* Just as suddenly as they appeared, the centipedes were gone. I still don't know for a fact how they managed to invade our home, but thank goodness I stuck with sifting through the scary stuff on The Googles long enough to find out that they were the kind of centipedes that can't handle cold, dry air. It just so happens that we have a big box attached to our house that pumps cold, dry air all through every room. It was ... uh ... a wee bit colder than usual (read: Alexis woke up with icicles hanging from her nose) in our house last night. That killed every last one of the creepy crawlies within a few hours. It's possible that I stood over a few of the effers and screamed "DIE A COLD, MISERABLE DEATH! DIE! DIE!!!!!!" The best part is that they did, almost as if I was their god and they had no chose but to do as I said.
Oh, yes. You can now refer to me as Goddess of the Suicidal Centipedes.
(By the way, they weren't the super creepy many, many legged ones you find near drains and pipes and such. If they had been, I would have burned the house down. They were the lesser creepy little black ones that you find under rocks and logs.)
* I have a few seats available in this week's Child Photography class and in the Getting Started with Your DSLR workshops. Email me at burghbaby (at) gmail.com if you want in on the fun.
I feed people fun stuff at the workshops. I'm just sayin'.
* A friend and I took Alexis to Reilly's Summer Seat Farm to pick blueberries.
BEST. IDEA. EVER.
I will probably write an entire post about how my ears owe the blueberry bushes about a kajillion dollars. There was so much magic around the whole thing that I've still got a bit of a contact buzz. A happy, happy contact buzz.
Picking raspberries was a whole other issue, though. My kid REALLY sucks at picking raspberries.
* Speaking of "sucks," that happens to be one of the words that is considered a "Grown-Up Word" around our house. Grown-ups are allowed to use it (thank goodness because it would suck to have to try to find a replacement for suck), but Alexis isn't. She refers to it as the s-word, which amuses me greatly. It's not as entertaining as the f-word, though.
Not that f-word, silly.
Fat. In her world, the f-word is "fat."
I'm oddly proud that she doesn't think it's spelled P-H-A-T. It's the little victories, you know.
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