So crazy it works

Recently we had one of those idyllic Saturday afternoons. The weather was unseasonably warm, we had no plans, the whole family just hanging out in the backyard.

"Gee," I remarked rather pointedly, "The neighbor's dog pooped in our yard again."

"Hm." responded The Mister, noncommittally.

"It sure would be a shame if someone stepped in it. It would get all over the house. All those germs. I sure wouldn't want to have to..."

The Mister heaved a big sigh. "I'll get it."

Victory! I thought. He trotted off, presumably to get a shovel and a plastic bag. My eyebrows rose a little when he returned with...a pile of sticks? They shot straight up into my hairline as he proceeded to use the sticks to build an elaborate fence around the poop.

"There!" He says with great satisfaction. "Now no one will step in it."

We've dubbed it The Poop Tree, and it's well on it's way to becoming a beloved family landmark.

"OK, kids, you can play outside. But stay away from the Poop Tree."

Let's face it, once you've named something it can be hard to get rid of it. Like our new pet, for instance:

His name is Clyde. What, you can't see him very well? Here's a close up:

Yes, Clyde is deer tick. I recently found him crawling on Isabel's shirt. If you don't know me in real life; you may be wondering why I trapped Clyde under a glass and named him, rather than just flushing him down the toilet like any normal human being. If you do know me in real life; you are probably just laughing because you know that I have a long and illustrious history of trapping insects under glasses. This is ostensibly so that I can identify them properly, but in truth it is because I have this morbid vision wherein my loved one has been bitten by an insect and I am running down the hospital corridors alongside the gurney and the doctors are shouting, "But did you save the tick???" And I triumphantly lift the glass in the air and save the day. It could totally happen. Also, I think letting insects suffocate slowly to death sets a good example to all the other insects.

Of course, after time it starts to backfire on me. The longer I leave Clyde under the glass, the more menacing he seems. Eventually, he starts talking to me in this cartoonish Brooklyn accent, "Eh, lady! Lemme outta this glass so I can bite your daaawtah!"

Yes, all ticks are from Brooklyn. And all mosquitoes are Mexican. The point is, and I do have a point, wait, no, I really don't have a point. Except that underneath this I've-got-it-together Mommy exterior lies a big swirling batch of crazy. And I'm beginning to suspect that the Mister has his own little batch of crazy brewing, too. Maybe that's why we work.