Talking trash

It’s trash morning and I forgot to take the trash up (and by that I mean “I forgot to tell the boys to take the trash up”) yet again. This is a pain because our driveway is 1,000 miles long and the trash man comes at Dark:30. Normally, I would just forget about it and hold on to the trash for another week. That can’t happen this week because we just hosted a huge Thanksgiving and both cans are crammed to the hilt, so……

Which Mouseketools can we use to help get 123847 pounds of trash down the driveway?


We have a Jeep, two boys that have to be waiting at the end of the driveway for the bus at 6:50 a.m., wine, and the Mystery Mouseketool. That’s right! We can use the Jeep and the boys to pull the trash cans down.


Right now, you’re probably thinking I’m a genius. So did I. It probably would have worked if the cans weren’t so full that Colt’s feeble hands, which are rarely used for anything besides operating touch screens, couldn’t get a good grip.

So rather than me just walking at least one of the cans down the driveway myself, this turned into me gathering trash in the yard (twice, because he wanted to give it another try after the first failure) while consoling my eight-year-old on the injustice in the world as he has a nervous breakdown (“WHY DID I DROP MINE AND BRENNAN DIDN’T!? HE’S YOUNGER! IT’S NOT FAIR!). All at 6:49 a.m. In the dark. Under the threat of missing the bus.

The start of yet another great day.

Fly high, free bird

So I’ve been forced to share a bed with The Husband the last few nights. He typically sleeps in the partially-finished basement because he gets home from work at 1 am so he apparently does not want to be woke up at 5:40 am when the first of my 20 alarms goes off. I know. I don’t get it either.

Anyway, The Husband’s sleeping habits are the thing that nightmares are made of except that they don’t involve me having the pleasure of falling asleep to enjoy a nightmare. He’s up roaming the house every twenty minutes all night – using the restroom, getting a drink, checking thermostats, reading sports stuff on his phone, playing with the dog, turning on lights…. I could go on. I’ve been up since 4 am this morning just listening to him wander around.

That all sucks, but the worst part is the reason I’m being subjected to this. He can’t go to his room in the basement because it’s covered in hay. Why is it covered in hay? I’m going to tell you. He decided to raise a dozen baby chicks in our basement. It’s ridiculous that he’s raising barnyard animals in the same quarters that he sleeps in, but it’s even more ridiculous that he didn’t take the box of hay that held the eggs out to the trash once he put the eggs safely inside the incubator. I then had 20 kids at my house for Thanksgiving and – well, you see where I’m going with this. So his basement bed is covered in hay and he can’t sleep in it. I refuse to clean it because I did not (and would not) bring hay into the house.

So that all sucks. Hay in the bed, chicks in the basement, husband in the bed, but here’s the even more worse part: In addition to the dozen chicks in the basement, we have 10-12 adult chickens outside in the coop. Guess what grown chickens do in the fall? Nothing. They do nothing. They need their energy to grow winter feathers so they don’t lay eggs until they have grown enough winter feathers. Ever hear of multi-tasking, chickens? So after I had been up since 4 am because the chicks have ousted The Husband from his bedroom, he literally tells me I need to add eggs to the grocery list. I’m feeding and housing over 20 chickens, some of them even inside my actual home, and they are too busy making feathers to lay eggs, so I need to purchase eggs from a store. What’s next? Shall I prepare them an egg for breakfast and spoon feed it to them? Scrambled or over-easy, ladies? I just want to make sure you’re enjoying your stay here at the Swan B&B.