It's been a very busy weekend for us. Friday morning I woke up bright and early intending to take James to the park, maybe drive down to Eugene, la-di-da, have a good day. That was until Jay got the call. You see lately we have noticed little dried flakes of blood everywhere the cats have been. Those who have been through this before know where this is headed. I didn't know what they were, I thought maybe one of our cats had bloody sneezes or stepped on something. The cause of the nasty flakes was far more heinous. Jay had taken a sample of our problem to his job at the Willamette Humane Society for them to take a look at, and they called him back Friday just before he left for work. Fleas. Apparently little dried flakes of blood are actually flea poop. I. HATE. FLEAS. In the past two years I have calmly taken care of box elder beetles, strawberry root weevils, and many ant infestations. I have a favorite spider who lives behind our toilet. So mostly I am not bothered by insects. However if you happen to be a flea, bedbug or germ, take heed, I will find you and I will destroy you.
Friday morning plans were changed quite suddenly to total flea annihilation. I began making plans to burn down our house, until I learned that soapy water can be quite effective too. With the help of a giant cup of coffee with extra espresso added, I descended upon the flea population with a vengeance. I tore the house apart and single-handedly managed to wash, spray, and/or vacuum every inch of carpet, furniture and bedding in our duplex all before Jay came home from work. Caffeine keeps me very motivated. So does fear of fleas.
Later that evening Jay began to steam clean the carpets, while I washed, shampooed and combed our itchy kitties. Ewwwwww. We finally got to bed around 1 am in what I like to think is a flea free bedroom. But I am still quite itchy.
Sunday we decided we needed a break after our maniacal cleaning spree and the state fair was in town. I love state fairs and thought it was about time James learned where beef comes from. We had a lot of fun watching some clown shows, eating funnel cakes, and saying moo to all the animals. We also decided to let James try some kiddie rides. I went with him on the carousel, which went okay, but he did not want to sit still and so yelled at me the entire time. Then Jay went to take him on a little car that goes around a small track. Oooh how cute they are going to look, I thought riding around in a little car. Then I noticed Jay coming out of the gate, one child short. This was my reaction, and yes I really was speaking in all capital letters. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING? WHY AREN'T YOU WITH JAMES??? HE MUST BE SO FREAKED OUT! ARE YOU COMPLETELY INSANE??!! HE CAN'T RIDE BY HIMSELF! OH THE HUMANITY!!"
Jay merely rolled his eyes, told me to cut the apron strings and that James was just fine. He then pried my fingernails loose from the gate and the ride commenced. To his credit, James was fine. While he wasn't exactly laughing and smiling, he wasn't crying, and seemed to be sort of enjoying himself. I think kids should be at least 18 before going on a carnival ride by themselves. At least that was my intention with James.