Predators
A recent day in the life ...
K.L. and bird-watching husband are out for a stroll with the baby. Husband has baby in backpack carrier. Baby is showing signs of needing nap. K.L. says, “Let’s go home now so baby can get good nap.” Husband says, “OK, but I’ve almost got this one identified.” K.L. waits patiently. Baby’s signs are increasing. K.L. is getting edgy. Baby begins to get insufferable. K.L. wonders, “How can Husband continue to peer through binoculars at unknown bird while baby declares jihad on the backpack carrier?” Baby gets more and more out of control. K.L. begins to morph into the HEM, giving one more warning and finally pouncing, snatching off backpack with baby, and storming home alone determined to let baby get good nap.
At home the HEM discovers that the H has the keys and she’s locked out. She knows that the H is out on the trail, snickering to himself. Furious, she scrambles up onto the roof and opens a window, removes the screen, and climbs in. Baby gets nap. HEM is happy and morphs back into K.L., sort of like the Incredible Hulk.
K.L. closes window but forgets to put screen back. Husband comes home later, asks if she’s done with her tantrum (yes, thank you very much). Husband then goes upstairs to check on baby (still napping!), thinks it’s stuffy up there, and opens window (not noticing that the screen is gone). Now upstairs window is open with no screen (unbeknownst to all involved).
Now I must interrupt myself here and say that we live in a state natural area and there is at least one pack of coyotes and numerous other known baby snatchers (white-tailed deer, bunnies, possums, and all manner of voles, moles, and mice) living on this land with us, not to mention the bugs (grub worms, ticks, wasps, ladybugs, etc.)—all waiting to ambush the baby. One night I woke up because the hair on my neck was standing up. Coyotes were howling in time to a distant fire engine siren and I started thinking … can they get on the roof and into the baby’s room? I tried to wake up husband, but he just mumbled something incomprehensible about getting too close to the river and rolled back over to bask in his REM sleepland.
Anyway, back to original story about the window …
The day has come to an end and John is in bed for the night. We are downstairs playing cards with my in-laws when my mother-in-law says, “I heard something. I’ve heard it twice now.” Husband gets up and gets state-issued gun which, along with handcuffs, a baton, and some OC spray, is part of his park ranger outfit (I’m not quite sure why he needs all of this paraphernalia, but it makes for a great uniform). Husband goes outside and roams around in the yard (gun drawn) causing all of the motion detector lights to come on. Now this thing about the lights is really an insignificant detail except that we live in the middle of 1,200 acres of natural area, so all of our motion detector lights being on at the same time could cause planes to mistake us for a small airport. Husband looks up on the roof and notices the open window. He comes to the door and yells, “Kim, go upstairs and close the window – the screen is missing.”
My mind is reeling:
“Window open? Screen off? Oh yeah, I was locked out earlier! Oh, I forgot to put the screen back on.” I’ll have to climb back out and retrieve it off of the roof.
OH MY GOD THE WINDOW IS OPEN WITH NO SCREEN AND THE NOISE WAS A COYOTE AND NOW HE’S IN THE NURSERY TRYING TO FIGURE OUT HOW TO GET INTO THE CRIB TO GET MY BABY! WHAT WILL I USE TO KILL IT? BRIAN HAS THE GUN AND THE CAST IRON SKILLET IS STILL HOT FROM THE CORNBREAD I COOKED FOR DINNER AND I CAN’T PICK IT UP WITHOUT AN OVEN MITT AND THE OVEN MITTS ARE ALL IN THE WASHER BECAUSE THEY HAD SOME DISGUSTING RED STUFF CAKED ALL OVER THEM AND WE DON’T HAVE A BAT. IF I WAS A PLEISTOCENE ERA HUNTER-GATHERER WOMAN I WOULD JUST USE MY SLING TO THROW A ROCK AND KILL THE BEAST. OH MY GOD WHAT AM I GOING TO DO?
(Now I’m running around all over the house looking for a weapon—how could I have forgotten about all of Brian’s park ranger toys and an entire set of self-sharpening steak knives?—and then it occurs to me that time is of the essence when a coyote is after your baby so I quit looking and prepare myself to inflict all manner of amateur martial arts moves on the marauder.)
Then I pass the Mag-lite in the hallway on its charger. (Have you ever held a Mag-lite? They weigh about 10 pounds and are just as good as a police baton, I’m sure. In fact, the Mag-lite is part of husband’s park ranger outfit as well.) I seize it, hold it out in front of me like a gun, and scuttle into the nursery, sliding across the wooden floor in my socks and nearly crashing into the crib where I see that the baby is sleeping soundly. But I’m not convinced that everything is OK. So I proceed to use the flashlight to check every nook and cranny of the upstairs for coyote scat, deer tracks, or yellow possum eyes shining out at me. We were lucky this time. No trespassers had found their way inside.
Who do I blame? You got it. He’s the one who was dilly dallying being an amateur ornithologist, he’s the one who withheld the keys (OK, maybe I did forget to ask, but that’s beside the point), and he’s the one who opened the window without noticing that the screen was off.
But …
He’s also the one who was simultaneously acting out a Miami Vice scene in our driveway while I was running around the house wondering how I was going to karate chop a coyote. He’s such a good protector. So because of his skill at safeguarding, he was spared yet again from an HE feast. Aren’t I tolerant (and smart, cute, and skinny)?
Predators (and husbands) beware. Now that I’ve had a practice run, I’m more dangerous than ever.
K.L. and bird-watching husband are out for a stroll with the baby. Husband has baby in backpack carrier. Baby is showing signs of needing nap. K.L. says, “Let’s go home now so baby can get good nap.” Husband says, “OK, but I’ve almost got this one identified.” K.L. waits patiently. Baby’s signs are increasing. K.L. is getting edgy. Baby begins to get insufferable. K.L. wonders, “How can Husband continue to peer through binoculars at unknown bird while baby declares jihad on the backpack carrier?” Baby gets more and more out of control. K.L. begins to morph into the HEM, giving one more warning and finally pouncing, snatching off backpack with baby, and storming home alone determined to let baby get good nap.
At home the HEM discovers that the H has the keys and she’s locked out. She knows that the H is out on the trail, snickering to himself. Furious, she scrambles up onto the roof and opens a window, removes the screen, and climbs in. Baby gets nap. HEM is happy and morphs back into K.L., sort of like the Incredible Hulk.
K.L. closes window but forgets to put screen back. Husband comes home later, asks if she’s done with her tantrum (yes, thank you very much). Husband then goes upstairs to check on baby (still napping!), thinks it’s stuffy up there, and opens window (not noticing that the screen is gone). Now upstairs window is open with no screen (unbeknownst to all involved).
Now I must interrupt myself here and say that we live in a state natural area and there is at least one pack of coyotes and numerous other known baby snatchers (white-tailed deer, bunnies, possums, and all manner of voles, moles, and mice) living on this land with us, not to mention the bugs (grub worms, ticks, wasps, ladybugs, etc.)—all waiting to ambush the baby. One night I woke up because the hair on my neck was standing up. Coyotes were howling in time to a distant fire engine siren and I started thinking … can they get on the roof and into the baby’s room? I tried to wake up husband, but he just mumbled something incomprehensible about getting too close to the river and rolled back over to bask in his REM sleepland.
Anyway, back to original story about the window …
The day has come to an end and John is in bed for the night. We are downstairs playing cards with my in-laws when my mother-in-law says, “I heard something. I’ve heard it twice now.” Husband gets up and gets state-issued gun which, along with handcuffs, a baton, and some OC spray, is part of his park ranger outfit (I’m not quite sure why he needs all of this paraphernalia, but it makes for a great uniform). Husband goes outside and roams around in the yard (gun drawn) causing all of the motion detector lights to come on. Now this thing about the lights is really an insignificant detail except that we live in the middle of 1,200 acres of natural area, so all of our motion detector lights being on at the same time could cause planes to mistake us for a small airport. Husband looks up on the roof and notices the open window. He comes to the door and yells, “Kim, go upstairs and close the window – the screen is missing.”
My mind is reeling:
“Window open? Screen off? Oh yeah, I was locked out earlier! Oh, I forgot to put the screen back on.” I’ll have to climb back out and retrieve it off of the roof.
OH MY GOD THE WINDOW IS OPEN WITH NO SCREEN AND THE NOISE WAS A COYOTE AND NOW HE’S IN THE NURSERY TRYING TO FIGURE OUT HOW TO GET INTO THE CRIB TO GET MY BABY! WHAT WILL I USE TO KILL IT? BRIAN HAS THE GUN AND THE CAST IRON SKILLET IS STILL HOT FROM THE CORNBREAD I COOKED FOR DINNER AND I CAN’T PICK IT UP WITHOUT AN OVEN MITT AND THE OVEN MITTS ARE ALL IN THE WASHER BECAUSE THEY HAD SOME DISGUSTING RED STUFF CAKED ALL OVER THEM AND WE DON’T HAVE A BAT. IF I WAS A PLEISTOCENE ERA HUNTER-GATHERER WOMAN I WOULD JUST USE MY SLING TO THROW A ROCK AND KILL THE BEAST. OH MY GOD WHAT AM I GOING TO DO?
(Now I’m running around all over the house looking for a weapon—how could I have forgotten about all of Brian’s park ranger toys and an entire set of self-sharpening steak knives?—and then it occurs to me that time is of the essence when a coyote is after your baby so I quit looking and prepare myself to inflict all manner of amateur martial arts moves on the marauder.)
Then I pass the Mag-lite in the hallway on its charger. (Have you ever held a Mag-lite? They weigh about 10 pounds and are just as good as a police baton, I’m sure. In fact, the Mag-lite is part of husband’s park ranger outfit as well.) I seize it, hold it out in front of me like a gun, and scuttle into the nursery, sliding across the wooden floor in my socks and nearly crashing into the crib where I see that the baby is sleeping soundly. But I’m not convinced that everything is OK. So I proceed to use the flashlight to check every nook and cranny of the upstairs for coyote scat, deer tracks, or yellow possum eyes shining out at me. We were lucky this time. No trespassers had found their way inside.
Who do I blame? You got it. He’s the one who was dilly dallying being an amateur ornithologist, he’s the one who withheld the keys (OK, maybe I did forget to ask, but that’s beside the point), and he’s the one who opened the window without noticing that the screen was off.
But …
He’s also the one who was simultaneously acting out a Miami Vice scene in our driveway while I was running around the house wondering how I was going to karate chop a coyote. He’s such a good protector. So because of his skill at safeguarding, he was spared yet again from an HE feast. Aren’t I tolerant (and smart, cute, and skinny)?
Predators (and husbands) beware. Now that I’ve had a practice run, I’m more dangerous than ever.
posted by Kimpossible @ 4/04/2005 09:25:00 PM
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