Skunk Lessons #101

Word to the wise: Be sure to teach your children what to do if your dog gets sprayed by a skunk.

We assumed that dealing with the fallout of coming out on the wrong end of a skunk was common knowledge, but found out the hard way we were wrong.

Last Tuesday night these two knuckleheads went running with two friends at midnight.

Keith and I approve of exercise and fresh air but don't endorse the running at midnight thing.

Kiah and her friend K ran faster than Christina and her friend A so Kiah took this fellow with her.

Thinking it was late (duh!) and since no one was out, they let Tucker off his leash, where he must have had a close encounter of the smelly kind.

Now this is the part that suspends belief.

Kiah and K got tired of waiting for Christina so decided to go back to K's house. Not recognizing the skunk smell for what it was (?????) Kiah put Tucker in her car and then took him inside K's house.

Kiah and K finally became concerned about the smell but thought it was a gas leak. They called the non-emergency 911 number but were told it wasn't a gas leak. Kiah brought Tucker home, still not realizing he'd been sprayed by a skunk.

In her defense, she was leaving the next day for a week in Colorado so her mind and nose were elsewhere. While Kiah packed for her trip, she let Tucker run around downstairs. Sigh!

Christina got home an hour later, took one whiff, and instantly identified the offending odor. She asked Kiah why she hadn't washed him and Kiah said she was going to leave him until morning and let Mom and Dad take care of it.

Excuse me!?!?!?!?

Christina coaxed Tucker into the tub but he hates baths and didn't cooperate. She first tried shampoo. When that didn't work, she found a recipe online to get rid of skunk odor so put the now freaked out dog back in the tub. Took both girls quite a while to push/pull/yell/cajole Tucker back into the torture chamber.

When the second treatment did the trick, Kiah decided to inform us about the fiasco. Keith and I were peacefully sleeping upstairs, blissfully unaware of the situation, when Kiah opened our door and let a waft of skunk smell into our bedroom. We were in a deep sleep so had a hard time waking up. We looked at each other wondering if we'd heard correctly. The clock read 2:00 am. Now folks, such things ought not to be.

Keith and I got up but Tucker had already had his bath. We grumped at the girls and then went back to bed but couldn't get to sleep so tossed and turned for three hours, all the while smelling the disturbing odor.

Christina washed the towels they'd used in Tucker's bath and her skunkified clothing. The first wash didn't get rid of the smell and they sat wet in the washer over night with the lid closed. Pew!!! Took a few washings with vinegar to get the job done. Then had to run an empty load with bleach to de-scent the washer.

All the coats that hung in the laundry room stank.

Someone put Tucker's stinky collar in the garage so, yep, you guessed it, the garage smelled too.

Tucker was a skittish mess the next day, slinking around, being clingy, and jumping at his own shadow.

When Kiah's friend K went to work the next day, someone called the janitor into her room because they couldn't figure out where the odd smell was coming from.

We've nicknamed Kiah's car, "The Skunkmobile" as it still reeks. Christina sprayed vinegar in there to absorb the odor so now the car smells like skunk, vinegar, and spoiled mayonaise.

In one fell swoop, the skunk via Tucker via Kiah stunk up one car, two houses, a garage, two loads of laundry, and a classroom. Talk about the ripple effect.

If ever there was a time to use the Scandinavian all purpose word, "Uffda," now was the time.

The smell is gradually subsiding and hopefully lessons were learned all the way around. (right girls?)
 

I'm linking up with Rachel at Once Upon a Miracle for True Story Tuesday. She is one funny lady so be sure to check her out.

P.S. - For future reference, here's the DeSkunkifier Recipe
1 qt. of 3% Hydrogen Peroxide
¼ to ½ cups Baking Soda
1 – 2 tsp. dish soap. (Don't store this in a closed container since the mixture creates pressure and could burst.) If the bleaching effect hydrogen peroxide could have on your dog’s coat is a concern, try substituting vinegar for the peroxide.

Indian Giver

 

Not exactly sure how to use this post. I was inspired by the Monday Mug's theme this week of "Dinner."  But since it's no longer Monday here in Northern Wisconsin I'm hoping with time zones and the international date line that it's still Monday somewhere in the world.

Besides Monday Mugs is more for pictures. This is a full blown story, so I'm also linking up with Rachel at Once Upon a Miracle for True Story Tuesday. 

If you just want a Monday Mugs pictures, here it is.

Now I know this isn't the most interesting picture you've ever seen, but I couldn't fit everyone in. We had a lot of people over for dinner Sunday afternoon and people are lined like this all around the room while we're making introductions before filing into the kitchen for food. 

If you want the extended version, please read on. 

Christina invited friends over for Sunday lunch/dinner or whatever the noon meal is called where you live. Said to expect seven guests which added to our eight totals 15 people. No problem. Easy Breezy. Piece of cake. 

Kiah and Anna

We fix three pans of lasagna, a humungous bowl of salad, homemade bread, and a mint chocolate ice cream cake. Sunday morning Christina says the number has jumped to 19. I take a deep breath and try not to panic. 19 is only four more than 15. I can do this.

In church I make mental to-do lists while listening to the sermon (sorry Keith). I mentally count available chairs, step-stool, Keith's office chair, and the piano bench hoping we have enough seating. I plot the quickest escape route from church knowing I need to dash home and make sure everyone picked up their underwear. 

I spit shine the bathroom, make two salad dressings, and conscript every person in the house to work on last minute things. 

I look over at our adopted college student "Eric" who I'd sweet talked into slicing the bread and say, "I'm sorry for being uptight. I'll calm down as soon as everything's ready. I promise." 

Eric comments that this is a side of me he hasn't seen before but says he doesn't mind helping as it beats just sitting there doing nothing.

Kiah and "Eric"

Guests start arriving including people who weren't included in the original count. Normally I'm a "more the merrier kind of person" but we're soon not going to have enough chairs and I'm starting to worry about having enough food.

Someone counted 22 people plus a set of infant twins. 

Christina

I know Jesus once multiplied loaves and fishes so I'm hoping He'll make sure the food doesn't run out. 

I spread a sheet on the floor in the family room and ask the five youngest girls to eat in back. The twins need to be nursed so their Mama goes in the back room to feed them. I go back to check on her, mortified to find her sitting on the floor. 

"Don't you want to sit in the chair?"

"Oh no," she says. "This works better. I do it all the time." I cringe knowing the floor hasn't been vacuumed in a few weeks and she'll be picking dog hair off her backside for days. 

Don't get me wrong. I love company and we enjoy getting to know our children's friends. I just get uptight with the logistics of feeding that many people.

I'm relieved to see there's enough food. There usually is but I seem programmed to worry. 

Tall guest. Look, he's taller than the hutch!

Finally there's one piece of lasagna left. Eric eyes the pan. He's already been back for seconds but I offer him the last piece anyway. He mulls it over, not sure he has room for more.

He decides to take the piece saying he'd hate for me to have to go through the trouble of finding a container to put it in. Just as he dishes up more salad and the last piece of lasagna, another guest walks in. 

The guest apologizes for being late and I say that's okay and ask if he'd like something to eat, sort of at this point hoping he'd already eaten as I'd just given away the last piece of lasagna.

He said, "Sure." so I did what any hostess would do...

"Psst, "Eric. I'm sorry but I need that piece of lasagna back."

Eric discreetly slides the lasagna on to a clean plate and our guest was none the wiser. I offer to make it up to Eric but he says he was full and didn't need the extra piece. Besides he'd already single-handedly eaten three quarters of a loaf of homemade bread.

I smile when I think of how good God is. I asked Him to make sure there was enough food and He did. Right down to the last piece.

The moral of this story is when visiting our house to eat your food fast because the hostess might change her mind and ask for it back. 

Check out more Monday Mugs at Oswald Cuties and more True Story Tuesdays at Once Upon a Miracle.

A Slight Misunderstanding

I have ongoing hair color issues with my two oldest daughters. When I was their age nobody dyed their hair except middle-aged women who wanted to cover gray and people who thought blondes had more fun, but only their hair dresser knew for sure.

Christina and Kiah have been all over the color wheel. I know dying hair is a personal preference and I'm willing to admit I could be wrong but I believe God knew what He was doing when He chose their hair and eye color.

I know hair dye isn’t permanent like tattoos so I should bite my tongue and hope they’ll outgrow this stage.

I know it’s not a mortal sin to use hair dye but I can’t get used to it. Normal hair has such pretty natural highlights. I love when the sun shines on it and you see such a pretty spectrum. 

My girls say I'm a hypocrite because I dye my hair, but that’s different. I cover gray while they cover perfectly good color. I’m not quite ready to have gray hair yet so I cheat until I get used to being old.

I spotted an empty box of black hair dye in the garbage this week and knew one of them had been at it again.

Perhaps Christina who's currently blonde?

Or maybe black-haired Kiah who must be color-blind not to see that she looked prettier with the pretty light brown hair God gave her?

Or, gasp, was it the person behind Door number #3?

Yes folks, it was Erica. Sigh! Call me old-fashioned, call me controlling, out of touch, and opinionated, but I don’t like my sweet brown-haired gray-eyed daughter walking around with jet black hair. 

See what I mean. Look at her picture in the side bar and tell me she doesn't look better with her regular hair color.  (P.S. - I'll still be your friend if you don't agree with me)

Erica asked a friend from church how he liked her hair. When he said it looked nice, I barked, “Wrong answer.”

On Saturday, I stood beside Erica’s former ski instructor and watched her get on the chair lift with a snowboard.

He shook his head and said, “I see your daughter’s gone over to the dark side.”

Laboring under the delusion that others share my distaste for hair dye and automatically assuming he meant Erica’s black hair, I heaved a sigh and said, “Not with my blessing.”

He gave me an odd look and said, “Oh it’s not that bad. “At least she’s outside and getting fresh air and exercise.”

Huh? What’s dyed hair got to do with fresh air and exercise?

He changed the subject and I walked away to check on my other girls on the tubing hill. I mulled over his odd comment and tried to make sense of his response.

Then, as my girls like to quote from the movie Despicable Me, “Light Bulb.”

Erica had a hat on so her ski instructor couldn’t see her hair color. She usually wears a ski helmet anyway so he might not even know what her normal hair color is.

I finally realized he had merely commented that Erica had switched from skiing to snowboarding.

Boy did I feel stupid. That'll teach me to complain about my children to other people. Oh wait, that’s what I’m doing now. Okay, after this blog post I’ll quit complaining about my children to other people. Maybe.

I now know the safest response when you're not sure what someone is talking about is to say, "Yep."

I'm linking up with Rachel at Once Upon a Miracle for True Story Tuesday.  Rachel and her husband are great storytellers and will make it worth your while to hop over there to check them out.

Why Pin Striping is Best Left to Professionals

I am linking up with Rachel at Once Upon a Miracle for True Story Tuesday. I considered sharing this story last summer, but the trauma was still too fresh. Seven months later, no one's blood pressure elevates any more so the story is safe to tell.

I just wanted to give my family a good childhood memory. Swimming in cool Lake Superior on a hot afternoon sounded mighty good, although getting a big family ready is a daunting chore.

     Lunches packed. Check
     Friends called and picked up. Check
     Sunscreen packed. Check
     Swim suits. Check    
     Beach towels and Beach chairs. Check
     Volleyball and Floaties. Check
     Shovels for digging in the sand or burying people. Check 

When the small local beach parking lot was full last summer, I drove down a narrow overgrown bumpy side road that connected a mile farther down with another parking lot.  My big 8-seater, but could fit 11 if we had the back row in, maroon 1993 Ford passenger van barely fit on the trail. (The picture shows what the van looks but this is not the "road" I was on)

Normally our "takes a licking and keeps ticking" van holds lots of people and stuff, is great to take biking, hiking, camping, or on road trips, and works good for youth group outings.

circa 2005

Keith says we won't replace it until it dies, which if I keep this kind of stuff up won't be long. 

When the trail narrowed again, I debated whether to continue, but there was nowhere to turn around and I didn't want to drive in reverse the way I'd come. When it became apparent that taking this road was a really bad idea, my nephew recommended that I back up before I got stuck. I chose to be in denial  to go forward, optimistically deciding that the road couldn't get much worse.

Wrong. Oh so wrong. Oh so embarrassingly wrong. Oh so I'll never hear the end of it wrong.

Soon Isaac had to open the window and push branches away. Then the girls had to get out and hold branches back so I could pass. Despite our best efforts I could hear lots of creaking, scraping, and scratching and could only imagine what "kind" words my husband would have for me. The road narrowed still more and the overgrown branches did a number on my van.

That was the longest mile I've ever driven. I dreaded looking at the damage.

I turned to Isaac, "Why did you let me do that?"

He looked over incredulously, "But I told you to back up."

"But you weren't firm enough. You should have held your breath until I backed up or did something drastic so I knew you meant business." I generously offered to take three-fourths of the blame if he would take the other fourth.

Miraculously, the driver's side didn't look bad. Oh, but the poor passenger's side looked like a drunk, blindfolded grizzly with a shaky hand and a bad case of the hiccups had pinstriped the whole side. The side mirror was scraped and crooked, the running board was loose, and the wheel well flappy thing came off.

I told the kids that I don't advocate lying so if their Dad specifically asked if I went four-wheeling and damaged the van then they could tell him, but otherwise they didn't need to volunteer the information.

When we FINALLY got to the beach, Keith, who was to meet us there, asked, "Why did you come from that direction?"

A person who thinks well on their feet would have said, "because the parking lot was full." But, no, I stammered and stuttered and blurted out that I had a "little" problem. Thankfully we were with a group of people so he had to behave himself.

On the way home, Isaac suggested a car wash might help the van look better before Keith saw it. He also suggested the Deluxe wash with wax. Since I'd never spent $10 on a car wash in my life, I went for the cheaper option.

Back at home, Isaac looked at the van, shook his head and said matter-of-factly, "I told you we should have got the Deluxe wash."

In a cruel twist of fate, a friend later said I had been on a little-used ATV trail. Which certainly explained a few things. It wasn't big enough for a car, let alone a big red van. I probably looked like a huge red tomato bouncing through the forest. 

On the bright side, every little "improvement" is good theft prevention. Only desperate people would steal a one-sided crookedly striped, aging, gas guzzling, 200,000 mile van.

Thankfully the van is usually dirty so the stripes don't show. 

Much.  

(P.S. A smart person would have taken a picture of the damage but I didn't and now, as I just mentioned, the van is dirty, so I still can't take a picture. Plus it's too cold to stand outside taking pictures of dirty vans anyway.)