My daughter knows after last year’s infestation, she shouldn’t be at the edge of our property along the fence line because that’s where the poison ivy hangs out.  But the lure of ripe mulberries was too much for her to bear and in her quest for fresh fruit she ventured into the danger zone.

(Now if you are me, this is where you start humming the Top Gun theme song “Danger Zone” by Kenny Logins.  But this isn’t a post about Top Gun or Kenny Logins so just. stop.  it.)

Yesterday Trinity’s rash didn’t look so bad.  Last night I put her to bed with plenty of calamine lotion and a good dose of antihistamine thinking everything would be fine.  When I went to check on her, she was sleeping peacefully as our family cat kept watch over her.

This morning, however, the rash has gone all “Incredible Hulk” over her entire face, neck, and arms.  In fact, her face is so swollen she couldn’t even open her eyes.  So I packed everyone up and went to the doctor’s office where they prescribed a nice dose of steroids.

(I also bought her a box of Toaster Pastries, because if you have poison ivy this bad you deserve a little treat.)

This afternoon she is passed out on the couch as the steroids, calamine lotion, and antihistamines do their job.  And once again the family cat is watching over her.

Look how his eyes seem to be saying, “Don’t you wake up my patient, woman.”

This is the same cat that would curl protectively over my huge baby belly when I was put on modified bed-rest with two of my pregnancies.  This is the same cat who good-naturedly endured my children’s clumsy attempts at love when they were toddlers.  And it is the same cat who lets the children carry him everywhere despite the fact that he is as old as dirt and his bones are brittle.

I am a cat person.  I’ve had a cat (or two) my entire life and so I’ve had several I’ve loved with all my heart.  But this cat is different because not only do I love him, but so do my children.  Best of all, he seems to love them back.

And that makes him forever special.

The lettuce and spinach are spiraling out of control in a delicious way.

There is not much harvest time left with these items because the weather is warming up fast.  So I am frantically eating lettuce and freezing the spinach all the live long day.  (Actually only in the morning, because if you pick greens during the heat of the day, they wilt faster than you can say “Yuck!  Wilted lettuce!”  See, I’m just full of helpful hints.)

Someone once asked me why I garden so much.  The real, honest-t0-goodness, number one answer is:  I’m cheap.  I hate spending dollars on food I can grow for pennies that taste even better than their expensive counterpart.

But there is a second reason to my gardening obsession:  Stephen King.

Yes, gentle reader, you read that correctly.  The master of horror on the printed page inspires me to greater heights in self-suffiency and gardening every season.  And it’s all because of his book The Stand.

The Stand is an epic, grand scale novel that tells the story of a government created super virus that ends up wiping out 99% of the population.  The remaining 1% of the human race end up struggling to survive in a world without electricity, computers, modern medicine, or grocery stores.  The characters end up having to relearn how to wash clothes by hand, grow their own food, create their own transportation, and other various household tasks, all while battling an evil, demonic, bad guy (of course.)

Frankly the book scares the crap out of me.  Not so much the demonic bad guy part, but how quickly the characters turned on each other.  People with life skills were the new upper class, while clueless individuals without this knowledge were expendable.

I don’t want to be expendable.  I don’t want to be dependent on a system that might not be around one day.  I don’t want to be helpless.

Do I really think some super-virus is going to wipe out the human population?  No (and if it did, with my immune system I would be one of the first to succumb.)

But with the economy as shaky as it is and with natural disasters as prevalent as they are, and with the direction the world is going, anything could happen.  I would like to have a skill set that would serve me well during turbulent times.

And that is my rationale for gardening.  (And reading fictional books.)

First things first, thank you so much for the thoughts, prayers, and kind words that you poured down on us.  I feel truly and wonderfully blessed that I am surrounded by so much love.

My husband is home from the hospital.  The antibiotics are working and he now believes that  one day he might actually feel good.  Someday, years from now.  I tell you, pneumonia is a beast.

We lucked out and the hubster didn’t have any blood clots in his lungs, despite earlier suspicions.  However.  (There’s always a however at my house.)  However, a few separate doctors indicated that they were concerned with certain aspects of his lungs.  So he will need to have another CT scan in four to six weeks, after the pneumonia clears up, to rule out anything serious.

Just for the record, learning that there is possibly something wrong with your husband’s lungs less than a year after your father passes away from lung cancer is a good way to LOSE YOUR FREAKIN’ MIND.

Ahem.

So I am doing my own rendition of whistling in the dark and pretending that everything is great (which, odds are, is probably the case.)  I do a great job at acting all jovial until someone is very kind to me.  And then I am reduced to blubbering like an idiot.  Therefore, please don’t be nice to me for the next four to six weeks.

But, focusing on the positive, my husband is home and feeling better.  I have started getting caught up on all the laundry, dirty dishes, school work, and the obscene amounts of clutter than seem to have multiplied ten fold over the past three days.  Additionally, the children have been spoiled rotten by their grandmother and aunt.

Best of all, we all have a renewed sense of what is truly important in life.  (Nothing like a serious illness to remind you of what matters most.)  Despite running around like a chicken with its head chopped off, I find myself pausing to hug, touch, and squeeze the people I love a little more often.

The kids feel the same way.  Last night all of us ended up sleeping in the same bedroom just so we could be a little closer to each other.  Until, that is, the five year old shoved her brother from her blanket cocoon on the floor, yelling “You’re breathing all my AIR.  I’m out of here.”  After which she stomped off to her own bed.

Five year olds are really, really good at keeping it real.

But I’m still scared.

A little over a year ago, my father was in the hospital with pneumonia.  That visit signaled the beginning of the end for my sweet daddy.

I keep telling myself that this time it’s so much different.  My husband doesn’t have lung cancer.  He only caught a bad bug that resulted in pneumonia, the antibiotics are going to do their job and fix everything.

But he has the same gut wrenching cough and pained expression that my dad did.  He keeps wincing and saying how badly his back hurts, just like my dad did.

It’s different this time, I know it is.  I say this over and over has I tuck the covers around my shivering husband, just like I did for my dad.  I say that everything’s going to be okay as I stroke my husband’s clammy forehead, just like I used to stroke my father’s forehead.

It’s different this time.  Everything’s going to be okay.  I know this.

But it feels so much the same.

Seriously.  A freaking turtle the size of a football was just hanging out and seeing the sights over here at Bunkersdown.

As you can imagine, all of my offspring exploded with great joy and celebration because there was a turtle at their house.  The older two children tried to convince me that letting them go outside to watch the shelled reptile for hours on end (while neglecting their chores and school work) would be a learning experience. “It’s science!” they pleaded.

I wasn’t completely convinced.  There was something a little shifty in that turtle’s eye.  Plus, he seemed to be saying, “Good hell woman!  Would it kill you to sweep your front porch occasionally?  Sheesh.”  And I have no patience for Judgy Judgertons like that.

(Honestly, doesn’t it feel as if his reptilian eye of red fury is staring directly into your soul?  Don’t you get the feeling that he’s a carnivorous beast that only wants to chomp your fingers into small, bloody stumps?

You don’t?  It’s only me?  Hmmm….weird.)

However, in the name of education and in a vain attempt at squelching my new budding fear of turtles, I did compromise with my children and let them peek and check on the turtle every twenty minutes or so.

I received detailed updates on the turtle’s activities for the next two hours.  ”He’s still here” alternated with “He’s not doing much right now.”  Occasionally, one of my children would say, “He acts like he wants to come inside.”  To which I replied immediately and emphatically, “Over my dead body.” (Which is probably, now that I think about it, just what the turtle had in mind).

The kids even came up with a name for him–Mr. Snappy.

Then suddenly, the children went to check on the Mr. Snappy only to find him missing.

We searched high and low for that wretched creature and he was nowhere to be found.  Now, I am no genius, but I do know that turtles aren’t the fastest creatures in the land, nor are they ninjas, disappearing into thin air.  That turtle had to be somewhere, close by.

And yet we couldn’t find him.

Now whenever I go out my front door to check on my flowers or pick my strawberries I get the unshakeable feeling that I am being watched, stalked if you will.  There is a tingly spot on the back of my neck that tells me I am not alone.

And I know someday when I am least expecting it, Mr. Snappy’s going to jump out of the peony bushes and give me a heart attack.  And while I’m lying unconscious on the front porch, he is going to gnaw my fingers into little nubs.  I know it with every fiber of my being.

Chelonaphobia:  the completely irrational fear of turtles despite being infinitely bigger, taller, and quicker than them.

I really, really, ever so much want Abraham Lincoln to be a vampire hunter.

There, I’ve said it.  And, just for the record,  I want our 16th president to be a slayer of vampires just like Seth Grahame-Smith protrayed in his book Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter.

(I’m pretty sure at least one of you are dialing 1-8oo-find-your-friend-a-psychiatrist right about now.  But try not to stress about my mental state too much.  I certainly don’t.)

I cannot rave enough about Grahame-Smith’s novel.  Was it a perfect book?  No, of course not.  But it was perfectly entertaining.  And that is worth quite a bit in my estimation.

Abraham Lincoln:  Vampire Hunter is written as a grandly epic biography, seamlessly weaving Lincoln’s actual life story with fantastical supernatural elements.  In the novel Abraham Lincoln’s mother dies at the hand of vampires, thus earning the eternal hatred of the future president.  What follows is Lincoln’s gripping story of revenge that propels him to fight against slavery and eventually run for President of the United States.

While the book is a tad bit gruesome (Lincoln evidently used his axe for things other than splitting fence rails if you catch my drift) I don’t think that the story is overly gory because the vampire hunt is not the focus, the man behind it is.

(I will warn you that my children found the front and back hardcover to be grimly fascinating.  My son kept saying, “I can’t wait until I’m old enough to read that thing!” while I kept assuaging my parental guilt over exposing him to such scenes by weakly rationalizing “Well….at least it inspires him to read.”  If you’re worried, rest assured that the paperback cover is much more tame.)

Do you need more persuading to pick up this book?  My husband stayed up until 4:30 a.m. one night just so that he could finish it.  I can give no higher praise than that.

This is my son.

The best way to describe my first born child is that he is 70% Howard Cosell, 25% Percy Weasley, and 5% Alex Trebec of Jeopardy!  (Now don’t say you’re too young to remember who Howard Cosell is.  That will make me feel very old,  just click on the link.  Or better yet watch Better Off Dead, that movie has a hilarious scene that mentions Howard Cosell.)

Will loves sports but he also loves rules, procedures, and random bits of trivia.  Most of all, he just loves bossing people around.

Will says and does hilarious things because he considers himself an adult trapped inside a ten year old body.

Here are a few things he’s said and done that have entertained me thoroughly over the years:

*When Will was four, our family went on vacation and stayed in a beach house.  Upon arriving at the rental property, Will walked around surveying the scene.  Finally he looked up and asked suavely, “So….how many vacuums you got in this place?”  (Additionally, it was on this vacation that Will tried to put the ocean in ‘time out’ because he got knocked down by one of the waves.)

*Furthering our vacuum theme, Will once went on strike from his chores of cleaning the living room floor until his Dad bought a Dyson vacuum.  When we eventually purchased a Dyson (which we did because I wanted one, not because we were caving to a small child), Will shouted excited “I’m back on the job!”

*Two years ago when Will was in public school, I discovered that he had been sneaking his church tie in his backpack everyday to put on once he left home.  He had done this for six months before I found out.   Will claimed that wearing a tie made him think better, plus it helped him look like the principal.

*Once after having a small argument with his best friend on the phone, Will muttered darkly to himself, “I’m so tired of being his pawn.”

*After learning about World War II, Will became a tad bit obsessed with Adolf Hitler.  My son kept shaking his head and saying, “Hitler never drank alcohol or smoked when he was young.  I can’t believe how he turned out!  I think it would have been much better to drink and smoke a little bit and not grow up to murder so many people.”

*Once I cooked something Will deemed unsuitable for consumption.  He looked at his plate, looked at me, and sighed, “Well…you did your best.  That’s what is important.”

*One morning I was singing along to Justin Timberlake’s “I’m Bringing Sexy Back” while driving in the car.  Will leaned forward and asked, “Do you really think this appropriate with me in the car?”

This is my son, keeping me on my toes since 2001.

It’s official:  my baby is no longer a baby.   In fact, in two more weeks there will no longer be a preschooler at my home.  Instead, I will be the mother of all elementary school aged children.

I’m feeling a little light headed.  Let me pause for a moment to catch my breath and put my head between my knees.

How on earth did it come to this?   Just yesterday Eden was:

A thoughtful and pondering newborn…

Or a bald, smiling one year old…

Or contemplative two year old…

Or a wild and crazy three year old….

Or lovable, entertaining four year old…

And now she’s five years old.  Can you believe it?

I cannot believe it.

Happy birthday my big, little girl.

I’ll pause so that you can sing to me in your head.  (My favorite song is the Beatles’ “You Say it’s Your Birthday.”

Last year for my birthday I wrote about 38 things I had learned in my 38 years.  This year I decided to create my own little mini-bucket list for my 39th year.  Because now that I’m older, I’m more mature and productive and all that jazz.

Here are the things I want to accomplish in the next 365 days.

1-  Make my very own puff pastry from scratch.  Why?  Because Pinterest tells me I can.  Plus, I’m too cheap to spend $4.79 at the store.

2-  Drop 2 dress sizes.

3-  Go somewhere with my husband for 72 consecutive hours, leaving the children in the care of responsible adults.  (If you’d like to apply for that position drop me a note in the comments.)

4-  Go camping someplace we’ve never been, despite the anxiety I feel out in nature due to watching The River Wild one too many times.  Curse you Kevin Bacon.

5-  Visit the COSI museum in Columbus, Ohio.

6-  Read a real biography about Abraham Lincoln, since I fell in love with the fake biography: Abraham Lincoln, Vampire Hunter.  (Seriously it’s a good book people.)

7-  Swim in Lake Michigan.  Or, more realistically, wade in Lake Michigan.

8-  Create the perfect green enchilada sauce.

9-  Sew something.  With an actual sewing machine.

10- Learn to take pictures in low light on my camera.  Or at least improve enough to be able to distinguish people from pets in my photos.

11- Do something crafty for each major holiday.  (I think I can, I think I can….)

12- Make five new friends.

13- Become somewhat knowledgeable about ancient Egypt.  I’m broadening my mind here people.

14- Teach my youngest child to read, without freaking out OR causing her to require therapy later in life.

15- Read ten more books about urban farming, because the twenty five books I’ve already read aren’t enough.

16- Take my kids rollerskating.

17- Buy silicone muffin pans.  Because I have silicone baking needs, people.

18-  Learn to make homemade flour tortillas that are actually round in shape, as opposed to the trapezoid ones I make now.

19-  Watch every episode of The Big Bang Theory, preferably with my spouse.

20- Visit the Museum of Industry and Science in Chicago.

21- Photograph my husband teaching the youngest child to ride a bike.

22-  Order something at a restaurant that I’ve never eaten before because I can be brave occasionally.

23- Learn to make a new type of jam.  (Ideas, suggestions, or recipes would be appreciated.)

24- Cross at least twenty-five books off my “to-read” shelf over on goodreads.  Since I’ve marked 363 books that I want to read, I’ll have a lot to choose from.

25- Memorize a poem.

26- Get 15 more people to follow my blog.

27- Read Artemis Fowl to my kids.

28- Try out four new zucchini recipes, because zucchinis are everywhere in Indiana during the months of June through September.

29- Throw somebody I’m related to an awesome birthday party.  (I’m notoriously horrible at that kind of stuff.)

30- Try a new kind of cheese.  Because cheese is awesome and I deserve it.

31- Get a clothesline for the backyard.  I might do more laundry if I had a clothesline….

32- Teach my oldest children to clean the bathrooms.  And then sit on the couch and shout “I HAVE ARRIVED!” when they finally master cleaning the toilets.

33- Do a random act of service for someone every week without being asked.  And I’m not going to feel guilty if it’s small rather than large.

34- Splurge on one nice piece of clothing for my wardrobe without flinching at the price tag.

35- Plant raspberry canes in my backyard, so I can pretend to be Laura Ingalls Wilder even more.

36- Go on more dates with my husband.

37- Be more deliberate in what I am doing and multitask less.

38- Sincerely compliment more people.

39- Finally, I’m going to sweat the small stuff less.  And most of it is small stuff.

Why don’t you leave a comment telling me something you want to do in the next year?  A comment will make a lovely birthday present (and won’t cost you a nickel.)

Much like John Cusack’s movie father in Better Off Dead or the Dad on Modern Family, I’m probably using the phrase all wrong but that does not stop me from saying or thinking the following sentences on a daily basis:

1-  I can eat my weight in popcorn like a boss.

2-  I stay up way too late each night reading sleazy vampire books like a boss.

3-  I grocery shop like a boss.

4-  I’ve memorized each episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer like a boss.

5-  I can empty the dishwasher like a boss.

6-  I waste time on Pinterest like a boss.

7-  I correct math worksheets about reducing fractions like a boss.

8-  I yell at misbehaving kids out my back door while cooking dinner like a boss.

9-  I freak out like a boss when my husband is ten minutes late, imagining him dead in a ditch somewhere.

10- I diligently use my turn signal even in the parking lot like a boss.

11- I can diagnosis myself with some deadly disease after googling “persistent headache” like a boss.

What are some things you do like a boss?