Flea Hotel

I remember those commercials for the little ant motels that were really a trap that would kill the ants as soon as they set foot inside. Much like the Eagles song, they can check in, but they can never check out. Do they make the same thing for fleas? I thought ants were a problem in my house earlier this summer, but my house has given a new meaning to the term "flea hotel".

We were barely three days into our two-week family vacation, when my neighbor told me there were fleas in the house. I couldn't image how bad they were, but when she said that 15 fleas hitched a ride on her leg after she fed our cat, I realized it must be serious. But was it serious enough to forfeit tickets to Blue Man Group, two ball games, a train trip and four pre-paid hotel nights? Not likely! We'll deal with it when we get home, unless our neighbor can catch the cat and squirt the antidote on her neck.

We got daily reports that the food and water seemed to be disappearing, but no sign of the cat when our neighbor entered the house. She even tried sneaking in quietly one night when she saw the cat sitting in the window. But, the cat was on to her and disappeared quickly.

When we returned home, the plan was to unpack, find the cat, then cart her off to the vet. I wasn't even in the house, when the kids were yelling and running out the back door. Oblivious to the cause of this panic, I lugged my first load upstairs. That's when it hit me. Fleas were everywhere, and that was only the living room, with hardwood floors. Unpacking moved down onthe priority list.

My goal was to cleanse the house as quickly as possible. Armed with ant spray, I hit everywhere - starting with my own legs! (I don't care what the instructions said about not spraying it on your own body. They weren't dealing with tiny specks jumping on an off their legs.) I started with the bedrooms. Upstairs first, then the guest room. The whole time, calling nicely for the cat to come out. Given the trauma she endured over the preceding two weeks, I didn't expect to find her anytime soon. I entered the guest room and started spraying behind the door, calling "Oma! Oma! Here buddy!" in my nice 'come to Mommy' voice. I heard a very loud, lonely and pleading cry behind me "Meoooowww!". She was sitting on a desk. She must have thought that fleas can't jump that high. She reminded me of that old cartoon where the woman is standing on a chair to get away from the mouse.

She reluctantly entered her cage, with a bit of encouragement (shoving), and remained there until the vet visit where I was presented with an opportunity to purchase an even more powerful and effect (and expensive) flea spray.

I spent the next hour re-spraying the entire house before I finally sat down. At last, I wasn't afraid to sit on the couch because it was now covered in poison. That made it much safer.

Just over a week later, we have seen very few fleas. But, I know better than to think I have won the war. Round 1: Jennifer 1, Fleas 0.

Multitasking

I like to think of myself as a competent multi-tasker. But, now I'm not so sure.

I own a WII Fit, which means I can pretend that I am exercising when, in reality, I am just fueling my addiction to video games. After the first few weeks, I unlocked most of the games, which included the "Free Step" aerobics game. This means I can step in rhythm to a ticking on the WII remote while watching TV. Sounds simple enough...left, right, left, right.

My best advice to anyone attempting this is to keep all applicable remotes within arms reach.

I started stepping, then it told me I could change the channel and watch TV while I stepped.  First, I needed the TV Remote, which was behind me, so I could change the input.  Try stepping in rhythm on and off a balance board, while reaching behind you.  No as easy as it sounds!  Next, I needed the DVR Remote so I could select a show to watch.  This was just out of my reach on the couch to my right.  I only fell once trying to reach it.

Armed with the Wii Remote in my right hand and the DVR remote in my left, I resumed my stepping.  It all went very well, until I tried to fast forward through a commercial.  I used the wrong remote!  The Wii was yelling at me about keeping pace, I was trying to figure out which button to press on the DVR remote to fast forward through the commercial, and my feet were completely out of sync.  The laghter didn't help either.  Good thing I was home alone!

It's easier than it looks....

Yesterday, Tom was fixing some boards on the deck and I heard Kate ask if she could hammer some.  I wasn't there when she did it because I was cleaning in the shed.  When I came out, Kate was standing very quietly watching Tom hammer these boards in to the deck.  I stood and watched for a minute too.  Then Kate said "Mom, Daddy makes it look so easy, but it's really not that easy to hammer"

I can't believe it's exercise!

I've had my share of passing addictions. The first was space invaders in grade 4. My mother tried to cure me of this addiction by borrowing an Atari for a week. That was the week those little creatures danced across my bedroom wall each night. It didn't work. It only made me want to buy an Atari.

I'm all grown up now and no longer addicted to space invaders, phoenix, or tetris. However, I did acquire a Wii Fit last week. It really is everything people say it is. However, there are drawbacks. The laundry is piling up, I could build a sandcastle with the dirt on my kitchen floor, and don't even mention bathtime. If the kids start to stink, I'll just spray them with Febreeze.

Today, I logged 90 minutes. I wonder how long it will take before I download Tetris for the Wii.

Housework vs. Excercise

I wake up on my only day off during the week and determine my highest priority - A) 30 minutes of cardio at the gym followed by a nice warm shower, a cup of tea and a nap; B) cleaning the house followed by 5 minutes of solid relaxation before the kids get home from school. Although, I would rather burn off the extra fish stick I had for supper last night, I decide it is best to sweep last week's Rice Crispies off the kitchen floor.

After the kitchen, I pull on the rubber gloves and go head-on against soap scum. As I'm leaning over the bathtub, I realize I'm getting a great triceps workout with this scrubbing action. I switch arms to give my left an equal workout. I stand on the edge of the tub and do squats as I scrub down the walls.

I'm on a roll now so I do the stairs a few times while collecting the mop, water and Pine-Sol. The mopping action works the traps perfectly. If I get ambitious enough, I will work the delts while scouring the baseboards.

This whole process reminds me of "Wax on. Wax off." and we all know how that turned out. Watch it girls, the cleaner my house is, the better I will look in a bikini this summer!

Role reversal

I was never a girly girl. When my friends wanted to play Barbies, I wanted to climb a tree. When they wanted to play with dolls, I agreed, providing we could play Atari afterward. I loved to catch frogs with my bare hands and gut fish after a full day of baiting hooks for the boys.

One of my favorite past-times was to sit in the workshop while my father created something out of wood. I loved the smell of the sawdust. I loved to stare at the wall where my father had drawn an outline of each tool to show where to hang them. I loved those mini drawers where he kept all the different sized screws, nuts and bolts - each labeled to show its contents.

Instead of playing with toys, I liked to take them apart and put them back together.

I shouldn't be surprised when I reflect on a week-end of productive home improvements. A week-end where my husband fully uses his talents to create a comfortable home for our family. A home where we can enjoy the best lasagna we have ever tasted. Lasagna made by my husband while I changed lighting fixtures and painted window casings.

We knew from our first date that our roles would not be traditional. I will always remember how we clearly defined our relationship on that dark desert road where his car broke down. I quickly determined that he was in need of a new alternator simply by the sound of the engine (or lack thereof).

I am the "fix-it" lady and he is the cook in this family.