Monday, February 26, 2007


(a weird tale in two parts.)

My middle son, the Incredible Bulk, has learned a new word.


It's funny and charming when he holds up a minuscule smear of peanut butter and exclaims: "Ewww!"

We also have the words: "bleh", and "crud", and "nasty", to describe yucky stuff.

Bleh is like those dark spots on a banana: nothing horrible, just needs to be trimmed off.

Crud is like what you might have on your face after eating: "Here, come let Momma wipe that crud offa you." It can also be on inanimate objects, like our refrigerator's Patch of Nameless Crud.

Nasty is reserved for really icky stuff: pet or livestock poo; things found on the tarmac in a parking lot; food that has fallen on the floor, been hiding behind a table leg, and discovered a week later.

Ewww, was coined one day by Boy, who stepped, barefoot, on a strawberry top that I missed and Bulk had tossed onto the floor.

Bulk loves it, bless him. He says it about everything; when his nappy wants changing, when he spills yoghurt and then puts his elbows in it, when he discovers a muddy patch in the walk outside.

Even I got to use it yesterday (thankfully, after they were in bed).

So, I'm making breakfast yesterday, and I go in the 'fridge for something and I notice that the rubber seal on the door is unusually warm. I puzzle over it for a second then move on - I'm busy - EGH has to get to work, babies are clamouring to be fed.

Fast forward to suppertime, which is a lot less hectic, and I realize that the door seal is very warm. I feel around. Nothing else seems warm, both the fridge and freezer are cooling.

Then I touch the metal front of the partition which separates the two sides (it's a side-by-side). It almost burns me it's so hot. WTF?

I hustled the babies into bed and dragged EGH in to verify I wasn't losing my mind. Nope. Front of Fridge Freakin' Flaming hot. So I unplugged it to cool down and give myself time to think.

Now, this fridge is a nice one, a top-of-the-line Kenmore (from Sears, natch) and a gift from Father-in-Law and his Wife (and v. much appreciated) when we first moved in. It's only four years old. It also has, in big letters on the inside, a toll-free number to call for repairs. 24 hours a day.

How much do you think they charge for a service call plus repairs at 8pm to a rural home 45 minutes from the nearest Sears? My guess is that I could buy a new freakin' refrigerator a Lowe's for that mystery amount.

So I pondered it for a bit.

See, I never just ring repairmen. I always try to fix it myself. I don't care if it's the car, an appliance, a lamp, or myself, I just hesitate to call in a professional (and shell out the money). It's NOT that I feel that I'm as qualified as they or more capable, but repair people these days have positively extortionistic tendencies. Fewer and fewer folks know how to do basic repairs to their homes and cars, people have less time, and everyone seems to be armed with a credit card burning a hole in their pocket. Repair people can charge what they will and the helpless masses just curse, shrug, and hand over the money saying; "well what can we do?"

Everyone just rings the repairman, takes their car in, runs to the emergency room. It's like we've become a society that doesn't realize that it's even possible to fix our own stuff.

But I digress ...

So the only two things that obviously come off my fridge are a panel low in the back, held on with screws, and the little vent thing in the front at the bottom. I grabbed a torch and the Shop-Vac and (don't laugh) got my gargantuan self onto the floor and set about investigating the front. It was dusty and there were a myriad of things dropped and pushed under by babies, but nothing really looked amiss. I cleaned out all the dust bunny warrens and went for the back panel.

As soon as I pushed it away from the wall i noticed something. A weird smell. A sick/sweet odour and a kind of burnt machinery smell. Hmmm.

So I wedged myself and Fiver back there and took that panel off. As soon as it was removed that odd smell came wafting out. I was instantly glad I'd eaten before attacking this problem. It was gagging me and I recognized it now; it was the smell of something dead.

It had to be rats*. Have I mentioned how much I hate rats ... and fleas and fire ants?

With EGH stoically holding the torch for me, I (after glaring accusatorily at the cats) poked around and hoovered, sucking up a huge amount of nesting material. The compressor was burning hot to the touch as was the 50 year old hardwood floor underneath because they'd chewed up the insulation for their nasty little nest.

After I got all the stuff out I still couldn't figure out why everything was so hot. Then I inspected the fan.

In a very Stephen King meets Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH (the book not the rather more cutesy film) moment I discovered not one, but three dead mice. Two were lying on the floor under the wires, one was actually jammed in the blades of the fan, it's wee skull providing an effective chock that had the thing frozen.


Oh, and ewwwww!


*again, I'm talking about mice, not actual rats. Doesn't matter - horrible little blighters.

PS: in case you start thinking; "OMG, the woman has vermin in her house! I thought she was kidding about being a horrible housekeeper!" I assure you it's not me. The Burrow is simply 130 years old. There are hundreds of places for a mouse to get in. It comes with owning a vintage home.

PPS: the first commenter to post: "Oh, poor wittle mousies!" will get a suitably withering glance from me. Withering! You've been warned!

Labels: ,

Bookmark and Share
posted by MrsEvilGenius @ 10:13 pm   7 comments

Saturday, February 24, 2007

Much random rambling randomness

Argh! Sorry about the Cosby clip! It was the skit where he talks about his wife's labour (with their first, I assume). Poo!

Well, I got nothin' for ya today. Still not packed for the hospital, house is still a wreck (I've come to the conclusion that I need Michele to come to my house, in a HazMat suit, with a gallon of Lysol, and a 6.5 hp ShopVac), haven't even made out the 'reminder schedule' for my mum and EGH for when I'm gone.



Totally off-topic, I did find this. They're trying out a new x-ray thingy in the airports that has the ACLU (*ptooi!*) up in arms. I think it's cool, myself. I'd MUCH rather be scanned than have some stupid hooman put her hands all over me (I assume if women get a pat-down it's by a female?) I mean, ewww.

I hate being touched by strangers, especially females. Who wants to be mauled by hands that have handled a hundred other women? What if the last chick had some creeping crud? Do they glove up before they pat you down? (Now there's a t-shirt!) What about business women in several-hundred-dollar suits? Can you imagine Crystal the Airport Security Person who just finished a tuna sandwich AND used the toilet, but is woefully lax in remembering the whole wash-your-hands-after detail, fondling you in your crepe Armani suit?

Did I say "Ewww"?

I wouldn't care what they saw of my body. It's not like it's some leering crowd in the booth or that they can see any details. Also, the pics can't be saved, so my silhouette wouldn't end up on the 'net (erm, probably). Like the lady says at the end: I have nothing to hide.

My only concern is exposing possibly pregnant women to X-rays. That's bad. One assumes that's been thought of already, though. My guess is that the 'rays' are too weak to do any harm?


Speaking of t-shirts, check out my St. Patrick's day stuff! From Evil Genius Blue (tame stuff), and from Evil Genius Comics, T-shirts and Gifts (Not-so-tame. Note: some things in this last store may NOT be kid/work safe!)


Does anyone else find it irritating when people write "St. paTTy's day"? Or worse: "st patties day"? This makes me want to scream. It's PADDY. The diminutive of Patrick is Paddy with two 'D's! "Patty" is a woman's name, people.

Aaaand speaking of wrong words, I recently read in New Avengers Illuminati (Issue 2, written by Brian Michael Bendis *swoon*) where a character said: "Well, that just makes me nauseous"*

Yeah, you're definitely making me feel a bit queasy.

The correct term is nauseated. That makes me nauseated. I feel nauseated. If you say "That makes me nauseous", you are saying that YOU make OTHER people feel sick. Nice little explanation/rant here on the subject.

I will happily admit that folks who use bad grammar make me ill.

LOL, alright, let me quit before the delightful Mrs. Chili sends me a cease and desist letter for nicking her idea. ;)


*I am working under the assumption that Mr Bendis, who is a god among men, intended for this character (Tony Stark - Iron Man - who is sometimes kinda dense) to look like an eejit by saying this.

Bookmark and Share
posted by MrsEvilGenius @ 7:06 am   3 comments

Wednesday, February 21, 2007

Birthdays everywhere!

The exo-nesting continues.

The blokes finished the fence Monday, and I, in what can only be described as a fit of enthusiasm, tore down a corner of the picket fence around the house while the babes frolicked in the slightly chilly air. (I was not just being destructive, lol, I put the fence back up minus the corner.) Since I had to crank the chainsaw (read: Evil Genius Husband had to crank the saw for me since I can't bloody well bend down), I went ahead and cut some firewood, too.

Meanwhile my bag's not packed and I haven't even found the gowns that I like to wear to the hospital. They're in this house somewhere, I just know not where. Erg.

I went to my last OB appointment yesterday, saw Dr. S (this is the one who had to abandon me appointment-before-last when his pager went off) who didn't bat an eyelash when I refused an internal exam. We had a bit of a good-natured guessing game over how big Fiver might be. I say that he's my smallest yet (I gained only 2lbs last appointment and had actually lost a pound this time*. This is unheard of for me.) and he speculated that he was about 8-81/2 lbs. this puts him well under my others (10lbs 8oz, 9lbs 1oz, 9lbs, and 9lbs 12oz, respectively) but, of course, is just a guess based on external palpation. I'm not worried, BTW, just curious.


Well, my oldest, Boy, turned five on Sunday. I enacted the new Rules for Five-year-olds: 1) anyone five and over may request a 'theme' cake, and 2) ice cream of the birthday baby's flavour choice will be served.

We had a blast. There were presents and balloons as well as the food. The cake was a near-disaster; the cats attempted to get it while it was cooling (and almost earned the new title of Permanently Outside Pets), and I ran out of icing and so had to do a rush job to get it done prior to Boy waking from his nap. I had intended to have the top be textured like grass and water and the volcano be a LOT cooler with different coloured lava.

Ahh, well, Boy still loved it and that's all that counts.

Baby Bulk loved it too ... allll over himself.

Sorry there aren't more pics. It was cloudy out and all the pics turned out dark. I took a bunch of the girls and never got a good one. :( Bitty Girl's birthday is just days before Fiver gets here, so I'll have more opportunities for pics.

Boy has turned quite serious lately. I'm not sure if it's just him or a phase or what. He takes everything waaaaay too seriously (a big problem for me and EGH since we're kidding-around types). Boy will let the tiniest, most frivolous thing bother him, even bursting into tears over it. It has me baffled and I hope it's just normal for this age.


From my dinosaur-obsessed children, crashing through the house, and showing how grave Boy can be:

Human Crash Test Dummy: (seizing a white balloon left over from the birthday) "I'm a girl dinosaur so I can lay an egg!"

Boy: "And I'm a boy dinosaur so I don't lay eggs!"

HCTD: (clutching 'egg') "I have to take my egg or you'll eat it!"

Boy: (sliding to a stop, clearly outraged) "Do you think I'm an oviraptor? I don't eat eggs! I'm a Dromeosaurus!"

See what I mean?


Oh, I found this and about laughed my generous arse off: check out this YouTube clip of an old Bill Cosby skit.


*And are the Gods of Happenstance being perverse or what? Why is it that I have TWO effin' appointments with little or no weight gain immediately after the appointment where I had to see Dr. You're-Too-Fat and had gained 8 freakin' lbs?! ARGH!


Bookmark and Share
posted by MrsEvilGenius @ 12:05 pm   2 comments

Wednesday, February 14, 2007


I am SO nesting. Yes. 20 days or so before I deliver, I start nesting. Go figure.

Here's the bizarre part though; I'm nesting outside the house.

I finished the taxes and, the instant I found out how much we were getting back, I became obsessed with the fence.

Yeah. The fence. Around the farm.

So I started collecting estimates at the stock sale and (after some negotiating and wrangling) I got a really good price and went for it. The blokes came out Wednesday, finished up yesterday and it looks GOOD:

This is a sample from the front of the property. Before (above) and after:

So, I've got two more weeks until my son will be here, my house is in it's general, alarming, call-the-CDC state of disarray, my hospital bag's about half-packed, the pack-n-play is still in it's carrying case, but, by gum, the goats won't be getting out anytime soon! w00t!

(This is the new goat pen fence. Behind is our 'barn'; a teensy little shed that was built by the city folks who lived here before us. Adding onto that is my next project.)


Weird baby item of the day. These things - to me - are so creepy that they're cool (I'd use them in a NICU just to see the looks on people's faces), but I still think that the idea is bogus. I mean, any item will retain your scent for the baby and the fact that they look like hands is lost on a newborn. Now if they were made out of some synthetic cyber-skin and heated ... and maybe anamatronic ...


And moving abruptly to English and its various misuses, abuses, and evolutionary jumps:

The conundrum of the 'word' email and how it was spelt was brought up on one of my forums. Good question. My vote is "e-mail" although I (obviously) use "email". What do you think? Several people (including an English teacher on this board) offered "E-Mail" or "E-mail" neither of which I agree with. The phrase was "electronic mail" and so should not be capitalized unless it begins a sentence.

Someone linked this article discussing the subject. What do you think, grammarphiles?


Seen on one of my mommy forums (on a school paper written by her husband):

"I went through it and edited it for him, he had a hard time with language class, and I was appauled that he hadn't put anything in it about me besides the fact that I found the coarse that he's taking now in college, or about the child that him and I are about to have.
I don't feel I'm overreacting.. we've been together almost have of a decade."

Putting aside the facts that she is, indeed, overreacting to her husband not including her in some English assignment for school; that hubby needs to be editing his own paper (that's kinda the point of taking a writing class); is anyone else alarmed that a person who displays this shocking a lack of language skillz is editing this paper for someone else's college class?

Labels: ,

Bookmark and Share
posted by MrsEvilGenius @ 7:43 am   4 comments