have always had to pay to see alligators.

In Ohio.

In Arizona.

In Minnesota.

In Utah.

In Michigan.

In Idaho.

But in Louisiana they are free.

oh heavens.

Life is funny.

And it happens so fast... too.

There's been this ridiculous little puddle on our front patio. After weeks of stepping in it, not enough to get soaked- but just enough to bring in dirt- I thought I'd take care of it. I okayed it with our landlord, and dug myself a teeny little ditch to help it drain.

It IS Louisiana after all... (things have a tough time draining here. )

And now my entire front porch is filled with water.

Apparently, digging the ditch helped the puddle blossom.

(It IS Louisiana after all...)

And now, I will be paying a plumber $85.00 an hour to fix...

something. Anything.

Hopefully he will not spend my $85 dollar bill

all in one place.

Another fun fact?

I have had poison ivy since June.

It is September.

For the past six weeks, I have wanted to crawl out of my skin.

After two visits, two shots, and what will be 20 days of antihistamine... I feel normal.

And while trying to figure out the blooming lake on my front patio...

I discovered a poison ivy tree, and approximately 15,700 vines.

I'm hoping and praying they didn't discover my fresh set of skin.

---------------------------------------

In events like this I have to summon some kind of something-

to resist the temptation of pulling a Von Trapp.

The thought is so enticing:

leaving while no one is looking,

disguised in my travel clothes made of drapes.

And singing. Oh yes. I'd be singing.

Praises mostly, mixed with a couple heart felt hallelujahs.

But reality is inevitable.

It's 2011, not 1938.

There's not nearly enough fabric hanging on my windows to make five complete travel outfits.

And pulling a Von Trapp requires money- which, who are we kidding...

I'm giving it all to the plumber.

And just like that, life is back to being funny.

It's better than the alternative.

------------------------------------------

**Post Edit**

Our $85 an hour plumber smoked about a billion cigarettes,

and was the nicest person I have ever met.

If you live around here and find yourself up a creek,

Call Gaylord Allin of GPA Services, Inc.

--------------------------------------------

This was a paid advertisement.

I paid him money and then I advertised.

We went to Natchitoches last week.

(It's a mouthful, but worth the drive.)

We visited the General Store, where my mom and I both picked up a wooden paisley pig.

I named him Natchitoches and he looks lovely with my kitchen decor.

And then we drove another 12 miles to see Oakland Plantation.

It's been around... Oh... since the 1700's.

We spent an hour perusing the plantation and all of it's buildings,

and then took a tour of the house.

It was a hodgemodge of different styles.

Apparently they'd kept the house in the family from the time it was built, up until somewhere in the 1950's.

It was fascinating.

And then we came home and watched Steel Magnolias.

(And felt slightly more famous.)

The End.

The pool closed about two weeks ago.

Robs and Erik remind me almost daily.

It's still remarkably fresh on their minds.

Especially when it hits ninety degrees, like it did this afternoon.

While the sparkly water is oh so tempting, but the gate is oh so locked.

Dear Louisisauna,

Please start thinking snow suits.

Swim suits are currently out of season.

Sincerely,

Me.

I'm oh so glad for our AC.

Thanks for your kind words... and your laughs. Mostly your laughs. The good news? Our car is back up and running after shelling out a miraculous fifty nine dollars. (We have a mechanic from heaven.) I'm hoping it stays that way... Security... consistency... reliability. Necessary only among the faint of heart. At least that is what I'm telling myself.

And now... for a funny story.

Stupid is a bad word among the four of us. It rarely comes out... only on special occasions. And when it comes out, we douse the word with water and send the it marching back to where it belongs.

Which is somewhere not in our vocabulary.

But occasionally... as all good mothers do... I sometimes break the rules.

For example. Yesterday.

I was trying to cross the busy busy busy road that stands between my home and the only place I can run with a stroller. Think no sidewalks. I'm pushing my bundle of pride and joy in the stroller. We get half way across the street... there's cars coming on either side... I have just enough time to make it across...

And this dog comes spiraling towards us and then stops on his side of the street. Which happens to block my only entrance to safety from the oncoming traffic.

A big dog.

And I'm not an expert but I think he was a mix of German Shepard Coyote and Wolverine.

There might have even been some Great White Shark in there...

But I'm not sure. Because I had to turn around. And push my pride and joy down the steep embankment

(I mentioned our lack of sidewalks... but did I mention the three or four foot drop on either side?)

And then I let the word slip.

I can't quote myself... but Robs and Erik can.

Word for word.

All day yesterday it was "stupid dog" this and "stupid dog" that... or "Mommy... that was a stupid supid stupid stupid (at this point I ask them to get to the point, and then they say) stupid dog, wasn't it?"

After a full day of capitalizing on the new found freedom of vocabulary, we went to dinner at a friend's house. The food was delicious and Robs and Erik behaved like perfect gentlemen. And then right before we left, Erik came across their "doopid dog" who had been outside the whole time.

And on our way home, believe it or not, there was a "doopid dog" standing in the middle of the street.

If I hadn't started it...

if it weren't so adorable...

and if I didn't actually think Louisiana dogs are in fact "doopid"...

(It makes me chuckle)

...I'll quash it on the 24 hour mark.

(Erik is cute, our car is not.)

Something exploded in our car this morning.

There was lots of smoke, and lots of red leaking fluid.

And that last mile...

I had Robs say a prayer,

and then unbuckle her seatbelt as soon as we hit our apartment complex.

Just in case she needed to get out quick.

She was a little vexed with the whole situation, as any sweet little thing would be...

I was too... but chose to laugh.

Because I could/should have guessed it would happen.

There's a pattern to our lives right now.

A crazy pattern.

(I'm thinking I'd like to switch it up a little...

maybe try some solid colors?)

But as my Steve said...

"We're not cursed! You made it home."

Which is completely true.

I didn't have to walk the last mile home with my pajama clad children.

On a busy road with no sidewalks, because they don't do sidewalks here.

In the severely hot and humidified air that reeks of a paper mill...

...filled with both dragon and horseflies.

I know... Crazy, but true.

Things could have been much much worse.

But they were not.

And the bonus? The eventful morning made for quite a serene afternoon.

Both Robs and Erik are sound asleep.

A couple days ago we made an appearance at our local wildlife preserve. They had a toddler special on 'Slithering Snakes.' (And with a title like that ...how can a girl resist?)

I learned several new things.

First, Robs is getting braver. She touched all the snakes they offered. Second, Erikboy likes the idea of being brave and ends things there. He didn't touch a single snake, but tells me how he did anytime our conversation goes dull. And third? The Pine Snake grows to six feet long and lives in pine forests. It eats mini groundhogs for a living. But then I got to thinking, and remembering... or is it vice versa? Remember those pines in the backyard? They were FILLED with mini groundhogs. Which makes me think those six foot Pine Snakes had to be close by. (Mmm... love me this Louisiana.)

Things you may know already:

-Blogging has taken a backseat.

(Sad, but true. Remember the post about my trusty 55 mm? I have not yet replaced him.)

If my life were a twelve passenger van, and I had numerous back seats to fill... blogging would be in the far left corner... sadly, right next to taking photographs.

They've both been given a backseat.

And in the front seat of this hypothetical twelve passenger van of life, are two squabbling toddlers.

One of whom is delightfully bossy.

And the other?

Loves cats and cars.

And tractors.

And life.

But despises bugs.

Which leads me to...

Things you may not know, but will soon:

-My card reader died.

-I bought a new one on Friday.

-On Thursday we had a run in with what I will call a small cat. Sure it looked like a roach, but it didn't fool me for long. Because when he crawled across my foot, I said to myself...

"Oh... a small cat."

And then I smashed him with a broom.

He, of course, died.

Promptly resurrected himself.

And then died again,

after a second firm smashing.

And then, as I sat on the kitchen table with my two front seaters, trying to calm my phobia filled soul, while watching and waiting for more roaches to show themselves,

and for Steve to get home...

I realized the hard truth.

-I am a marked woman.

The roaches just KNOW.

I've talked with several individuals who have lived here for YEARS... and they have yet to come in skin to skin contact with a roach.

-I have had one fall from my hair.

-I have had one crawl up my arm.

-And now, I've had one crawl across my foot.

I've also lived here for only seven months.

But then I start to think...

-I blog about roaches entirely too much.

Perhaps I am not marked.

Perhaps they're just dying for attention/publicity.

Quite literally, if you think about it.

-I will no longer blog about roaches. Instead I'm determined to blog about fun things.

Like the historic fire house I just discovered.

Or ways to create main dishes with lots of vegetables.

Stay tuned. There's endless possibility.

Happy May!

This is our neighbor's front yard.

(His name is Bob, and he is a weatherman.)

(He also loaned me a can of Raid in one of my darkest hours.)

(I will forever be grateful.)

This is his sign.

Those are my pirates.

Maybe next week he'll have a new sign.

I'm thinking something like:

"Geaux pose in your own yard."

One.

In the time it took to complete

2009...

give or take a few days.

We've lived in four different states.

and moved approximately seventeen bazillion times.

(perhaps not common knowledge...

BUT...

we are the reason moving companies nationwide

have yet to feel the full effects of this

economic recession.)

You're very welcome,

PODS. ABF. U-Haul. And Penske.

(Merry Christmas.)

And yet

here we (hopefully) go again.

I'm showing our house tomorrow night.

And hopefully they will fall in love with it and beg to take our lease.

And then we will let them and

promptly move to another house...

that is frankly

adorable.

And closer to work.

...much closer.

And cheaper.

And bugless.

with gas appliances

(read stainless steel in between these lines)

(...be still my heart.)

And a charming gas fireplace.

And did I mention bugless?

So

although it would mean

contributing once again to the

success of the

moving industry...

Here's hoping we'll get a move for

Christmas.

(say a little prayer)

(Need advice on moving companies?)

(ask away!)

Where do I begin?

Perhaps here:

Last Sunday (one week ago) I saw the biggest anthill I have ever seen in my life.

And it was full of red fire ants.

And according to the good natured church-going individual I was talking with... it was the least of my concerns.

On Tuesday we signed a lease on a house. A cute, relatively new, clean, 3 bedroom, 2 bath in a quiet little neighborhood. According to our neighbor there's not a bug problem. And the city sprays the street twice a week for mosquitoes. Perfect. (Or so I thought.)

Thursday I got our little house sprayed for bugs, just in case. And then took a walk down the street. Just myself, my two children, and a couple thousand mosquitoes.

Apparently "human" was the flavor of the day.

So I doused my posterity in insect repellent, and looked down to see all these cute li'l red fire ants weaving in, around, and among my toes. (luckily I was only bit once)

Since none of you were there I'll just say I calmly walked away. All dignified and such.

(But who am I kidding? The truth is more fun: I jumped atleast six feet high, landed on the sidewalk and sent my flip flop flying the opposite direction, all the while muttering sweet somethings [as opposed to sweet nothings] about dirty, dirty bugs.)

And that evening I found a couple cockroaches in my house. (Honestly? The one place I felt safe from fire ants and mosquitoes. )

But Friday's bugs all together and entirely topped Thursday's.

Friday, I was on the lookout.

As in searching for cockroaches.

A seek and destroy mission, if you will. Because here's the truth.

I'm afraid of bugs. As in... deathly afraid. As in... an entirely different me takes over.

But our furniture hasn't arrived yet: which means I'm sleeping my babes on the floor. The same floor that the dirty roaches traverse each night, looking for scraps we simply haven't left out. (give it up you dirty bugs.)

Fun fact? Just between you and me?

The cockroach is the state bird, flower, and tree of Louisiana.

So, yes. Although bugs send me orbiting through outerspace... the thought of bugs crawling over my children sends me to a new universe entirely. (Heaven forbid the two fears should ever actually combine. I would combust.)Back to searching. Unfortunately, I was finding lots of roaches. I was on my way to Mars, if we're talking orbiting here. After an evening of hand killing (as in lots of toilet paper between my hand and the bug) six or seven different cockroaches, I leaned down to view what looked like bug number eight......and cockroach number nine falls out of my hair.I orbited several times... and woke up both the kids.Add insult to injury? Okay.This morning I was snuggling with Robyn, and I found one crawling up my arm. I killed him with my bare hands, and had Steve get rid of the carcass. (...on my leg.)Gross?Then I won't even mention the (zillion) centipedes that keep finding their way into our house.Or the grasshoppers the size of small birds.Or the flying beetles that leave you with a bruise should you get in the way.But after all this...Does anyone have a cockroach/dirty bug story? Or a secret to getting rid of roaches? Currently I have two different kind of sprays (one is contracted, and the other is a do-it-myself type), a powder, and poisonous roach bait.None of the above? Then just say a little prayer that the bugs in our house will die a quick (is it too morbid to say painful?) death.Disclaimer: Mom, I'm trying my best to be positive about the situation. And I'm confident everything will turn out okay... I've really just never experienced anything like this before...

What if...

What if...

I had named my first child Ana...

...and my second child Luis?

...and what if we spoke Spanish instead of English?

'Luis y Ana'

It would have been perfect.

... speaking of Luis y Ana.

We're driving there at the end of this week.

And "Luis" is teething.

...light a candle for us.