You dirty old louse.

Now that it's over, I can breathe normally and tell about it.

Last Thursday, I had lunch with a friend whose daughter is in the same grade as Ally.  It's nice when you are good friends with the parents of your children's good friends.  Not only does it make socializing with adults easier, you know someone else is looking out for your child when you are not around.  It's one of the things I love about our community.

Before her food even arrived, my friend was compelled by a self-professed moral obligation to disclose that she had found head lice on her daughter and herself.  I love this friend, whose anonymity in a rare move I shall respect, because she and I share views of what warrants us to go ape s*** ballistic.  As she described her experience of her discovery and subsequent desire to purge her home of this pest, we both started.  We itched, twitched, shifted in our chairs and soon, were scratching ourselves all over in a very public place with no shame for where the itches were suddenly erupting.  Mind you, we are women - we itch just like men; we are simply more discreet in how we manage it.  And I know that as you are reading this, your scalp is crawling, your neck is itching, your back feels like bugs are crawling up and down and your legs have an itch that seems to be behind the knees but when you scratch, there is no relief.

My poor friend was beside herself, and during the course of her story, revealed that she reached a breaking point and melted into a ball with heaving sobs.  My heart broke for her.  I had lice once as a child, and I know how horrific it can be to find it, and rid your home of it.

But as a helicopter concerned mom, I felt the need to take preventive measures and treated Ally's hair that night.  It had been a long time since my experience, but Sam and I were pretty sure we found a couple of live ones.  My reaction?

SWEET JESUS, MOTHER OF GOD, HOLY SAINT JOSEPH AND THE WHOLE ARMY OF SAINTS AND ANGELS WITH EVERYTHING ELSE GREEN ON EARTH!!!!!  How did this get into my child's hair and into my home?!!!

I combed and picked and pulled through that child's hair until she was in tears, Ethan cried in sympathy, and I suspect Sam wasn't far behind in the waterworks.  Although it was late, I stripped every single bed of every blanket, sheet, stuffed animal and began THE CLEANSING.

No exorcism could be as clean.

While the kids were crying because they were tired and wanted to go to bed, I began washing all the linens, vacuuming every square inch of the house, and came very close to boiling the kids to rid them of the pestilence.  Had I been around during biblical times, I doubt the locusts would have stood a chance. At one point, Sam got the nerve to squeak out the possibility that perhaps I was going maybe just a tad bit overboard.  When I turned in response, I did not see myself but I am pretty sure my eyes must have been blood red and my fangs bared with flames coming out from behind my hair as I was sprinting through the house with the vacuum in between cycles of the washing machine, all the while itching and twitching.  Because God forbid I should let the washing machine or dryer have a break during THE CLEANSING.

The next day, I went up the school to do some volunteer work, and was approached by the nurse.  Sam and I have endeavored to raise Ally to not be ashamed of anything about herself--how she speaks (she is exceedingly polite, so it's pretty easy at this point), looks, dresses or her choice of toys or games.  Our thought process behind this is to raise a confident child who recognizes that if someone judges her for something like that, they do not deserve her for a friend.

In an illustration of the effectiveness of our parenting, Ally announced to her class "I have lice!  My mom found bugs in my hair!!"  And of course, on that day of all days, her amazing teacher who is now very familiar with our family (I'll let you guess why.  One hint--it's not because Ally misbehaves) was absent, and the substitute panicked.  The nurse examined Ally's hair, and declared to me "She has a really bad case."

WHAT THE WHAT THE WHAT?!?!?!?!

"Please, show me what the devil you are talking about, because I just treated that child last night."

Turns out Ally has dry scalp that can easily be mistaken for nits if you have poor eyesight.  However, after a more intense search, she did find two nits, but determined Ally to be safe at school since I had preemptively treated her the night before.  I asked again and again and again if I should take Ally home and put her in an autoclave?  I think at this point, the nurse insisted I keep Ally at school for Ally's own safety because ape-s***-crazy-mama was back on the loose.

THE CLEANSING continued throughout the weekend.  I treated Ally again with prescription-strength shampoo on Saturday.  I vacuumed, washed, dried, dusted, polished, and sanitized everything in sight and a few things still in hiding.  Finally, on Sunday night, I collapsed onto my very clean bed and promptly fell asleep.  In the middle of the night, Ethan crawled into our bed as he sometimes does.  I did not care.  I was too tired to care.

Until he promptly peed.  All over my bed, pillows, down comforter, quilt, duvet, and sheets.  At least now, I am happy to report Ally is squeaky clean and free of lice.

Goodnight, Perry...

He was a funny little kid with his curly hair, button nose and his slightly darker skin that never meant anything to us other than he was a little different, just like the rest of us.  So, he welcomed us, we welcomed him, and being in the same grade, he quickly became friends with my older brother.  Of course, being friends with one of us meant you were friends with the whole pack.

The two of them made a funny little pair, both slightly chubby, both a little dark (one spending every spare minute fishing or playing outdoors), and both with a goofy sense of humor.  One of my most vivid memories was in the midst of a game of backyard kickball, he stopped, wrinkled his button nose, cocked his head to the side, declared "I smell rain", and sniffed the air the way a puppy sniffs when it detects something mysterious.  To this day, every time it's about to rain and I detect that distinct smell in the air, I think of Percy Crosley, or as he became known as an adult, Perry.


We reconnected on Facebook after not seeing one another for over 20 years, and all those intervening years melted.  He was the most attentive user, always responding quickly to any comment or post.  And, he was the most optimistic and positive person.  Every morning, he'd give an update on his plans for the day while enjoying a cup of coffee, ending that post with "Enjoy the day! Be blessed!"  His evening post closed with "Much love as always! Be blessed! Ciao!!"

Last week, we lost Perry after a long battle with pancreatic cancer that had hatefully spread.  Perry knew his days were numbered, but that did not stop him from living, and sharing his love.  He was never judgmental, and always gentle in expressing an opposing view.  Losing him hurts.  Really bad.  Nowhere nearly as bad as the pain he battled for so long, but it still hurts.  My only comfort is that I know when he passed, he knew he was loved and cherished by so many all over, and he was not alone.  Rest, my dear friend.  You were loved, as much as you loved.  When my daughter smiles, I know you are smiling.  When my son giggles as he thinks he has tricked me, I know you are giggling at me, too.  Rest, and I know I have someone looking after my family from above.  Much love to you, and thank you for your many blessings.  And for now, ciao.

Politics anyone? Not around me.

I am far too cynical to be an idealist, too goofy to be serious or taken seriously, and too realistic to think Rodney King's eloquent question will ever be answered in the affirmative.  There is one topic that I absolutely never discuss with anyone with any breadth of seriousness: politics.  Like everyone else, I have my own very specific views, and will not be swayed by propaganda, mud slinging or threats of impending doom if a certain candidate from a particular party wins the vote.  When I say I refuse to discuss politics with anyone, I mean EVERYONE.

As I have gotten older and have small impressionable children, I have tried to adopt a more simplistic approach.  One of my favorite authors for what seems like the last seven years is Dr. Seuss, and in his brilliant fashion, I will explain my view on discussing politics:

I will not discuss politics.

Not with my husband.

Not with my kids.

Not in my house, 

Not even with a louse.

Nor outside my abode.

Especially when weighed down with a load.

I won't talk politics today, tomorrow, or the next.

Not even if you wail and beat your breast.

I will not waste time to discuss such things

That make people seem they're barely hanging on by a string.

If you insist on sharing your views,

Avoiding the existence of other hues,

Do not be surprised or hurt

When I suddenly turn and punch your throat.

I will not discuss politics.

Ok, I really will not punch anyone in the throat, and it really does not even rhyme, but you get the idea of how I feel about this topic.

Safety in Suburbia

About once a year, we get a notice taped to our door.  For some reason, though I swear I have no reason to feel guilty, I always think it's an eviction, foreclosure, or notice of some kind of violation.  No.  It is this:

It is an offer, for a nominal fee,  to paint our house numbers on the curb with reasons why this is so important.  Apparently, the numbers on the house are not sufficient for the police or emergency personnel to find it, and they are delayed by having to use a searchlight.  I suppose that with the delay, by the time they reach you, you'll have given birth on your bathroom floor, your older children will have witnessed it, they will be traumatized and screaming while your husband is passed out and you're wondering when the devil are they going to get here?  Or, it's an intruder and the intruder has decided to let me live long enough to alert 911 and calmly give directions.  Alas, all that effort will have been wasted because they could not find my house.  Any number of potentially deadly and disastrous situations could be circumvented by paying to have my house numbers painted on my curb.

Here's my problem with this offer to increase my safety: The first time it was offered, it cost $25.  Now, it costs $10.  Is my safety cheaper to secure now?  Or is the paint cheaper, and hence, just another empty promise because the police are still going to use a searchlight to try and find me?  I have a neighbor who is very willing to come over to help me in the case of an intruder, and odds are, he'll get here before the police.  That is, provided I have the frame of mind to call anyone at all.  If I really did have the chance to call someone, it would be the coroner at that point anyway, and why should they rush?  I'd be better off calling a lawyer, and I've never known a lawyer to rush anywhere unless your name is O.J.

The only other reason I can think my house would need to be located quickly is in the case of fire.  I'm thinking if that were to happen, they'll easily locate my house by the flames billowing out the windows, me screaming like a lunatic in the yard, all my neighbors standing outside pointing and wondering "Why does her husband keep letting her buy candles?", and my kids thinking this is the best way ever to make s'mores.  Either way, I'd still need to call a lawyer.

I think I'll pass on this offer for now.  But maybe next year...

First Day of School with Many Firsts

This time of year always brings so much excitement to our home.  The summer heat begins to subside for the cooler Fall weather to slowly creep in, the grass that went dormant (or died) from the heat is showing promise that it's coming back, any leaves left on the trees not killed by the drought will change soon, and most importantly, a new school year means shopping for school supplies and new clothes.

I love it.  Or, I used to love it.

This year, I dreaded it.  I'm one of those rare birds who do not want to send my children off to school (but know better than to home-school them because I need them to learn more than cuss words).  This past summer, I saw more of Ally's personality emerge, and fought the balance of letting her become her own person vs. controlling her to prevent a monster-diva from emerging.  It was not easy, but often times fun and I think an ongoing project.

We saw an explosion in Ethan's speech.  In May, his speech therapist transitioned him over to the district, and we enrolled him into a preschool specializing in speech development.  When you add his expanding vocabulary with his already animated expressions, there is little need for cable (except for the Olympics--let us not forget the men's swimming and diving events).  Because his school is almost 2 miles away, he gets to ride on a bus to and from school each day.  I struggled with this, but decided to let him ride the bus because it was something unique to his routine, and I thought would add to the excitement of going to a new school.

But as we got closer to the day, the more my stomach hurt.  It literally hurt every night to the point I could not sleep.  Finally, the day came for Ally's first day.

Her nervousness made her wake well before her usual time, eyes brimming with tears when she came into my room.  Last year, she cried almost every single day, and I did not want to go through that again.  I had to lie and tell her the principal said there is no crying in second grade.  You can gasp and judge all you want, but a key to my parenting method is determining which lies will have long-lasting detrimental effects weighed against the benefits of said lies.  In this case, it worked!  She got moving and ready for school.

It is impossible for Ally to pretend to be impressed with my ideas.

Finally, a sweet and toothless smile I will always cherish, and she will always hold against me.

Once at school, she caught up with some of her best friends before they excitedly stormed the school.

Ethan did not know what to make of his sister's excitement to be with anyone other than him.

I believe she's telling me to get out and quit embarrassing her.

Once Ethan and I left, we loitered outside the school to catch up with other parents and their children.  Can you believe Ethan was the only boy in a sea of beautiful little girls?  That is one lucky little guy.

This is the sweetest little girl. She always looks after Ethan and makes sure he crosses the street safely.

This year was the closest I'd come thus far to shedding tears after seeing Ally off to school.  And, it was the first year she did not shed a single tear when I left.  I know she is in great hands; she has a wonderful teacher and a lot of old friends with the opportunity to make many new ones.  I am sad my little girl is growing up so fast, but excited and happy for her.

Ethan and I went home to enjoy our last full day together.  Because what hit us on his first day of school was unexpected.

This little clown told me "Take this, Mom!" and made this face.

This is his "happy face". Sure makes me laugh.

He was so excited, he refused to sit on the porch with me while waiting for the bus.

Once he got on the bus, he turned around and asked me "Mommy, you go, too?" This is when the unwelcommed and unsolicited lump formed in my throat and refused to leave.

And before I knew it, he was gone.  I couldn't stay another minute, and went inside, thinking I could pull myself together.  I could not.  Suddenly and without any preamble, the tears came and I started crying.  Sobbing.  Loud, snot-dripping, ugly-face crying.  I couldn't stop, no matter how hard I tried.  I even tried to scare myself into stopping by looking in the mirror, but that just made it worse.  Pathetic.

I solemnly swear to never laugh at another parent who cries on the first, last or any day in between of school.  I get it.  And I am sorry for all the jokes I made at your expense in the past.

Our Last Summer Hurrah in Vail

As time zipped past us, we decided to take the kids on one last trip before school started.  Given the unbelievably hot weather this year, we decided to head to the mountains and introduce the kids to one of our favorite places.  

Sam and I love the mountains--skiing, hiking, just staring at the natural beauty while breathing in the sweet, clean air as it cools our upturned faces.  My friend, Erin Dedrickson, accurately describes it as God's country. We love it.

Coming on the heels of a family reunion, I did not have the chance to clean the house and adequately prepare for this trip.  At departure time, I was still packing feverishly.  To better achieve this, I let Ethan play on the Wii while I finished up. 

Big mistake.  I finished up sooner than expected (with his engineer mentality, Sam had a schedule and WE NEEDED TO STICK TO IT) and Ethan did not get to play on the Wii for more than 5 minutes.

From home to Vail, he complained every 3 minutes he was awake that he wanted to go home.  Ally was a good sport until eventually, she decided to join in on Ethan's fun and follow every one of his whines with "Are we there yet?  And don't tell me we already got there and I missed it because you always say that."  She's on to me.

Our arrival in Vail was welcomed by all except Ethan when he realized our stop was not at home at all.   The kids perceived walking to the bus stop as a full-fledged hike, and they let everyone within hearing distance know of their displeasure.  Frequently, when I am out with the kids, they are complimented on their behavior or how people are surprised with how cute they are, given their genetics.  Not in Vail, and not because the people were snooty.  The kids just complained that much, and that loud.  After awhile, our sense of self-preservation made us laugh at the whole situation.  

Going into Vail Village was an adventure in itself.  But, we forged ahead and took the kids in the gondola to get to the top of the mountain for a day of fun.

Ally was thrilled with the ride!  

Ethan was absolutely terrified and held onto my leg for dear life.

There are so many family-friendly activities in Vail in the summer, I really don't know which season is my favorite up there.  We started out on our hike after a lovely lunch.

Typical Ethan, filling his pockets with rocks.  

In contrast, Ally appreciated the flowers.  

I wish I could say I didn't make her pose for this sweet picture.

I also wish I could say our hike lasted further than 200 feet on a paved sidewalk.  We finally gave up and went back down.  Miraculously, the kids found the energy to run and play in the stream.

Ethan was inordinately proud to have made it to this rock with his sister.  The look of sheer joy and pride on his face (and probably diabolical plans to push his sister into the water) made me laugh so hard it startled people out for their afternoon stroll.

Climbing these rocks was quite taxing on our little princess.

 There was a little girl nearby, and in typical boy behavior, Ethan thought the best way to get her attention was to throw a rock at her, immediately after he had been warned to do no such thing.

We finally got a moment to just sit (actually, I was sitting the whole time.  There was no way I was getting in that cold water.  No idea where Ally gets her princess tendencies.)

 Ally was happiest playing on the rocks, conquering every one and turning for a photo op.  

Although we did get to spend a few days at one of our favorite places, we left with looming questions for our future vacations:
1.  Do we keep torturing them and ourselves by taking them into the mountains?
2.  Or, do we leave them behind so we can enjoy it ourselves?

My thoughts are to continue the torture so that eventually, they will learn to appreciate it as much as we do.  Or, they hate it so much they never ask us for money to go skiing with their friends when they get older.  Something good always comes out of every situation.

Summer Days...

Last summer went by so fast, the next thing I knew, I was rushing Ally to the first day of first grade.  Although I volunteered quite a bit in her classroom, I missed her while she was there.  And this Fall, both kids will go to school every day, and I'm already having anxiety about sending them both away.  So when school let out in May, I resolved to make the most of my time with them.

I planned an outing a day from the day school was out until we left for our Orlando vacation.  By the time Saturday rolled around, the kids begged to be allowed to just stay at home.  Perfect for all of us because after a week on the road or in the office, Sam is ready to kick back in the comforts of his home.

While it was still cool out, Grandpa would come over and play with the monkeys kids outside.  You can see how much my Dad loves these kids.  Too bad Ethan can't be as nice to his Grampie.

Every so often, good 'ol Ethan would get in trouble and find himself in the corner.  Most kids can't wait to get out of the corner, right?  Not Ethan.  He is one odd duck.  He will stay in the corner until he is good and ready to come out.  On this particular day, he was in so much trouble, and he was so mad he decided to defy me by not sitting, per se, but at least still on the chair in the corner as directed.  This boy loves to push buttons and limits.

We have seen a lot more bickering this summer.  Ally usually walks away from a fight, or whimpers when Ethan hits her.  In his questionable wisdom, Sam offered her a reward if she'd just hit him back.  It has made this summer interesting, to say the least.  But most of the time, they are best buddies and Ally always hugs her brother to comfort him.  It warms my hardened heart.

Sam's annual company picnic proved to be a lot of fun this year for the kids, now fully able to appreciate all the activities and treats.  His company really strives to make this picnic about the kids, and makes for such a memorable experience.  Of course, as we were waiting in line for our food, this little princess took her brother to the shade and let us, her servants, stay in line in the full sun.

Oh, Orlando!  How we loved bringing the kids to Sea World for the first time, seeing their reactions to so many firsts.  All the packing, sweating, waiting was worth it to see the look of wonder on their faces the first time they saw a dolphin jump out of the water, their shock when Shamu splashed them with ice-cold salt water, their trepidation replaced by sheer excitement and joy when feeding dolphins.  So many firsts, so many memories.  So worth all the money we spent, even the two gigantic plush Shamu toys that barely made it home (one now shoved into a closet somewhere).

From Orlando to Ft. Myers to see our good friends, Bonnie and David Dorsey and their family.  My sweet girl experienced the beach for the first time, and was a vision of perfection with the sunset.  Gorgeous weather, great company, and an unbelievably good time.  David is holding is suddenly camera-shy son, Sam, whom he and Bonnie adopted from Korea three years ago.  They adopted this little guy from Korea and named him after Sam.  I was stunned.  I never knew Sam had that effect on anyone.  During their adoption process, I suggested a baby from Vietnam.  I think they feared they'd get a little Anh, because they gave about as much thought to that as I do when Ally asks me for jet pack.

We have a little over three weeks before the kids go back, and I feel like time is flying right by me.  I don't want to let them go, but I know I cannot stop Time from tick tick ticking away.  Our last hurrah for the summer will be in Vail, CO.  I hope to help create more memories for them, taking my exertion-adverse children on multiple hikes.  I suspect that by the time we are done with that, the kids will be ready to get rid of ME.

Driving while elderly

Rushing from a endless list of errands (ok, one of them was to get my nails done, but come on, I was WAY overdue) to pick up the kids from their first day of summer camp, I came upon an incredibly slow moving car.  Of course, when rushing to pick up the kids, imagining them waiting with anxious eyes and knots in their stomachs as they watch for my car, it always seems there's someone interminably slow in front of me.  As I passed the offending driver, muttering "Vertical pedal on the right, friend. Use it.", I looked at him, ready to shoot him a look to say "Look here, if you can't do the speed limit, get out of the road because I will run you over like a pop can if you get in my way again."  But then I saw him.  And my expression melted.

The elderly gentleman was hunched over his steering wheel, mouth wide open as if in a scream, and his hair sticking straight up and swept back as if windblown in a topless convertible (he, too, was driving an SUV).  I probably should have felt some degree of sympathy for him, but I busted out laughing.  He looked terrified that he was traveling at the raging speed of 60 mph.  Or perhaps genuinely afraid I would run him off the road.  I wonder if the majority of people, once they reach a certain age, wear an expression of perpetual fear?  Or is it just my presence?

I know when I'm driving my mother around, she is scared out of her mind.  She doesn't quite look like the road is going to jump out and swallow her whole after beating her with its concrete barriers, but she certainly doesn't look comfortable (yet another reason I'm re-evaluating the wisdom in getting her cataracts removed).  My dad might look frozen in fear in my passenger seat, but I can't tell because he insists on sitting in the backseat where he can torment Ethan and make me instantly go gray.  I can say, however, that he is not thrilled with my driving or my choice in the paths to get to my destination.

Have they always been this way?  I honestly don't remember.  Will I become that way?  I think we all know the answer to that--YES.  Yes, because we all know God is freaking hilarious and I have it coming to me.

Dad's Birthday Pledge

I come from a family of 6 kids, all of whom are or were married with or about to have children.  If you got all of that, it means when we all go out, it can be quite the ordeal.  Thankfully, we only do that once a week.  On a Sunday.  Right after mass when the rest of KC is also rushing around, trying to find a brunch spot.

After doing this every single week for over a year, our choices have become more and more limited.  This is not just because of the cost, but the size of our crowd and the reputation Ethan some have developed.  So, the unwritten rules have changed that whoever can get together, does.  Except for birthdays.  Birthdays are special, so we try to celebrate accordingly.

But if you remember, the family of 6 kids have proliferated to include a lot of people, and hence, a lot of birthdays.  Dad came up with the brilliant idea of celebrating all the birthdays of each month on one day.  In February, we have 4 birthdays, and decided to celebrate on the 26th.  For the shortest month of the year, we sure pack in a lot.  I guess quite a few people like to celebrate the end of the school year...

This year, my birthday fell on a Sunday, so Sam took me out they day before to celebrate.  I cannot remember the last time we spent an afternoon exclusively together.  It's not that we don't have a plethora of people willing to watch our kids while we go out; we just feel that weekends are the only real time Sam gets to spend time with them so we like to maximize that time with them.  After a great day without a single fight (worthy of a call to the Vatican if you know me), we went to pick up the kids from my parents' house.  Dad pulled me aside and asked to take my little family out the next day (12th).  I was confused, and reminded him of the planned get-together on the 26th, but he insisted that this year, he wanted to celebrate with each of his children on their actual birthday.

My Dad is old school.  I have always known that he loves all of us.  What I only learned in the last few years is that he has the same obsession with his kids that I have with my own.  This was quite the revelation to me, because we were raised with "tough love" from the old country.  When he was a young father, he had to fight the urge to shower his children with affection, in accordance with the cultural practice of not overtly expressing your love to your children lest they become spoiled.  But now that he's a grandfather, all that blissfully goes out the window.

So this year, Dad pledged to spend each of his children's birthday with them.  I was touched, but still confused, and he must have noticed or was wanting to share his reasons with me: he does not believe he will be with us for much longer.

Dad is 72 years old.  I stubbornly see him as a very strong and healthy man, not looking anywhere near his age, and definitely nowhere near that next phase that I cannot grasp right now, or ever.  He still loves to fish, does almost all the housework, and gives the grandchildren rides on his back.  He chases Ethan around the house, hides around the corner, and allows Ethan to use him as a punching bag.  He takes my mother everywhere, and will drop whatever he is doing the minute one of us asks him to come over.  He seems so much younger than his 72 years.  But, he is unquestionably aging.  When I was 10 years old, I begged God to not take my parents away until I was at least 20 years old, an age I felt old and mature enough to handle such a tremendous loss.  I am 39, and cannot even fathom the horrible day I will have to face this.

I don't know what made my Dad make that morbid prediction, but I do hope that I am making the most of every day I have with him.  I have had to help too many friends bury at least one of their parents, and although I know I will join ranks with them one day, I hope to put it off for as long as possible.  I hope that when that horrible day comes, I can still smile through my torrent of tears, and hope Dad will always know what he means to me.  Because I intend to let him know every day.

God's not so small creatures

God loves all creatures, big and small.  At least that's what I was taught when I was younger and too stupid to know any better.  Now that I'm much bigger and slightly less stupid, I think this is flawed, and the nuns who taught me this were probably laughing behind their veils.

I'm pretty sure mosquitoes and all flying insects are examples that not only humans, but God makes mistakes.  It is unseasonably warm in January, but I hardly think warm enough for this: I opened the door leading to the garage yesterday, and a horsefly the size of a small pterodactyl flew into the house.  I finally cornered the germ-infested flying bastard to a window, hit it with a fly swatter with enough force to make Ethan feel the ripple effect from the other room, picked up the carcass with a napkin and squished it before unceremoniously crushing it into the trash can.  I did NOT want that nasty creature to have any chance of coming back.

I left the house for 3 hours.  I may or may not have been going out to lunch and shopping, spending Sam's hard-earned money almost faster than he can make it.  This is not a confessional, and what's more, that's neither here nor there.  So, when I got back, I had to throw something (I think it belonged to Sam and was offending my natural balance of the chaos in the kitchen) away, and opened the trash can.  That filthy, disgusting creature HOPPED OUT OF THE TRASH CAN AND ONTO MY KITCHEN FLOOR!!!!!

So then I realized maybe these nasty bastards are not God's mistakes, but more like a harsh shove (no gentle nudges from The Big Guy) and cackle of "Did you really think you'd get away with that?"