Outgrown Cribs In The Land Filled WIth Snakes

Turns out 4-almost-5-year-olds can move furniture. I wouldn't have discovered this hidden talent if I hadn't nearly slid a bunk bed onto Charlie. Sometimes I think I'm bigger and stronger than I really am, like today when I made a spur of the moment decision to get rid of Charlie's crib and put bunk beds in the kid's room. How I thought I could balance precariously on a tower of tires while I wiggled apart two bunk beds stacked on top of each other, is beyond me. My back is telling me it was a lesson of folly, but my head says well done. Charlie is still alive, and the dog only got squished once, so I maintain it was a success. Jamie navigated the corners and lifted his fair share of the burden, snatching his little brother from the jaws of death every time I started screeching "grab Charlie....grab Charlie quick.

Because you see, Charlie discovered his crib is really just a facade. Those bars that used to look formidable, suddenly transformed into a jungle gym begging to be climbed. Sometimes my kids move to new stages without me knowing it, I'll look at them and think... when did he learn to pedal a bike, or... has that child always been three shades browner than me? Other times like today, a new stage is ushered in with bells ringing and change staring me down with his ugly bushy eyebrows. I don't like facing change nor staring at his ugly face, so I threw myself recklessly into cleaning out the kids room, taking out Charlie's crib and moving in the aforementioned bunk bed. So yes I heard him, Change can go away now (unless he plans on taking away the diapers and leaving a potty trained boy, in which case he can stay).



Charlie was rather ambivalent about the whole process. He went to bed very relieved looking, like he didn't care where or what his bed was as long as someone was still kissing his head, handing him his bottle and praying for him (ha! bottle...he's still got a bit of baby in him left). Jamie on the other hand was ecstatic. He had a few worried moments when his mama wasn't sure the bunk bed was sturdy, but Uncle Vern came to the rescue and fixed the wobblies. Jamie spent the rest of the evening airbending off the bed until he turned the ceiling fan on and promptly whacked himself in the head. Some things you just have to learn by experience. No matter what your parents say, it doesn't make sense until you're rubbing a goose egg on your head.

The other thing Jamie's ecstatic about it snakes. He's obsessed with classifying all snakes as either good or bad. Rattlesnakes=bad, King snake= good. The snakes have decided our house is Disneyland or something, which is seriously about to give me a heart attack. The first time Jamie told me there was a snake on our front door mat, I thought he was pretending... monsters in the closet and all that, but no, there was truly a full grown rattlesnake coiled up against my front door like it was a park bench at the beach. No freaking thank you. I even like snakes. I'm just not sure my kids could survive a bite from a rattler long enough for me to get them off of our remote commune and to a hospital. These things worry me (and now I've convinced everyone to never visit, but honestly, they aren't normally this bad). Two days later I gave Jamie strict orders to stay on the patio and not venture into the tall weeds, he went out to play and came running back in telling me there was another rattlesnake on the patio. Sure enough, he was right again. Thankfully both times Barnabas was between the snake and my children, but still, I have them hog tied and apron stringed whenever we go out now.

A few days and a few good snakes later (this is the story that never ends), Barnabas went out to pee and nearly sat on a rattlesnake. It was a big snake and had a tail that sounded like a Pepsi can full of pebbles, so the dog quickly got wise and skedaddled, and Jamie named it Tricksy (with the help of his Uncle Lulu who is actually his aunt).

I finally had time to take a picture of this one, as it seemed content to hiss and rattle at us instead of dive for the bushes like the other ones did.


So this is what we get for having perfect weather all the time. As long as we stay stuck in 70's and sunny, we're stuck with rattlesnakes as backyard (or front yard) pets.