Messed Up...Just Enough

A couple of weeks ago I noticed that Honey Boo Boo was all my twitter peeps were talking about.  I was clueless as to what/who Honey Boo Boo was.  I felt like that person at a party who stands in the corner just watching because they don't know anyone and feel left out.  I sent off a tweet asking my peeps what the hell Honey Boo Boo was all about.

I wish I had stayed in the corner, blind and ignorant as to that whole ridiculous train wreck.

I have not watched Honey Boo Boo and the shit that comes with that whole show, but I have heard enough to know that I am not missing anything.  I don't watch Toddlers and Tiara's, although I did for maybe five episodes, until The Big Guy feared his name was now on some FBI weirdo list.  I find each of these shows disturbing and cannot wait to see the aftermath life that every one of those poor kids will inevitably live.

Last night we had an incident at our house.  A moth (it may or may not have been a moth but for the sake of this piece, I am sticking with the insect being a moth) got into our house.  Yes, folks you read that right.  A moth caused a major incident in our house....

Little Boy #1 to Little Boy #2:  "Oh my gosh, there is a moth!  See it"

Little Boys to Big Guy and I:  "Guys there is a bug in the house!"

Me:  "Is it a cockroach?"

I don't care if a bug is in my house.  Unless it is a roach.  I hate those things.  The fact that it has been torrentially raining for the past three days has me on high alert for cockroaches.  They always seem to make an appearance after a lot of rain.  Having found out that the bug in question was not a roach, I pretty much ignored the rest of the little kids conversation regarding said bug.

Big Guy to Me:  "I hear the kids moving the kitchen chairs.  Can you see what they are doing?

Me to The Big Guy:  "Well, they moved a chair and now Little Boy #1 is standing on it, trying to reach the bug (that was now flying around the light fixture).  Go help him."

Let us pause for a moment to reflect on my last statement.  "Go help him."  It is not a big request.  Just a mere statement telling the man of the house to go help our son catch a bug, or more importantly, so I don't have to make an ER visit after said son goes tumbling off the kitchen chair.  It is known but I will reiterate it again, I love The Big Guy more than I could ever put in words, but he is not the guy you want to call upon when bugs or non domesticated animals are involved.  Actually, don't call on him for hamster issues either.  I won't get into why he may or may not have a small (or large) fear of hamsters, but he does.  Wait, I mean he doesn't.

A few years back, while The Big Guy were living in our perfectly planned, master community townhouse, a mouse somehow made its way into our house.  Owning two overly domesticated, useless cats, they did nothing to help catch the mouse and remedy the situation.  Thank goodness The Big Guy happened to be home that day.  I make fun of him for not handling bugs and non domesticated animals well, knowing full well that I am a million times worse with those types of animals than he is.  I have lived in Florida for many years now, and have touched a lizard exactly four times.  None of those touches were on purpose.  Three of the touches occurred by freakish circumstances when the damn lizards ran or jumped on me (yes, I have a very funny story about a lizard jumping onto me while I was in the middle of a flag football game).  The other lizard touching occurred when I went to pick up my tennis racket and failed to see the lizard resting on my neon pink grip.  The fact that I can remember all four incidents does solidify me as crazy, I know.

I'm digressing.  Back to the mouse...

So our two lazy ass cats did nothing to help the mouse attack that was obviously occurring.  Eventually, the mouse made its way into our downstairs half bath, where we immediately slammed the door shut, stood guard to make sure it didn't escape and began brainstorming as to how this mouse would be removed from the house.  Both The Big Guy and I immediately eliminated the idea that one of us would pick it up.  No f-ing way either one of us was going to touch it.  We went back and forth with ideas until I came up with the most brilliant idea ever.  Just weeks earlier we had purchased a new canister vacuum cleaner.  We could remove the tile attachment, extend the length of the pole, The Big Guy could make his way into the bathroom, I would turn on the power (full strength) and he would suck the mouse onto the end and we would let it go outside.

It took us thirty minutes, fifty freak outs, twenty close calls, but we finally had the mouse suctioned to the end of the vacuum.  Lets just say that the mouse survived, I experienced my first mini stroke and The Big Guy and I still laugh about how ridiculous we must have looked.

Me to Little Boy #1:  "Please get down before you fall and hurt yourself."

At this point, the three little kids are not letting go of the fact that a stupid little moth is flying around the light.  The boys are too short to catch it.  My daughter decides to be funny and turns the switch on so the ceiling fan the light is attached to starts spinning.  The little boys are yelling at her to turn it off.  She is laughing hysterically because she has pissed them off.  I am wondering why the kids are not yet in bed.  Chaos was starting to make its way into the relatively calmness that was my house.

Big Guy to Me:  "I guess I should go catch the bug."

Out of all the things he could grab to swat at the moth with, he grabs our daughters dollar store stretchy lizard.  She notices, freaks out that moth guts will be on it if he uses it, and falls to the floor in complete hysterics.  At this point I am cursing the fact that the kids are only up late because the school district is giving them another hurricane day off, and the calmness I was relaxing in was now 100% gone.  And all because of a moth.

Me to Big Guy:  "Please, don't use her lizard, I can't handle her right now.  Find anything else and please just swat down that damn moth!"

At this point the diva had gotten off the floor and was now in the midst of the moth chaos.  She was pleading with The Big Guy not to kill it because moths are "so cute".  The two little boys are now hyper and jumping around while The Big Guy decides that moth catching/swatting/killing/whatever needs to be done using his ninja karate skills (or lack there of).  The boys got a kick out of it.  Diva wanted to know if the moth survived.  It had.  She wanted to keep it.

Big Guy to Diva:  "You can't keep the moth.  Don't you know that moth's love to suck blood from little girl's eyes."

Ummm....what did he just tell her?  Literally, five minutes before bedtime?  I made it known to Diva that if she happened to have a bad dream tonight, she needed to go to The Big Guy's side of the bed and wake him up.

Finally bedtime occurred.  The chaos gone.  The calmness reentering our home.  I was chilling out on the couch and an ad came on the television for some reality show.  A horrible looking reality show.  I watched the entire ad.  When it ended I was sort of pissed off.  Honey Boo Boo has a show.  Jon and Kate had a show.  That family with 19 or 20-something kids has a show.  Why do I not have a show?  Not that I want a show.  But how in the world do all these train wrecks end up with cameras trailing their every move?  The fact that I have never (and would never) apply or go through whatever process may be involved to get the cameras to follow us is a major hindrance as to why I don't have cameras trailing me, but why do those people get the cameras and my craziness does not?

Me to Big Guy:  "These wackos all get shows.  We could be a reality show."

BG to Me:  "You really want the cameras following you around?"

Me to BG:  "Not at all.  Just sort of talking out loud."

BG to Me:  "Maybe it is a good thing we don't have cameras.  All those people who do are messed up.  Must mean we are doing something right."

Me to BG:  "You mean not messed up enough."

And I laughed because The Big Guy was right.  We are a crazy, fun, family of seven.  Messed up just enough to be talked about on the blog, but not messed up enough to make it onto reality television.

I will stick to messed up just enough and continue to write and laugh and have fun.

(Although the free houses and trips does sound like fun...)