Wanted: Pretty dresses

The other day, Hannah and Aaron were playing in the car.  She likes to play in the car, pretend she is driving, turn the steering wheel and honk the horn.  She climbed to the back and into her car seat.

“Daddy, back.”  She said.  Aaron joined her in the back seat.

Hannah: “Hannah buckle.”  She tried to do up the buckles on her car seat.  “Daddy drive, go.”

Aaron: “Do you want to go for a drive?”

Hannah: “mmmm.” That’s Hannah for yes.  Yeah, she got that from me.  I think.  Aaron says it too though.  Maybe we all got it from him.

Daddy: “Where do you want to go?”

Hannah: “Shops.”

Daddy: “What do you want to buy at the shops?”

Hannah: “Clothes.”

Daddy: “What kind of clothes?”

Hannah: “Dresses.”

Daddy: “Will they be pretty?”

Hannah: “Pretty dresses.”

The new toy shelf

Hannah’s play room pretty much looked like someone put all of Hannah’s toys in a huge cannon, fired it, and then left the mess.  It’s hard to keep the room clean when all we have to put the toys in is a giant bucket (which Hannah also likes to dump out and then get into herself).  Plus, Hannah has a million toys due to Grandma’s spoiling her through op shopping.  Take the day before yesterday for example:

Grandma: “I got Hannah a little doll.”

Me: “But she already has THIRTEEN dolls!”

Grandma: “But it was only 50 cents.”

Me: “Um…that’s not the point.”

Grandma: “Besides, I got the doll because she fits in the car,” she said as she held up a rather large red doll car.

See why we have so many toys?

Anyway, the new Aldi catalogue came in the mail (I love looking through the ads…), and it contained a rather awesome looking shelf thing with tubs to put all the toys in.

Hannah and I went to Aldi to get to some wipes (they are the only ones I like, due to actually being able to remove poo from Hannah’s behind, rather than just move it around a lot) and decided to pick up the shelves while we were there.

We had nothing to do that morning, so I decided to put the shelves together.  Aaron usually does things like that, but hey, we were bored.  I gave Hannah a wrench (I think that is what it’s called) while I used the screwdriver.  Hannah, of course, wanted to help.  She used her little wrench to pretend tighten the screws.  She handed me all of the rod things when I needed them, and helped me hold them in place as I screwed them.

When I was finished with one side, Hannah decided to play jungle baby amongst the rods.

When I finished putting all the rods on both sides, I turned it right side up.  Hannah thought it was some sort of climbing toy, immediately attempting to scale it.  I turned it back on it’s side so she wouldn’t climb it and end up head first on the floor with a shelf on top of her.

“No, Hannah, we don’t climb on it, it’s a shelf.”

She looked very pleased with this revelation.  She ran to her books and started putting them between the rods.

“You’re so cute Hannah, but  it’s a toy shelf.  We put your toys on it.”

I put it right side up again and put the tubs in it.  Hannah didn’t think they should go there, so she tried to take them all out.  She probably thought that they weren’t toys, so what were they doing on her strange toy shelf?

I told Hannah that we needed to put her toys in the tubs.  With that, she was very excited and eagerly dug through her toy bucket, arranging everything on the new toy shelf.

Hannah loves her new shelves, she can see all of her toys without having to dump them all out of a giant bucket, and, she has a lot more room to play.

Made it

Hannah LOVES drawing, colouring, putting stickers on things (which unfortunately has extended from her notebook ONLY to her bike, my legs, her clothes, the walls, the doors, and of course, my clothes, thanks to Grandma, who decided to let her put stickers on her bike.  Sigh.), building things with duplo (fine, fake duplo, the real stuff is way too expensive!), etc.  Maybe she’ll be an artist one day, who knows.  She really likes cooking too, so maybe she’ll be a chef.  Anyway, that is not the point.

So yesterday, Hannah woke up from her nap very early.  She wasn’t crying, she was just playing, making adorable noises, and talking to herself, so I left her in her cot to do just that.  When 3pm rolled around, I decided to get her up.  I walked into her room. “Hi Bubba!”

She looked up and greeted me with the most accomplished, proud of herself smile I’ve ever seen.

“What did you do?”  I asked her suspiciously.

She handed me some pieces of paper she had torn out of one of her books, and then torn up some more, smile still plastered on her face.  “Made it.”  She said proudly.

Made it!

Look what I have!

The day I wrote about muumuu’s

MuuMuu House Dress – Modern Flowers Petal Sleeves Caftan Kaftan Hawaiian Aloha Pullover Cotton Lounger – Regular and Plus Size

January 19, 2011.  The day started out like any other.  I took Hannah and Grandma out shopping.  Grandma read Hannah a story in the car.  I thought the story was about muumuu’s when really Grandma was saying moo-moo instead of cow.  I wrote a post about it.  Nothing out of the ordinary.

But then something weird happened.  Every single day since I wrote that post, I have been getting at least 10 views a day on my blog from people typing ‘muumuu’ or ‘muumuu dress’ or something of the like into search engines.

The first time I saw that so many people were finding my blog from searching muumuu’s, I thought it was rather hilarious.

“Aaron, check this out!”  I said as I laughed.  “Who searches muumuu’s?”

But then I started wondering….  Seriously, who searches for muumuu’s and why are they searching?  This isn’t just one person, this is multiple people, every single day since that day in January.

I tried googling muumuu’s myself, just to see how high up in the search my blog came in.  I got bored after checking 3 pages of the search.  So, multiple people are googling (or yahooing, or whatever they use) muumuu’s and somehow finding my blog even though it’s not even on the first 3 pages?  What?  So what is it with muumuu’s?  I seriously don’t know.  I can’t figure it out.  Is it some sort of strange fetish or something?  Why are so many people searching for muumuu’s?  Then one day came my personal favourite muumuu search.  Yeah, someone actually typed this into their search engine:

Now I really think it’s some sort of fetish or something.  People are so weird….  I checked the blog stats today.  Yeah, still getting hits from  muumuu searches.  I’m sure this post will get even more muumuu searches, but at least I can laugh about what people type into search engines.  Plus, they will be thoroughly disappointed when they are looking for photos of large women wearing muumuu’s and instead get this post, which is pretty much me making fun of them.  HAHAHAHA!

But maybe I’m completely wrong, maybe people are searching for muumuu’s for entirely different reasons.  If you got this blog entry from searching for muumuu’s, please, indulge me: why are you searching for muumuu’s?

Travelling is hard

So, as I told you before (well, I think I did, I do have baby brain, so I can’t really be sure), Hannah and I are going to the U.S. so she can meet my family for the first time.  I know, you’re thinking ‘but you’re pregnant, shouldn’t you wait until after you have the other baby so they can both meet your parents?’  Yeah, that seems like a good idea, BUT, then we’d have to pay 2 adult fares (because there is NO WAY I could handle 2 kids on a long flight and through airports all by myself), and a 75% child fare because Hannah will be 2 by then.  This way, we can get over there before the magical no-one-will-sell-you-travel-insurance 26 week mark, and it will be my parents turn to visit us next, so we’ll have many years to save up the enormous amount of cash it costs to fly a family of four overseas.  Hang on, it’s my parents turn to visit this time.  Hmmm….

Before we can travel, there were a few things we needed to take care of.   First off, I’m allowed to stay in the country, but I wasn’t really allowed to return if I left.  My visa expired….  Sigh, that means a trip to immigration, and a rather steep fee to get a Resident Return Visa.  Humph, I guess I should have just gotten my citizenship ages ago when I first took the test.  Oh well, live and learn.  Maybe I shouldn’t be so cheap.

I also had to get Hannah’s birth certificate so I could get her a passport.  Yeah yeah, I should have ordered a birth certificate when I registered her birth (as most people do), but that cost money, and I didn’t need it at the time, and I couldn’t be bothered filling out all the paper work.

Lucky for me, both the Births, Deaths, and Marriages, and the Department of Immigration and Multicultural Affairs (DIMIA) offices are in Parramatta.  I decided to get up early, and get to the BDM at opening time, 8am, then walk to DIMIA.  I was going to bring Hannah, but it was supposed to be ridiculously hot that day, so I left her at home with Grandma.

Getting the birth certificate was easy, I had it in hand by 8:10.  I walked to DIMIA, only to find that it had moved.  3 years ago.  Sigh.  Found the new office and discovered it didn’t open until 9.  Humph, I thought it opened at 8:30.  There were already 4 guys sitting in the only chairs available, waiting for 9am when we were allowed to go up the lift up to Immigration.  A security guard sat at a portable desk next to the elevators reading a magazine.  I assumed he was there to keep us foreigners out of the lifts before 9am, ensuring all the people who actually worked in the building could get up to their floors.  Not that he did a very good job.

A pair of immigrants came in and went in the lift.  I knew at a glance that they didn’t work there, but did the security guard say anything?  Nope, he was busy, reading his magazine.  They went up the lift and came back down a few minutes later, to loiter around with the growing number of the rest of us.

By quarter to 9, the lobby was pretty full of us immigrants.  I felt rather out of place being the only caucasian person, as well as the only person under 40ish in the entire room.  At 8:55, everyone suddenly made a mad rush for the elevators.  Not that we could go up yet.  There was nothing said.  It was just like BANG, and everyone rushed in.  I, of course, ended up near the back of the orderly-ish line, since I had been sitting near the chairs, not obstructing the path of the office workers getting to the elevators in any way.  A whole bunch of people were standing at the sides of the line.  The men who were there before me were also at the back of the line.  Seriously, what are these people thinking?  Why do they think they have the right to go first when some of us have been waiting for half an hour?

The security guard didn’t say a word.  His magazine was obviously very enthralling.

9am – the doors to the lift opened.  It was like there was a million dollars in the elevator and only one person, the first person in there, could have it.  Or maybe like a mosh pit when the band comes on stage.  Everyone surged forward.  The people at the sides of the line rushed in front.  Still, the security guard said nothing.  Instead, he started packing up, completely ignoring the chaos that was right in front of him.  All the foreigners were allowed upstairs now, there was no need for him, he could be on his merry way. What the heck did they employ him for?  He did nothing!  I wanted to yell at him.  I wanted to yell at all the rude people cutting in the line, pushing and shoving, desperate to be first to get up to immigration, to get in line there to take a number and do more waiting.

“Seriously people, I have been here for HALF AN HOUR!  And those guys over there?  Yeah, those ones.  They were here before me!  What makes you think you can waltz in here 5 minutes before opening time and shove your way in?”  Of course I didn’t say that because a) I’m a wuss bag b) I’m pregnant and didn’t want to be punched in the stomach, and c) they probably didn’t speak english anyway.  I HATE it when people cut in line!  It’s so rude!  Like when you’re at the bus stop and then the bus comes and a person who just got there jumps on the bus as soon as the doors open.  They of course get the last seat and you have to stand.  RUDE!  Lines people, it’s called a line for a reason. WAIT YOUR TURN!

Anyway, the immigration people were super nice to me and didn’t even look at my application form, opting instead to look at my passport, take my money and put in the new visa.  I was out of there before anyone else.  Haha suckers!

Then I had to fill out Hannah’s passport application form.  That was going well until I accidentally wrote my name instead of hers after filling it half way out.  Humph.  I traipsed all the way to the post office to get another one.  That one was going extremely well (haha, name box, you won’t get me again!) until the very end, when I witnessed Aaron’s signature and he witnessed mine.  Then I read that the witness has to be someone not related to the applicant, and not living in the same house hold.  Snap.  Guess I should read things before signing them.  I went all the way to the post office again to get a new form.

Third time lucky.  Finally, I got it right.  I went to get Hannah’s photo taken.  It looked pretty shocking, but whatever.  I went to pay. I rummaged through my purse.  Sigh, I forgot my wallet.  I told him I’d pick up the photos the next day and pay for them.  When I got home, I had a look at the photo guidelines.  Mouth must be shut, eyebrows must be showing.  Humph, her mouth was open, and her fringe was over her eyebrows.

The next day I went back.  I told them my concerns about the photos and the lady looked pretty annoyed.  Not at me, at the person who took them.  “You told him it was for a passport?”  “Yeah, I said ‘Hi, I need a passport photo for my daughter.'”  New lady was really nice and took better, acceptable photos of Hannah.  She had me put a little piece of food in her mouth so it would remain closed while she took her photo.

Phew, sent off the application.  I got it back today.  Yay!

I booked the e-tickets online.  When they hit my inbox, I nearly died.  Ok, not really, that’s an exaggeration, but you know.  The ticket said we get 3 pieces of luggage Sydney to L.A., but then none from L.A. to Seattle and Seattle to L.A.  What, was I supposed to haul everything all that way and then ditch it at the airport?  Sure, I used to work as a travel agent and know all about interline carriers and whatnot, but V Australia wasn’t around when I was a travel agent, and I remember clients coming in and telling me that they had to pay extra for bags in the U.S.  I’m pretty sure that those were separate flights, not all one ticket like mine, but I can’t remember, that was so long ago, and I have baby brain!

Many calls to V Australia later (they don’t seem to believe in holding until someone is available), and they told me it was a mistake, lucky I called otherwise Alaskan airlines might not have accepted our bags, and that they’d send me a new, correct ticket.  Awesome.  Still annoying though.

When I got Hannah’s passport, I had to apply for the visa waiver program for her.  Yeah, yeah, she could be a US citizen, but you know what?  That would mean I’d have to buy another passport, register her birth with the U.S. government, and get more photos taken (because the U.S. and Australia don’t use the same size photos for passports.  Annoying.).  Too much effort, too much money, no thank you.  She can do it later if she needs it for something.  The option is always going to be there.  Unless the U.S. suddenly hates Australia or something, but I don’t see that happening any time soon.

We now have all of our documents taken care of (well, I do need to actually print some things out, but I’ll do that later), and we will be on our way in less than a month.  Watch out Washington (state, not D.C., they are, in fact, different places, contrary to popular Australian belief), we’re coming for you!

Belly’s getting bigger, pants are getting tighter

Lately, I’ve been finding myself unbuttoning my shorts whenever I sit down.  I seem to have ‘popped out’ recently, and when buttoned, my daks tend to strangle my belly upon sitting.  Sure I could buy some maternity clothes, but it’s February.  It’s still too hot to wear pants, but soon it won’t be (I hope anyway).  So I don’t want to buy summer maternity clothes, just to wear them for a couple of weeks. And, I’d surely die of heat exhaustion if I were to wear them right now anyway.  Shorts unbottoned when sitting it is.  Makes sense to me.  I could, of course, wear the belly belt (a pants extender of sorts.  It has a slit on one end to go over the button, the other is a button for the slit end of the pants to go on), except I can’t seem to find it.  Plus, you have to have shirts long enough to cover it and if your shirt happens to come up a bit, say, when you sit down or something, it’s “hello, here’s my undies,” and then everyone knows you are too fat to button your pants.

Anyway, I went to Kmart the other day to get some hair dye as I was feeling kind of ugly with my scraggly long hair (baby seems to be leeching all of my nutrients), and glasses (have to wear them in this pregnancy as I can’t seem to tolerate my contacts for some reason.  Plus my eyesight keeps changing with all the hormones), so I decided to do something different.  A chop and and dye.  Awesome.

I went into Kmart with Hannah, found some dye and started off on my merry way.  On my way out, I saw someone I used to work with nearly 5 years ago.  We’ve run into eachother at Kmart before.  Kmart is a great place to go when you have a toddler and need to get out of the house.

“Is it congratulations?”  She asked me as she walked over, looking at my belly.

“Yeah, I’m glad it’s finally looking like a baby bump, rather than just a fat belly.”  Really, I was elated.  I mean, to me it looks like a baby bump, but to other people, who knows, they may just think I’ve had a few too many beers down the pub.  Not that I drink beers, they taste disgusting, but you get what I’m saying.

We chatted for a bit, and then Hannah and I went to the car.  I went to unbutton my pants in preparation for sitting to drive.  Oh. Snap.  I’d been walking around Kmart that whole time with my shorts undone.  Darn you baby brain!  No wonder she felt ok asking me if I was pregnant.  Only a pregnant woman would walk around with her pants undone.

 

It’s official, I’m delicious

I have been having a terrible run in the sleeping department lately.  Sure, some of it can be put down to sore boobs (if I forget to put my sleeping bra on), having to pee at least once per night, and losing my giant body pillow off the edge of the bed.  These things happen when pregnant.  There’s also the disgustingly hot nights.  Oh, and Aaron’s snoring, but that doesn’t actually wake me up, it just prevents me from going back to sleep.

None of those things are the real problem.  The real problem is the mosquito.  I’m pretty sure it’s some sort of mutant freakshow super mosquito, but I’ve never actually seen it, so I can’t be certain.  Every night this mosquito waits until I’m fully asleep, and then he makes his move.  Obnoxious mosquito starts by feasting on me.  Since it’s so hot, and I have a personal furnace in my uterus, I’m not under even a sheet, giving obnoxious mosquito free range on my whole body. Except my boobs, they’re covered so they don’t get so sore that they fall off in the middle of the night.  Obnoxious mosquito prefers to feast on the parts that are most awkward when bitten, and seem to itch the most.  Like last night, he feasted from my ear lobe, the little space between the knuckles on my toes, and under my chin.

After his apparently delicious meal, I wake up itching.  I don’t mean I wake up because I’m so itchy, I mean I wake up because I’m actually scratching like mad in my sleep to the point where it wakes me up.  Now that I’m awake, I have to pee.  I go to the toilet, do my business and apply some calamine lotion to all my itchy spots (but it never seems to work very well), all in the dark.  I don’t like to turn the lights on in the middle of the night because then I’d really be awake.

I go back to my room, put on more bug spray, bed position my giant pillow, and attempt to go back to sleep.  It takes a while, but finally, I’m pretty much there.  And then obnoxious mosquito strikes again, flying pretty much into my ear and making it’s obnoxious buzzing noise.  I swear he does it on purpose.  I swat madly at the mosquito (which is pretty much me hitting myself in the face), while rolling around madly in the bed like I’m on fire.  Little bugger always gets away.  Aaron somehow sleeps through the whole thing, oblivious to the mosquitos evil attacks and the ruckus I cause.  He sleeps soundly next to me, wearing not a drop of bug spray, while I reapply three times a night and still get feasted on.  Maybe it likes all of my extra blood, full of pregnancy hormones.  Yeah, yeah, I’m delicious.  I wish I wasn’t.

Hannah the helper baby

Long ago, we discovered that Hannah is a worker.  When something is spilled, she runs to get a towel and clean it up.  When I go grocery shopping, she unpacks all the cold stuff and puts it in the fridge (I of course move it, but that is not the point).  Yesterday she carried a 2 litre bottle of milk in each hand, from the bag to the fridge.  She helps me unload the dishwasher, load the washing machine, cook, put clothes away, sweep, vacuum, you name it, she will help with it.

We don’t force her to help, she wants to do it.  If we don’t let her, she gets really cranky and annoyed.  She could be playing, but helping is far more fun to her.

I just hope when she is older, she likes to help just as much….

P.S. yes, the shed in the background in the clothes shot is the shed.  In case you were wondering….

Australia is out to get you

I’m pretty sure Australia is trying to eat us.  Maybe we’re good for the soil.  Maybe it thinks that if it devours us all, the hole in the o-zone layer will close up and it can be lush and green once again.

You’re not safe in the house.  Spiders in Australia are lurking about, hiding in the corner, waiting to bite you.  These aren’t your average spiders either, these spiders can kill you.

Photo courtesy of hubpages.com

In a crazy heatwave like we just had, the power grid can’t cope with all the electricity running all the air conditioners and thousands of houses find themselves in complete black out.  Yeah, the houses are trying to give you heat stroke.

You go outside.  Ugh, it’s like 45 degrees celsius out here.  It’s like stepping into a furnace.  Or a disgustingly hot sauna right after someone has poured a copious amount of water on the rocks.  If you stay out here long enough, you might possibly die, fried right there on the cement like an egg. Ouch!  Oh crap, what was that?  You look down.  The grass seems to have grown little sharp things to assault your feet.

Photo courtesy of Yates Australia

You move a few feet (fine, meters, whatever) away.  OUCH!  There is something stuck in your foot.  It’s really sharp!  It’s even smaller than the bindii.  The grass isn’t finished with you yet.  These little things are like ninjas, you don’t see them coming at all!  Darn you burrs!

A bird dive bombs your head.  It comes back for another go.  Seriously bird?  Really?  Sometimes they get you so hard, they actually draw blood.

Magpie - photo courtesy of Wikipedia

Snakes are lurking in the grass.  They are extremely venomous and enjoy biting you, sending said venom into your blood stream and nervous system.  Sometimes they hide in the toilet.

If you go for a walk in the bush, a wombat could charge you.  They may seem cuddly (ok, not from the photo below), but they’re not.  Seriously, they’re not, don’t try it.

Photo courtesy of Humanimal Kingdom

And what about those black panthers that allegedly roam the Blue Mountains.  There have been sightings, poo findings, tracks….

Watch out for those drop bears, they are particularly ferocious and have the added advantage of attacking from above.

Photo courtesy of aussieschoolbooks.com.au

A cyclone has just demolished entire towns.

Rain is flooding an entire state.

Ok, so dry land is going to eat you.  Maybe you should go for a swim.

Before you even get to the water, OUCH!  What?  You look down.  You’re standing on something long and blue, and rather condom like.  It’s dead, but darn it, it still stings!  They are everywhere!

Blue bottle jellyfish - photo courtesy of dryadmusings.com

Once you get into the water, you’re not safe.  There are more jellyfish.  Box jellyfish, Irikanji jellyfish, wasp jellyfish, more bluebottles, alive ones.

Uh-oh, there are sharks.  Great white sharks, bull sharks, tiger sharks.  Sharks that can leave you severely dismembered, or even dead.  Sharks with big huge teeth just waiting to bite you.

Photo courtesy of wikipedia

But then there are the not-so-scary-but-can-still-kill-you marine wildlife. What about stingrays?  People always forget about stingrays, but if Steve Irwin the Crocodile Hunter can be killed by one, then it could happen to anyone.

Even the water tries to eat you.  Rips pull you out to sea and watch you struggle, flailing as you desperately try to get the attention of lifeguards.  You could, of course, swim parallel to the shore until you’re out of the rip, but a lot of people, mostly tourists, don’t know that.

Don’t think you’re safe in rivers either.  Sometimes sharks swim up river and wreak havoc along the way.

The water hole looks rather inviting.  It’s a hot day.  The water looks calm and still.  You get in.  Suddenly, you realise you are not alone.  The river is filled with giant crocs, stalking you, waiting for just the right moment.

Photo courtesy of wikipedia

So everything is trying to eat you in Australia, but you know what?  I still love it here.  Maybe I’m crazy.

Cleaning out the cockroach nest, I mean the shed….

The other day, we cleaned out the shed.  One of the sheds.  And by we, I mean Grandma and Aaron.  Hannah and I watched while they laboured away in disgustingly hot temperatures.  I wasn’t about to get down and dirty because I didn’t know what was lurking in there, waiting to bite me and poison my growing baby.  No, count me out, thank you very much.  Plus, Grandma wouldn’t let me if I wanted to anyway.

The shed…hmmm…how to describe the shed. Well, the outside is easy: it’s a tinny sort of little shed with a door that’s not actually attached, but rather placed over the doorway and falls off when it’s windy, and there is a tree growing right behind the shed whose branches actually hold the shed down onto the foundation.  It’s not attached in any way what so ever and I’m told that one time (before the tree was there), the wind actually picked up the shed and then dropped it again, not quite in the right place.  So we like the tree, it’s not going anywhere.

Where was I…oh yeah, the inside.  Let’s just say the inside is…interesting.  The inside of the shed is (was) filled with boxes of papers and magazines.  At least they were boxes.  I didn’t actually realise they were boxes because they had been eaten so much by I don’t want to know what, that it pretty much just looked like someone had taken an entire trees worth of papers, and thrown them in a heap inside the shed.  The rain gets in the shed, the wind gets in the shed (because the door is not attached, remember?), and the papers have been in there since, well, I’m not really sure, but at least ever since I’ve been on the scene, and that was nearly 10 years ago.  You couldn’t actually walk into the shed.  No, there was too much crap in there.  If you really wanted to, you could stand in the doorway and throw something in there, but I doubt you’d ever see it again.  The shed was kind of like that awkward kid in school who rarely bathed and a funk about him/her, you acknowledge that it’s there, but you steer well clear of it.  I know, kids are mean.

Aaron and I really wanted to get the shed cleaned out (and by Aaron and me, I mostly mean me) so we can put YaYa’s (Aaron’s mum, not her real name…) stuff that is taking up most of the linen press and the top of Hannah’s closet in sealable plastic tubs and pile said tubs in the shed.  That way, we (I…) could actually put things like sheets in the linen press instead of stacked (thrown, I’m way too short to stack) on top of the freestanding wardrobes (closets) in our bedroom.  Oh my gosh, so much storage to be had!  Plus, none of us were really sure what was living out there, but it couldn’t be good, or healthy, so yeah, it really needed to be cleaned up.

Hannah and I took our front row seats under the shade of the awning in the sand pit (ahem, Hannah was in the sand pit, I, was sitting next to it).  As soon as they moved that useless door and started moving boxes of papers, with the boxes crumbling as they picked them up, their contents falling about, I knew I needed to document it.  I ran straight inside to get my super-special, malfunctioning digital SLR camera.  It thinks it’s on automatic mode no matter what I do, changing it’s f-stop and shutter speed like yesterdays socks. Humph.

I put my feet inside the shed for the very first time.  I was amazed at what I saw.  Mounds of papers, filth, tiny poo of some description, and chewed bits of paper laying about.  I put the camera to my eye.

“What are you doing!!!  Don’t take photos of this!  Stop!”  Grandma, apparently, doesn’t share my love of documenting.

“Who are you going to show this to, no one wants to see this!  No one needs to remember this!”  She was getting really cranky now.

“Don’t you want to see before and after photos?  It will be such an accomplishment!”  Um…yes, that’s why I was taking them….

“Yeah, it’ll be good to see before and after photos.”  Aaron stuck up for me.  He’s great.

“Fine,” Grandma huffed, clearly not in agreement, “but don’t show anyone!  And they are NOT going on your blog!”  If anyone ever saw the photos, Grandma might die of embarrassment….  Yeah, I’ve been strictly forbidden to put them on my blog.  Instead, I’ve drawn you picture:

Humph, that was the only reason I was taking photos.  Nope, couldn’t be bothered if I’m not allowed to post them here.  I didn’t take anymore.  Except for these two, which I was allowed to take, keep, and display.   This little gift tag somehow managed to survive the chaos of the shed while everything else was rendered unreadable, pooped on, stuck together, and discoloured.

The papers in dodgy boxes kept piling up on the lawn.  There was one pile that had a hole about the circumference of a golf ball chewed straight through it.  Like a tunnel.  I don’t think I want to know what lived in that tunnel.  Luckily it wasn’t there at the time.  Not that we saw anyway.  After most of the stuff was cleared out, Aaron made a surprise discovery.  There in the corner was a chest of drawers.  I use that term loosely.  I mean what was left of it after being used as dinner for a whole lot of years.

“I’ve found the coackroach den!”  Aaron exclaimed.  Cockroaches were running around in those drawers by the hundreds.  There was a layer of poop (cockroach poop) an inch thick inside the drawer.  Oh. My. Gosh. Ew!

When they were done moving all the stuff out, they found a thick layer of cockroach poop covering the floor.  Aaron hosed the floor, getting some of it to go out the sides of the shed and onto the grass behind (where no one goes, there is a tree and then a fence there).  It was so caked on that he had to get a shovel and manually remove all the poop.  He removed so much poop that it filled an entire garbage bag.  YUCK!

We were kind of afraid there were be an influx of roaches with nowhere to go entering the house, feasting on tidbits of food we didn’t know were there, running over our feet unexpectedly, and falling onto our heads from the ceiling, completely freaking me out (yeah, that’s happened before), but we have hardly seen any since that fateful day.  I think they must have burned up in the hot sun or something when trying to make a break for it when their beloved roachy lair was empty.  Or maybe one of the neighbours now has an unexpected roach problem.  Hmmm…I hope they don’t read my blog.