Wednesday, August 22, 2012What Would Mark Brown Do?
The defining moments of life that alter your path and guide you in a new direction are often predictable. You know that life will never be the same when you have a baby, for example. However, it's the life-changing events that you don't foresee causing a major impact that can REALLY turn your life upside-down. An unexpected death, for example, can be like a boulder suddenly crashing down in the middle of your path through life. You have to figure out how to navigate it and work around that boulder.
I have a new boulder in my life. It's a small one, but it is definitely having a BIG impact.
Remember Mark Brown? If not, let me catch you up real fast. I was pulled over for speeding in Kentucky by a lovely gentleman who had his head firmly planted up his ass. Let's ignore the part where I'm 100% certain he actually clocked the red Chevy that passed me moments before he flipped on his lights. Instead, we'll skip straight to the part where he ran the wrong drivers license number. He thought I had a suspended license because he failed to realize that he was looking at Mark Brown's information. I lost an hour of my life to the delay that comes with a highway patrolman thinking your license is suspended. On that night, I was also gifted with a really very upset kid, a ticket I didn't deserve, and a life-time of jokes about a man named Mark Brown.
And, now, I've completely lost every last shred of sanity because of that lovely gentleman who had his head firmly planted up his ass.
While all the chaos and confusion was going on that dark night in Kentucky, I imagine Alexis was desperately trying to make sense of the situation from her place in the back seat of the car. She, of course, knows nothing of suspended licenses and CYS and computers spitting out answers to exactly the question that is asked. Before that day she had no concept of traffic citations, and she most certainly didn't know about speed limits.
She knows ALL about them now.
For the past several weeks, she has read EVERY. SINGLE. speed limit sign to me, often using an accusatory tone that would be better suited for telling me that I have dog poop on my shoe. "The speed limit is 45, momma," she will say, her voice dripping with accusations.
I don't even know how to reply when she does it, other than to silently thank all of the gods, deities, and powers that be that she doesn't know how to read a speedometer. Yet. Do you want to guess what the number one feature I'll be watching for when I finally buy a new car this fall will be? Digital speedometers. There is ABSOLUTELY no way I will pick a car that has a digital display because that would be like handing the kid a pile of blank speeding tickets and a pen.
"Momma, the speed limit is 35."
"The speed limit is 25!"
"The speed limit is 55, momma. How fast are you going?"
See? There is NO FREAKIN WAY I'll be letting her anywhere near a speedometer. It's much easier to just repeat whatever number she read off of the sign.
The real kicker to this whole "Momma, the speed limit is 45" thing is that Alexis doesn't seem to believe me that the penalty for speeding isn't really all that great. I mean, it's not exactly safe to exceed the posted speed limit, but as long as you manage to avoid an accident, the worst that can happen is that you get a speeding ticket. While speeding tickets certainly aren't fun, they aren't the end of the world.
Alexis doesn't believe me on that, even though I've told her approximately 153295684 times.
Nope.
Not even a little bit.
My dear, sweet child is absolutely convinced that if you are caught speeding, you will instantly be sent to jail.
Frickin' frackin' Mark Brown is never going to stop haunting me, is he?
The Crazy Bat Lady Isn't All That Crazy
Let's review this summer from a wild angle, shall we?
A snake. In my yard.
There was a shrew which I was oddly attached to, right up until the neighbor's cat bit its head off and left it in our driveway.
Frogs. Lots and lots of frogs.
Did I mention that some birds decided to make a nest in one of our vents? As in, they were INSIDE OUR HOUSE ABOVE THE FAMILY ROOM CEILING? And that there were eggs? And baby birds? And that you could hear the baby birds chirping when you were in the Hello Kitty bathroom? Well, you could. They moved out on their own, but only after a very long few weeks of us debating whether or not we needed to evict them.
All of that is to say, he should have known.
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We sat gathered in the neighbor's driveway (Not the neighbors with the nuisance cat, the neighbor who makes amazing salads) chatting about this thing and that thing and everything in between. I don't remember exactly how our attention turned to a bat flying overhead, but it did.
And then another one flew overhead.
And then another.
"Um, I think there are bats flying out of our house," I said slowly.
I couldn't be sure because the sun was singing a goodnight lullaby as it slipped below the horizon, but at least five bats had most certainly appeared from the front corner of our house.
Please refer back to the first section of this post. Would you have doubted me?
The husband did. He doubted me and he mocked me and he started calling me The Crazy Bat Lady. "There's no way they're flying out of our house, you nutball," he said.
Dear Married Men,
Never tell your wife there is no way she's right. The universe will shift, magic will happen, fairy godmothers will make dreams come true. If she wasn't right when the conversation started, she will be by the time it's done.
Love,
The Woman Who Has Played This Game For Over 12 Years
He went on to make a Very. Big. Deal. out of my wrongness. A boys vs. girls debate broke out with us women-folk insisting that someone needed to climb a ladder and make sure there weren't any holes leading into the attic. The men-folk thought it was all very funny because HAHAHA THERE IS NO WAY THERE ARE BATS FLYING OUT OF THE HOUSE. At some point, the neighbor grabbed a flashlight and tried to prove that men are smart, but it had gotten too late. No bats were to be seen that night. The husband took that as a sign that he was right.
But the next night the husband got a phone call. We were out picking up medicine for the girl with the gross arm when the husband's cell phone rang and the neighbor was on the line.
"I'm watching bats fly out of your house. Your wife was right," he said.
I couldn't hear the words, but the smoke coming out of the husband's ears told the whole story. I fought the urge to scream IN YOUR FACE and succeeded, but only because YOU GUYS, THERE WERE BATS FLYING OUT OF MY HOUSE.
The next day was filled with ladders and exploration and the confirmation that they weren't actually in the house, but rather living between a piece of trim and the brick. Which, you know, is definitely better. Seriously. I like bats when they are outside. They eat bugs. Bug eaters are good! If they make their way inside my house, though? GAME ON. And by GAME ON I mean the only solution to this problem is to burn the house down. Twice.
Anyway, the little tiny hole the bats were using to get behind the trim has been filled and the bats have moved on to someone else's house (sorry to whichever neighbor has been blessed with their presence!). All that is left to prove that I was right and that the bats were indeed flying out of our house is a blog post.
And a video.
I TOLD YOU SO, MR. HUSBAND.
For the record, there were SEVENTEEN bats living in that tiny hole. SEVENTEEN. I only managed to capture thirteen of them on video, but I assure you the other four were there.
