When it comes to some confessions, there's the two year rule, the five year rule, and for serious ones, the ten year rule.
You know. You wait until you've been out of the house for two years before you tell your mom about the time you "accidentally" shot one of her best egg-laying hens. With an arrow. Up it's rear. And you (and your siblings) had to chase it for 10 minutes so you could forcefully pull the thing out. All the while hoping and praying it wouldn't squawk too loudly.
That type of confession. By then, it's funny. Mom isn't looking at that chicken as a dollar sign with two legs and a beak running around.
This morning, Conni put something in the microwave to heat up. She said, "Gross! What happened to the microwave?"
Upon examination, I realized that we had all heated up leftover soup in the microwave yesterday, and no one covered their bowl. So vegetable beef soup was splattered all over it.
This must have triggered a memory for Conni, because a confession came next.
"That reminds me of the time that I was 5 and I found a cold lizard. It wasn't moving, but I knew it wasn't dead. I thought if I put it in the microwave and warmed it up a bit it would be fine."
Oh dear. I think I know where we are going with this.
"I put it in there - just for a few seconds - and it exploded! Just like that soup. There were lizard parts everywhere."
"It was a mess. It really stunk, too."
At the time, I probably would have been horrified. I would've sanitized the microwave and given her a lecture.
Today, it's just funny.
Lizards in the microwave; that falls in the nine year rule for confessions.
I shudder to think what I'll hear over the next few years.
Oct 13, 2011
I love where I live.
Love being in the country.
I never know what I'll see out my kitchen window.
One day it's 5 deer peacefully grazing in my yard.
Another day it's several Canadian geese eating our recently sowed grass seed.
Another day it's a gorgeous hot air balloon floating over the back yard; close enough to holler hello at the lucky people in the basket.
Another day it's a new dirt bike jump.
Another day it's a black bear.
Another day it's a 5 foot black snake dining at the local bird house.
Another day it's the orange hat bobbing along through our woods as one of the relatives goes deer hunting.
Another day it's my daughter (name withheld) doing a back bend on the barn roof.
And another day, like yesterday, it's this:
A lost Sysco tractor trailer.
He barrelled right past the house, through the parking spot, and on to the barn. Really? Does it look like we get tractor trailer loads of groceries delivered to our barn?
About halfway to the barn, he must've clued in to the obvious. He stopped and started backing up. Keep in mind that it rained ALL day yesterday and everything was a soggy mess.
I watched in dismay (and some frustration...ok, lots of frustration) as he proceeded to turn his big rig around.
By the time he made it back to the front of the house, I was standing in the driveway (with an umbrella in the downpour) waiting on him. He rolled his window down. I asked, "What in the world are you doing?" (I think I said it nicely.)
He grinned at me and said, "Sorry ma'am. They told me to go all the way to the end of the road. Looks like this isn't it." Like it was no big deal. All I could do was point my finger up the road and say between clinched teeth, "Obviously. You need to be up there at that building."
He grinned, waved, and drove off in his beast. As he went by me, I noticed the extra large serving of my beautiful sod served up so nicely on the jack/brace thingy that hangs down under the trailer.
I tromped out to assess the damage. Let's just put it this way: I won't post any pictures of his 18-wheeled beast's jaunt through my yard, through the basketball court, over the retaining wall and through the sod. We are giving Sysco an opportunity to make good on their drivers stupidity, lack of judgment, and negligence.
I wonder what I'll see out my kitchen window next week?
I'll take the bear any day over the tractor trailer!