Killin' Time

Things have been pretty “killer” for us lately. Last week our sliding glass door got left open for a good hour and a half and our house – kitchen especially – was swarmed (I am not exaggerating here) with flies. I thought I’d been transplanted onto a dairy! Emily came in and said, “It’s killin’ time! Mom where’s the killin’ thing?” Since then, whenever she sees more flies she shouts “We need to do more killin’!” Definitely her father’s daughter.

On Monday Morgan went in to get a mole removed from her side. She called him Mister Squishy, and was tired of the babies following behind her screaming “Squishy” and wanting to push on her mole (it was one of those ones that stick out quite a bit). However, Mister Squishy wouldn’t give up the ghost that easily and the spot kept bleeding and bleeding. I suggested to Morgan the following day, when she came up from bed with her side, PJs, and bedding soaked in blood, that perhaps his new name should be Bloody Mary. She, of course, didn’t think I was as funny as I did.

Well, long story long, I had to take off all the Band-Aids and cotton gauze that I had been trying to absorb the blood with so it wouldn’t ruin her clothes. In the process the gauze pad was so blood soaked that it had coagulated like Jell-o onto it. Then when I got down to the actual sore, even though it was small, it was still pushing up fresh blood. New experience for me, but my stomach turned.

I, always a fan of mind over matter, ignored the tingly dizzy sensation I was beginning to feel and proceeded to put on a new Band-Aid and then new cotton padding to absorb the extra blood. All of the sudden my stomach turned, so I dashed into the bathroom (with much discretion, of course, as to not upset Morgan). Then while in the bathroom I noticed the lights doing weird things and my head feeling a bit woozy.

I, mind over matter again, told myself I was going to be just fine and just needed to get back to my bedroom and lay down for a minute. I left the bathroom, but next thing I know I am “waking up” on the floor in my bedroom doorway, with the memory of the sound of two thuds in my head, wondering why I wasn’t in bed. Result: two killer knots on my forehead – but luckily no bruising. I think I took out the door with my head, but luckily there were no little eyes to witness. So, Linda, count me in, I’m officially a Moss woman now!

Last event, is a product of my killer dog. Emily was outside and she came in and said “There’s a funny boy in Daisy’s kennel. Him talked to me.” I asked what he said and she just made mumbo jumbo noises, so I disregarded it as an imaginary fancy. However, a few minutes later I noticed the neighbor’s dogs going crazy. I assumed it was the meter reader, went to the side to take a look, saw nothing came back in, put Daisy in the house, and then had a feeling I should look again.

Emily proceeded to put Daisy from our house into the garage, which has a door out to the kennel. Long story short, by the time I got back around to the side of the house there was a 250 lb man hanging over the top of our wood paneled fence and Daisy barking with great ferocity underneath him.

Poor man, he was new on the route, not knowing we made the kennel so there was utility access from the outside, went into the kennel and got locked in, then Emily let Daisy in, and well. . . . he was red faced, pouring sweat, and looking like a heart attack waiting to happen. I’m sure he told Emily to go get her mom; it’s too bad that she didn’t pass along that message. She probably let Daisy out and told her, “It's killin’ time!”