So.
We're at the cabin. The trip up was relatively quiet and that alone, given the children we have, was miraculous. We got everything unloaded, sorted and put in it's proper place. DVD players were set up, places to color and make Bendaroo creations (thank you whomever invented those! My children were silent for ten whole minutes making things*). Ya know, we got our poop in a group.
The rules were laid out: You are not allowed to open any of the doors to the cabin without Mommy or Daddy with you. You could get lost in the woods, fall in the lake, general Mama paranoia passed along to the kidlets. We also told them that they are still not allowed to hit each other or make each other scream. People who do not have more than one child are amazed at just how quickly the noise level can rise to DefCon 8. Scary. This being said, the children love the three season room off of the living room. March of last year was the last time we were here and that room was fah-reezing cold. They didn't like it so much. This year though, it's perfect in there. They were told that if they felt the need to chase each other, scream, yell, anything really that would make Mama not happy, do it in that room. And shut the double paned glass door. kthxbai.
They were pretty good at this and were having a grand ol' time generally beating the tar out of each other and giggling and screeching along the way. They came out of the room a few times and when they reached that level of headache inducing noise, they were shooed out to the "loud room". I called my dad to give him a little grief for the Packers losing (again!) and, of course, talk about the kids. As I'm sitting there at the table talking on the phone, I hear this squeaking noise and I'm all "What the hell is that noise?" Naturally, I assume it's one of my kids and since I could see the boy, I figured it was the red headed dictator. I turn around in my chair to tell her to knock it off and go in the other room because hello? I can't hear myself or Papa. I look down on the floor and I'll be damned, I screamed.
A bat.
A mother trucking chicken plucking bat was laying, sprawled out perfectly, on the hardwood hallway floor. Squeaking away. I promptly lost my shit. I tell my dad I'll call him back. I realize fully that this is indeed a real live gonna get me and give me rabies bat. I screamed, that made the dictator scream (Wow, never heard her get that loud before) and I have peed myself. I'm not going to lie to you internet. Things like this happen after three children. The kids immediately think they are going to die (from the bat, not me peeing myself though they do find it hilarious and I'm sure will share the story with any and all strangers - you're welcome). The husband is the only calm one, claiming it's a fake bat from someone who stayed here before. I called bullshit. I found the broom (smallest one I've ever seen for a cabin that sleeps 15 people, two baths and a bajillion rooms). I shooed the screamers to the loud room and calmed myself down.
The husband broomed (is that a verb? should be) the bat, it tried like hell to get out from under the broom, I screamed again (I'm good at that when it's not needed). He scooped it into the dustpan and went out the front door with it. The kids came in when they saw it was clear and we watched Daddy let the bat go on the front walk, about ten feet from the front door. I would have preferred farther away, like the next town over but whatevs.
As the husband takes the broom off, he shimmies the bat off the dustpan. It starts to flap it's wings (another screech not needed here? sorry, too late!) and he starts backing up quickly. I'm laughing now and the kids are wondering where the hell the bat is. It was dusk so it was hard to see it but it got a couple feet in the air, then landed in the grass and leaves. I don't know if it flew away later, I guess we'll see in the morning. Blech.
We come back in and the kids want to see the photos I took of it (not good quality, the flash is still broken on my precious camera, boo) and all of a sudden my son says, "What's THAT?" Oh hell naw, it better not be another bat 'cause I will lose my ever loving mind and sleep in the van for the next week. No bat, BUT? Our visitor left a gift.
Bat poo.
It was so tiny and yet the boy covered his nose as if it stank. Weirdo.
So yeah. Bats? Not my favorite right now (though to be clear, I don't think they ever will be. Sorry little guys)
*after that glorious ten minutes, all hell broke loose when the 200 Bendaroos (they come 100 to a box) the boy had were clearly not enough, in his brain, so he tried to "borrow" some of his sister's. You can imagine how that turned out. Loud room!
We're at the cabin. The trip up was relatively quiet and that alone, given the children we have, was miraculous. We got everything unloaded, sorted and put in it's proper place. DVD players were set up, places to color and make Bendaroo creations (thank you whomever invented those! My children were silent for ten whole minutes making things*). Ya know, we got our poop in a group.
The rules were laid out: You are not allowed to open any of the doors to the cabin without Mommy or Daddy with you. You could get lost in the woods, fall in the lake, general Mama paranoia passed along to the kidlets. We also told them that they are still not allowed to hit each other or make each other scream. People who do not have more than one child are amazed at just how quickly the noise level can rise to DefCon 8. Scary. This being said, the children love the three season room off of the living room. March of last year was the last time we were here and that room was fah-reezing cold. They didn't like it so much. This year though, it's perfect in there. They were told that if they felt the need to chase each other, scream, yell, anything really that would make Mama not happy, do it in that room. And shut the double paned glass door. kthxbai.
They were pretty good at this and were having a grand ol' time generally beating the tar out of each other and giggling and screeching along the way. They came out of the room a few times and when they reached that level of headache inducing noise, they were shooed out to the "loud room". I called my dad to give him a little grief for the Packers losing (again!) and, of course, talk about the kids. As I'm sitting there at the table talking on the phone, I hear this squeaking noise and I'm all "What the hell is that noise?" Naturally, I assume it's one of my kids and since I could see the boy, I figured it was the red headed dictator. I turn around in my chair to tell her to knock it off and go in the other room because hello? I can't hear myself or Papa. I look down on the floor and I'll be damned, I screamed.
A bat.
A mother trucking chicken plucking bat was laying, sprawled out perfectly, on the hardwood hallway floor. Squeaking away. I promptly lost my shit. I tell my dad I'll call him back. I realize fully that this is indeed a real live gonna get me and give me rabies bat. I screamed, that made the dictator scream (Wow, never heard her get that loud before) and I have peed myself. I'm not going to lie to you internet. Things like this happen after three children. The kids immediately think they are going to die (from the bat, not me peeing myself though they do find it hilarious and I'm sure will share the story with any and all strangers - you're welcome). The husband is the only calm one, claiming it's a fake bat from someone who stayed here before. I called bullshit. I found the broom (smallest one I've ever seen for a cabin that sleeps 15 people, two baths and a bajillion rooms). I shooed the screamers to the loud room and calmed myself down.
The husband broomed (is that a verb? should be) the bat, it tried like hell to get out from under the broom, I screamed again (I'm good at that when it's not needed). He scooped it into the dustpan and went out the front door with it. The kids came in when they saw it was clear and we watched Daddy let the bat go on the front walk, about ten feet from the front door. I would have preferred farther away, like the next town over but whatevs.
As the husband takes the broom off, he shimmies the bat off the dustpan. It starts to flap it's wings (another screech not needed here? sorry, too late!) and he starts backing up quickly. I'm laughing now and the kids are wondering where the hell the bat is. It was dusk so it was hard to see it but it got a couple feet in the air, then landed in the grass and leaves. I don't know if it flew away later, I guess we'll see in the morning. Blech.
We come back in and the kids want to see the photos I took of it (not good quality, the flash is still broken on my precious camera, boo) and all of a sudden my son says, "What's THAT?" Oh hell naw, it better not be another bat 'cause I will lose my ever loving mind and sleep in the van for the next week. No bat, BUT? Our visitor left a gift.
Bat poo.
It was so tiny and yet the boy covered his nose as if it stank. Weirdo.
So yeah. Bats? Not my favorite right now (though to be clear, I don't think they ever will be. Sorry little guys)
*after that glorious ten minutes, all hell broke loose when the 200 Bendaroos (they come 100 to a box) the boy had were clearly not enough, in his brain, so he tried to "borrow" some of his sister's. You can imagine how that turned out. Loud room!
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