Oh, man, life is good at our house! We’re having fun by building character. Because that’s how we roll.
So this morning, J got a precious gift: the gift of teeth spacers. She tried to model them, and if you see a teensy weensy little blue shadow inside her mouth, those are the spacers. But it’s hard to look past those chompers, because they’re coming in in rows, stadium-seating-style:
She’s doing okay. The appointment was quick, and her teeth aren’t as sore as she expected. So we’re golden! Uhhh. . . . what else is up?
. . .
. . .
For those of you who were horrified by the recent elf invasion, Holly is the least of our worries. We’ve suspected fleas for a while now. They’re not just randomly hopping around our house (knock on wood!), and we’d hardly see any on Isis, but there was evidence because. . . no, never mind, it’s too gross. We just sensed that she had fleas. In the last month or two we’ve probably given Isis a bath 3 different times (I know: she’s a remarkably compliant cat, and we love her), and each time we’d find maybe 2, 3, or 4 little buggers. A neighbor who’d had flea troubles recently reported that giving a bath had looked like a Titanic-like evacuation, so we felt okay about it. Until the last few days, when Cute W’s almost-daily comb-and-monitor procedure started producing several fleas. Eeeeewwwww.
So I called the vet today, expecting to schedule a flea dip while we bomb the house. Oh no, she explained. We don’t do that anymore. And she went on to explain that there’s this medicine? And you can apply it to the cat’s skin between her shoulders? And I’m all, yeah, yeah, yeah. We’ve been doing that for years and it’s not helping. Well, we’ve been applying it every six weeks. As directed by this vet’s office. She sounds (on the phone) and later looks (in person) like I must be crazy-pants. But I swear that’s what they said a couple of years ago, and no one ever gave me the update. So I’m supposed to apply stuff religiously every 3 weeks (which, for those of you keeping score, is more than twice what we’d been doing in the past, since the 6 weeks thing had been only, like, in an agnostic sort of way, until lately. Because there are no atheists in fleaville.) for three to four months to “break the cycle.” A term which makes me feel a bit like there should be a support group attached, but there isn’t one. That I know about, anyway.
Also, for what it’s worth, they think Vectra is better on fleas than Frontline and Frontline is better on ticks than Vectra.
So, in a way, this is good news, because we don’t have to flea-bomb the house. My sweet sister M had me half-convinced me that a flea-bombing event is really like a delightful little one-day family vacation, but I think that’s one of those things you say, like, that’s a great hair cut. Because the truth isn’t particularly helpful.
But wait! There’s more. In fact, I saved the best for last. We’re having a Plumbing Issue. On Sunday we lost the use of our kitchen sink and dishwasher, and at this point the earliest we’ll get them back is midday Thursday. On Monday morning, Cute W, who is handy, attempted to fix the Plumbing Issue and got a several large splatters of sludge-like water on the fabulous outfits and carpet remnants that make up the dress-up area in our playroom. Which meant that I spent much of Monday sorting, laundering, trashing items from the now-swampy-smelling scene, then steam-cleaning carpet remnants. And then, because I so rarely steam-clean and the damn thing was already dragged out, I steam-cleaned a few more carpets for good measure. So that was fun.
But we are fortunate, because I actually have TWO sinks in our kitchen. Voila!
My washer and dryer are in a little utility closet just off the kitchen, and there’s a disgusting, nasty old utility sink that usually only gets use when I have to rinse a mop or soak something rancid in bleach. But now it’s my combo laundry-and-dishwashing station! I was actually washing dishes and thinking that it made my kitchen feel much more spacious until J walked over and set some dirty socks next to a glass I’d just rinsed.
My favorite part is that the grosstastic fly swatters are perched directly above where I’m washing dishes, so I totally understand if you don’t want to eat at my house this week. And yes, I know: I could move the fly swatters. But then I’d just put them somewhere else and it would be even more irritating, like I’d hang them on another hook and they’d fall behind my washer (happened many a time) or I’d shove them on the overhead shelves and they would slide off and smack me in the face (this has not happened with a fly swatter, but other things have fallen down on my head, for sure.)
And now are you thinking, wow, the idea of a soiled fly swatter fluttering against Katie’s face and landing in her clean dishes is so disgusting, I almost forgot about the fleas?!? Awesome, right? That’s how we roll.