So for the past five days I’ve been overloaded and overwhelmed and any other word that starts with “over”, so I took a break from the web so I could get my real life in order. I’m finally to a point where I don’t feel like I’m losing my mind – as much. And yes, you will still hear all the fun honeymoon stories like the time Kevin got his face licked by a parrot and I got sat on by a donkey. All things in time.

But last night!

Let me set the scene a little bit.

It was around 8:30. Dinner was hot and ready on our plates, and I’d convinced Kevin to suffer through watching 27 Dresses with me. We were barely getting to the good parts when we heard something fall over by the fireplace.

“What the hell was that?! Did you hear that? Something just fell,” Kevin turned towards me in the dark.

I told him that yes I’d heard it and whatever it was, it was definitely INSIDE with us. I have better eyesight than he does at night and I could see the thing as it scurried up the fireplace screen. I jumped up and turned on the light, expecting to see a mouse. What we found instead?

A bat.

A big, hairy, ugly bat that had flown down our chimney, weaseled it’s way through the closed vent and crawled, creep-like, up our screen.

This totally trumps the two half-dollar sized wolf spiders Kevin found and killed on our porch a few weeks back.

“IT’S A BAT! A BAT IS IN OUR HOUSE. IN. OUR. HOUSE!” I was screaming and laughing and just freaking out in general. I like bats, but I don’t want to touch them or move them. All I could keep thinking about was the freak accident from a few years ago where a bat fell out of a tree in pure daylight, fell on a baby, then BIT HIM AND GAVE HIM RABIES. The entire families had to get rabies shots in the stomach.

Gag.

So we started planning on how we were going to get the damn thing out of our house (don’t give me that look, you’d swear too if you had a bat in your house). I found a pair of old riding gloves and threw them on, fully knowing I wasn’t going to actually grab the thing with my hands.

Double gag.

So what did I do instead? I gave the gloves to Kevin, handed him an old pillow case and kicked back with the camera to document it.

Only for you, Internet.

Enjoy the video, and may your house be pest free!

Love, The Officially Freaked Out Newlyweds

Well today, I was this duck.

I mean, I had two legs just like the rest of them…but I just didn’t fit in.

I was a bird of a different color. A misfit. An outcast.

Plus my hair looked a bit, well, ruffled.

I can’t help it – there’s a lot going on in this crazy little head of mine and the chaos was bound to come spewing out when I least expected it. I shouldn’t bottle things in and try to deal with them on my own in the first place, but I do. Because I hate burdening others with my petty drama. Because I hate feeling like a failure. Because I’m scared to say things that may upset others. Because I’m a people pleaser. There are a thousand reasons why I didn’t share what I was thinking and had a bit of a breakdown today because of it.

So I did the first thing I could think of and told Ashley that she was hanging out with me tonight. Aspen was excited to see me, and that helped.

Ashley asked what we wanted to do  – our friend Megan was with us and the first thing I could think of was, “let’s go feed some ducks”.

Once we found out that only the carp wanted our food, Aspen started eating the cereal herself instead.

And I started trying to text/tweet/take photos on my phone.

As we were leaving, disappointed and craving food ourselves, Ashley spotted a group of rather hungry looking birds.

We fed them for a few minutes, Aspen chucking handfuls of Cinnamon Toast Crunch (or was it Fiber One?) out the window and eating a few in-between while I leaned half out the window and contemplated that duck. Was he really a loner? Did the other ducks notice his appearance? Did he notice his appearance?

For some stupid reason, I thought about that duck all night. I felt bad for the duck. I pitied him. I was mad that the other ducks alienated him and didn’t let him play in their ducky games. I was mad that they probably said mean things behind his back and didn’t like his hair-do.

As the night wound down, I did something I wouldn’t normally do. Ash was tired, Aspen was begging me to, and I was sore and stressed so I got into the tub with my niece. (Relax. She’s only two. She won’t remember.) As I was getting ready to get in she pointed at me and screamed “BOOBS!!!” at the top of her lungs, and I hesitated.

Not because I was embarrassed – although I was a bit – no. I hesitated because I felt like that damn duck again, singled out. Why couldn’t I stop thinking about the duck!?

“Come in Auwbrey!” She called. I spent the majority of twenty minutes wracking my brain for any songs that I remembered from my Child Care class, and I realized I was doing it again. There I sat…fully grown, in a tub, trying to impress someone. Trying to impress a two year old.

You wanna know what impressed her the most?

Cold water.

She just wanted me to pour a cup of cold water on her head. Nothing fancy, nothing complicated. She didn’t expect much from me, but she loved me just the same. And you know what I learned? Suddenly it’s not so bad being this duck. I am unique, I am my own color. I can fit in if I want to or stand out if I don’t.

As for the real duck? Well I named him Harold, and I think him and I are going to be just fine.

But I’ll give you a hint: it wasn’t Ramen.

There were three little jars.

And a note.

It reads:

Aub –

Aftermath of an elk abortion : ) One is an antelope. Read on the lids.

Don’t want them back.

Best Gram

You read that right. In the jars, preserved and floating around in alcohol were three tiny animal babies. I know I blog about Grams a lot – the one that I live with. But my dad’s mom should also get some recognition. The conversations I have with her are hilarious and always worthy of their own separate posts. We butter each other up and tell each other that we’re the best and we’re each others’ favorites. (Which we pretty much are).

But the conversation we had last Saturday takes the cake. It was one of those rare moments when I wasn’t with Kevin – which means I was a lost puppy and wandered over to my moms house for comfort.

And to eat her food.

Which in turn makes Machelle mad and makes both Mom and Dad tell her how I’m a guest in their house and can eat all the Doritos I want.

And I do.

So I’m sitting there stuffing my face and gloating in Machelle’s general direction when “Grandma B” shows up. And I don’t know what got us talking about it, but she brought up the fact that she put in for a Moose tag this season.

“I didn’t know you hunt!!” I blabbed.

“Oh of course I hunt, I even have a baby elk that I preserved in alcohol from one of the first elks I shot.”

“Grandma, that’s gross. That’s blog worthy!! I’m going to come to your house and photograph it and post it on my blog. “

But she trumped me. “I’ll give it to you! I’ll leave it on your porch. So if you ever see a little freaky, dead thing in a jar on your steps just know it’s from me. Treasure it – I’ve spent many years freaking people out with that.”

And I can see why.

They have ribs.

They have creepy caved-in heads. And the top of this jar said it was from ’89 – which means it’s been dead for as long as I’ve been alive.

And this baby elk has hooves and a mouth.

But the oddest of the bunch has to be the antelope.

It was just so developed. from the split hooves to the lungs, ribs, eyes right to the tiny little tail. Now before you think my Grandma B is some heartless baby mammal killer, you should know she had a permit to kill these animals, which means that the babies would have died regardless of if she’d have kept them or not. And you should also know that they used the meat for steaks and it didn’t go to waste.

But they’re still creepy.

After I took some photos I ran the box upstairs and showed Grams. Her reaction was along the lines of, “what the hell!?” and “there’s the garbage outside”.

But I’m not throwing them out. They are a family heirloom that will be scaring kids for generations to come.

Thank you Grandma B.

PS I claim your buffalo head you have hanging on your wall.

Just kidding.

I don’t think I could sleep with that in my house.

Chip thinks he can take on anyone, anything at anytime.

Wanna know what bugs Chip other than putting your hand in his cage? When you take out his wheel. He is exactly like me and has to always be in motion.