Oh joy, Tom Delay is making news again. Might as well link to his first blog attempt, then. Shouldn’t he be in prison by now?

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Only one more week until we haul the kids up to Vancouver and then ship them off to Alaska. I’m almost glad that we aren’t going with them for that final bit of the journey, as I am fairly confident the girl-child will be seasick most of the trip. On the way up, we will hopefully see Tanya and Jeanie. And, since the bastards still refuse to open up in Spokane, Trader Joe’s in either Seattle or Bellingham.

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Maybe 40 is old after all. I spent 5 minutes this morning searching for my cell phone. It took a bit longer than usual to find it as I had only one hand free to sift through newspapers on the table, clothes scattered on the bed, etc. in my quest for the phone. My other hand was otherwise unavailable, holding my cell phone.

There are benefits to getting older. My children seem to be aging as well, so now I’ve got yard-slaves. Sure, they are even lazier than I was at that age, but I can usually get one of them to mow at least half a lawn and maybe pull some weeds. I would say my kids and their peers are a bunch of spoiled brats — the worst ever — but I am pretty sure (assuming you believe the Christian creation myth) that the first parents to make that statement were Adam and Eve. And every generation of parents since have echoed that sentiment. So, are they really that bad, or is it that with age and wisdom comes self-delusion and selective memory?

Actually, Adam and Eve, the incestuous freaks that begat us all*, were children of God. Perhaps credit for first complaining about “kids these days” should go to him. In spite of all their flaws, my children are quite biblical. They are constantly tromping through the garden (usually crushing garlic or seedlings), and come summer, I’m pretty sure they’ll be out there stealing apples. We don’t seem to have any snakes around us, so they will have to content themselves talking to wasps instead — we have plenty of those. My son may not be able to walk on water or turn water into wine, but he is a whiz at turning water into urine and passing water on the roses. And every time I find my tools and various pieces of once-useful lumber out in the yard, both children are as innocent as lambs.

* Yes, I am once again making an assumption that you either believe the Goddite stuff or have at least heard the fables.

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There are some sick kids out there. Monday afternoon swim practice for the chilluns began with the discovery of poo in the pool. It seems the team that had just finished up decided to leave a prize for our team. The saddest part is that the turds left behind are probably the best swimmers on their team.

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It’s Monday and I have two flatulent dogs at my feet. Yes, this is the good life. It could only get better if my kids were Morans.

Spring is here and I’ve been busy. My weed garden is coming along splendidly, and the boy-child has almost figured out what NOT to mow over. Speaking of boy children, his shoes fell apart this weekend. I’m not sure how, exactly, but he asked for his new shoes this morning. Apparently Jennie knew about this, but we chose to spend a lazy Sunday watching movies and swapping bunkbeds. So the boy is at school in shoes with no soles. Are we awesome parents, or what? Okay, don’t answer that.

So, five more days of school for the boy-child and eight more days of school for the girl-child. You’d think by now that they would have figured out to check for clothes sometime before it was time to head off for school. And you’d be wrong. To be fair, I haven’t suggested that they set out their clothes the night before for almost three days now, and usually only make the suggestion twice a week or so. Next year, when the girl-child is required to keep an organizer, is going to be so much fun! One more thing to frantically search for in the mornings.

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This is what I get for posting about good weather: The skies just opened up and it is now alternating between a torrential downpour and a violent hailstorm, with the constant rumble of thunder in the background. I think I’ll hold off on sneaking out to do some planting this afternoon.

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Time passes quickly when you’re having fun. Or when you’re bogged down in work and can’t see daylight. Yes, it’s been almost two months since my last post and all I can think of is that I am exhausted. I am also fifteen pounds lighter, but that’s just because I forget to get up sometimes.

Spring may finally be here; it hasn’t snowed in a week now and the weather’s been quite pleasant. Also, things are blooming everywhere. Especially the algae in the pool. What else is new? Well, I am 40, we have chickens and the guppies moved out today. I hope they like their new home outdoors.

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Joy! The dishwasher repairman just left. For the past two years or so, we’ve called him out here once every two or three months to unclog or clean some special crevice of our dishwasher. And thanks to an eight year service contract with Sears, we plan on calling every two or three months. When I came home with the dishwasher two years ago, my wife thought I was nuts to buy an extended warranty. Now that she’s experienced first-hand the incredibly poor design of our Kenmore dishwasher, she thinks I was actually pretty smart. We’ve had enough repair calls that, had we not had an extended warranty, we could have bought two new dishwashers every year. Thanks, Sears.

Overall, it isn’t a bad machine, just poorly designed in a few critical places. Per the last two repair people, we should wash our dishes by hand before putting them in the dishwasher. Silly me; I thought the point of a dishwasher was to wash the dishes for me. Oh well . . . in six years, when the contract runs out, we will seek out a brand that doesn’t rely on a salesperson lying about grinders and the ability to handle unwashed dishes and get a real dishwasher. In the meantime, we will continue to use the Sears maintenance team to do the job of the food grinder and filter system that the salesperson lied about.

And what does it take to schedule an appointment with the Sears repairman, you ask? Why, not much: You log online at the Sears maintenance site, fill out their forms, mark that you need your dishwasher fixed, select your available dates for repair, and then submit the form. After which, Sears politely notifies you that they don’t actually service their own dishwashers, so please email another location with available repair dates and all of the information you entered earlier, so that they can call you back and ask you to provide the same information over the phone. I think I’m beginning to understand why Sears isn’t doing too well financially.

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Living out here in Nowhere, Idaho, entertainment can be a bit difficult to come by. Fortunately, the intersection at the northeast corner of our property provides a car crash once a month or so. This month’s crash was about five minutes ago, with a blue minivan facing off against what looks like a gold Ford Taurus. The Taurus won, as it came out with a dented fender and a dazed driver, whereas the minivan is on its back, wheels spinning at the sky. My guess?- the Taurus tried to dart across traffic and got smacked aside by the minivan. I wonder if either driver will consider slowing down to the speed limit after this . . .

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One of these days, I would like a dog that does not fart. Or, should it fart, that does not have that overwhelming, clear the room immediately, aroma. Until then, I think it is high time I experimented with charcoal tablets. Speaking of dogs, what is it about puppies that is so adorable? Is it the way they follow you everywhere, adoring your every move? Or is it the eating of their own feces, followed by frantic attempts to lick your face?

Hmmm . . . here’s a thought: Perhaps if the dogs ate less feces, they wouldn’t fart as much. Or at least wouldn’t smell so bad. The worst experience so far has been the poomit from Hiro, the lab pup. Dog, if you are going to run around cleaning up the steaming piles of your packmates, please don’t then vomit it, half-digested, onto the dining room carpet. It was a tough call between cleaning it up or just burning down the house and moving on.

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