The Battle of the Slugs, Continued.

Go back a post or two if you need to, just to catch up and get the background on the slug situation.

But just a quick recap: The beer bowls didn't work. Well, it worked but it didn't really make a dent in our slime population. It wasn't enough. Plus, we were basically just providing free booze to the neighborhood creepy crawlies.

I'd really rather not do poison if I can help it. It's definitely not the first tool I grab in an infestation situation. (See a previous post about rats.) But I've learned to never say never, and sometimes, you've just got to do what you've got to do to take back your garden.

And it was time to take back the garden. I sprinkled it around and it actually smelled good. Let's see what happens, I thought.

Um. The next 24 hours revealed carnage I never thought possible.

So, whatever it is they ingest, causes extra slime trails. Our patio, was a spiderweb of crystalized slime trails.

And.

For some reason (I think it's a conspiracy) they prefer to live out their last moments in the wide-open. As in they come out to the patio (or the middle of the boys football space/net - lots of bald grass spots) to die. And this, mind you, is an extra-oozy, disgusting, writhing death. (I felt bad, really, I did.)

The result was, that we had to implement a "slug-removal squad." Yep. That would be me with a shovel. I have to go around and flick the slimeballs into the bushes before anyone will go outside to do anything. I've been doing this all summer.

We thought the situation was under control. Until the other night, when we had to do another round of chemical warfare. So there I was, the next morning, flicking sluggy critters into the bushes.

Sigh. This is what my life has become.

But then. An amazing thing happened. My three children, who up to this point had been whining and complaining about something or other (for sanity purposes, I stopped listening to the whiney voices sometime last month) banded together.

Somehow, they came up with this system of water and buckets and they worked together....just a minute, let me say that one more time, they worked TOGETHER to clean-up the crystalized slime trails that covered the back yard.

So I did what only a good mother would do. I took that as my cue and slipped into the house, unnoticed. Leaving them collaborating and using their imaginations to fix the backyard.

And it was beautiful.

Good Intentions.

Like a lot of other moms, I'm sure, I began the summer with the best of intentions. I had lists.  One was called "What to do When You are Bored." Another was called "List of Jobs You Can do to Earn Money"and the last one was called "Summer Rules." One of the rules was that if you were bored, you had to read the list of What to do When You are Bored, and/or pick a job from the List of Jobs."

I was going to achieve that perfect balance between activity and laziness. Have enough stuff scheduled to keep us busy, with a few empty days to relax and enjoy not having a regimented schedule. It's ok to be bored. Boredom encourages imaginations, so I said. Boredom might get some of those jobs on that list done, so I hoped.

Boredom also encourages fighting and teasing and plotting and general, all around mischief and trouble-making. Especially when you are four, and you just really want to play with your big brothers. Except that you don't know how and it's just easier to hit them than to try to work it out with words.

It doesn't help that I'm yelling too much. No one is listening to me anymore. Not even me.

They are bored. I'm frustrated. None of the jobs got done. No one is following rules, it's an all out free-for-all. But I meant to do better. Does that count for anything?

It must be time for school to start.

A Summer of Slugs.

We remind ourselves all of the time that slugs are better than mosquitoes. Yes, they are gross and ugly and leave a nasty trail of slime and ooze behind them wherever they go, but all in all, they are pretty harmless.  You just don't ever want to go barefoot in the back garden at night or morning. Or maybe ever. Just in case.

Slugs are a novelty for our American visitors, especially the ones that hail from the Midwest. The climate in Minnesota is a good one for mosquitoes, not slugs. So when our cousins from Apple Valley came to visit the first week of summer break, we of course had a BBQ. This BBQ stretched into the late evening hours. And then the slugs came out.

It was funny, at first. To see a big, fat, slimy slug trailing ooze across the patio. The teenagers laughed, and my kids remembered that not everyone has slugs in their garden. However, when our slimy intruder invited his siblings, grandparents, descendants and best buddies, it stopped being funny.

I went out to the patio one night after everyone went to bed to cover the grill and straighten the patio. I'm glad I remembered to turn on the light, because there were at least fifty oozy invaders having an after-party. Had I stepped in the wrong place at the wrong time, I would have brought a whole new meaning to the word "busted."

We'd never had them like this before. What once had been an occasional slug in the garden, had turned into a full-fledged slug infestation. We didn't have much time to worry about it, the same day our guests left us to go on to find more excitement in Paris, we headed off on our own holiday. As a last minute attempt to make a dent in the slug slime, I poured a can of beer into two bowls and placed them strategically in the garden. By strategic I mean, easy to climb into, hopefully not so easy to climb out when that buzz takes effect.

We came home a week later, and to my surprise, it worked. I probably had twenty drowned enemies in both bowls. Yuck. If I thought the living slimeballs were bad, the drowned, fermented, decomposing ones were worse. But one thing was sure, the population had dwindled. I patted myself on the back for a job well-done.

I filled the bowls again (new ones, of course) and went for Round 2. And while I hated to waste the beer, I felt ok with it morally. Yes, I was intentionally killing a living creature, but from the infestee's perspective, it had to be a heck of a good way to go. It's not like I was dumping poison everywhere. Beer bowls in place, we sat outside one evening after dinner. And actually had fun watching the grotesque creatures hone in on the beer like it was a beacon, calling them home. They fell in, and lolled around and got clearly, stinking drunk. By the time we called it a night, there were at least twenty drunk slugs.

And the next morning, I went out to deal with the carnage...and they were gone. As in not in the bowl. I assumed they were probably tucked in their little sluggy beds somewhere with a very big hangover. If our intent was to open the most popular slug saloon in town, then we succeeded.

It was time to consider alternatives. My children were threatening a slug strike. As in, refusing to play  in the backyard if we didn't get the slug situation under control.  My husband was threatening a patio strike, as in, it was too gross to eat dinner on the patio knowing that there were slugs lurking everywhere...waiting. It was the beginning of the summer...I already faced long, dark days ahead of me...and to think...without a backyard...without a patio.

We were approaching desperate times, it was time to take back our garden.

 

My real life story problem....

So just because I wasn't blogging for awhile, doesn't mean that I wasn't saving little story nuggets here and there, so I'll pass along a few of these to "catch up."

This was from early last spring, when our weather was cold and rainy and we never knew if we'd have football practice or not on a Wednesday afternoon. I did not change the names to protect the innocent in this post, mostly because by the time you are done reading it, you won't even remember your own name.

Every Wednesday, the children at the local schools in Belgium have a half-day of school.  The purpose of this is to dedicate on afternoon each week for sports and extracurricular activities.  Every now and then, it is also a good day to have a birthday party.  The result, is that every afternoon, I become a chauffer for the Fowler family. 

This particular Wednesday reminded me of the word problems that were typical on the LSAT (the law school entrance exam) so if you read through and can answer the questions at the end correctly, then you may want to consider applying to law school. 

On this particular Wednesday, Isabelle went home with Victoria, so that Victoria’s mother Isabelle could drive Victoria, Isabelle and Pauline to Alice’s birthday party.  I planned to bring Nico, A.J. and Luke home for lunch at our house, but then Luke went home with Sacha, who lives across the street.  There was soccer practice, so I fetched Luke from Sacha’s house, took Luke, A.J. and Nico to Soccer practice, where I only dropped off Luke.  Then, I took A.J. and Nico with me to pick-up Isabelle, Pauline and Victoria from Alice’s birthday party in Rixensart.  On my way back, I dropped Nico and A.J. off at their practice.  Then I proceeded to Isabelle’s house (Victoria’s mom) to drop off Victoria and Pauline, then, I went back to the field to pick-up Luke.  I then brought Belle and Luke home to start dinner and make Luke take a shower (he was a goalie at practice and it was muddy).  Then, Luke, Belle and I went back to pick-up A.J.  Question 1:  How many kids did I have to make lunch for?  Question 2:  What was the most number of kids I had in my car at one time?

Plan B: (In case there wasn’t practice due to rain, cold and mud):  A.J., Luke and Nico would come with me to pick-up three girls (including my own) from the birthday party.  I would then drop Nico, Pauline and Victoria at Isabelle’s house, because Nico’s mom (Nathalie) was already coming there to pick-up Sixteen, Nico’s sister who was there to play with Eiselene (Victoria’s older sister.)

Bonus question:  Who ended the day by sitting in the kitchen with a big glass of wine and her kindle?

I don’t know how to make this next part type upside down, or I would try.

Answers:  Question 1:  I only had to make lunch for two and it was very quiet.  Question 2:  The most kids in the car at one time was five – the three girls after the party and Nico and A.J. before I dropped them off at practice.  By the way, the three girls were all sugared up and giggled and blew their party horns all the way home.  The boys just shook their heads in amazement and I think it was a glimpse of things to come.  Bonus Question:  Me. I was the one in the kitchen at the end of the day with a big glass of wine and my kindle.

Wait. I forgot about the blog....

Umm....so....yeah. The blog. I didn't really forget about it. It was always there, waiting, whispering my name every now and then saying "come back, come back."

And now I'm back.

Here's what happened. I was really, really busy. And not just with anything -- with my writing. Or maybe a better way to say it is that I was distracted. Very distracted.

There are a few things in my life that are very important to me. I've also found that I am the happiest when I've achieved a certain level of balance in each of these areas. Sometimes I feel like a juggler, trying to keep everything going smooth, flowing evenly, all at once so that it doesn't all crash down around me. Each ball is labeled with one of the following: family, writing and exercise. If I don't work out regularly, I explode. If I don't write, I implode. And if I don't keep an eye on what's going on with my family, well then they sort of do both - a wicked combination of imploding and exploding and it's just better all around if that doesn't happen.

Over the years, I've learned that the time and attention needs can vary for each of these. For example, there aren't any babies and/or toddlers running around (hooray! I love my kids but I am so glad to be done with babies and toddlers). In any event, the family needs are a lot less than they used to be. And, I even get to sleep. But I've also found that if I give too much to one category, that can be as bad as not enough. For example, I've learned that I can't train for long distance races. No marathons or half-marathons for me. Ever. Even a 10K is pushing it. Because I get too obsessed with something like that. I am happiest with a regular workout routine - just enough exercise to keep me sane and not feel guilty when I eat frites. Bingo. Balance.

And now my writing. I've been working on a certain manuscript for quite some time now. A long time. There were times when I put it down. For a long time. And then a few years ago I picked it up and decided it deserved to get finished. So I did. Then I rewrote it and finished it again. And then I started researching and writing the sequel. About 18 months ago I took the first book to a mystery writer's conference to pitch it. I walked in with my head held high, feeling as though I were on top of the world. (Cue the sound of angels singing from the heavens and picture me, bathed in a heavenly glow). I wrote a manuscript! I finished my book! I was halfway done with the sequel! And it was all good!

Or so I thought. (Cue the sound of brakes screeching to a halt.) They told me to rewrite it. So I did. And I finished it again. And this time it REALLY sucked. Sigh. But if I hadn't rewritten it, I never would have found the most awesome critique group I've ever had (which I almost didn't join because they were the ones that told me it REALLY sucked) so all in all, it was a wrong turn very worth taking. I reverted to the original version, and made it better. And then I finished the sequel, incorporating all of the new writing stuff I was learning from the aforementioned very awesome critique group.

And now here I am. Finished. Again. With not one, but two manuscripts! (Please don't cue the signing angels).  Because now I know that someone else will probably tell me they suck and I'll have to go back again and rewrite them. Which I know I will do again and again - as many times as it takes - because that's how much this all means to me and that's how much I believe in my idea. And for heaven's sake, it only takes one person to like it. I just have to find that one person.

But in the midst of doing all the rewriting and finishing, I had to be incredibly careful with every second of my time. Because if I wasn't, the juggling balls would have all crashed around me and my mental health couldn't afford for that to happen. So my "writing" time was completely and totally occupied by my ghosts and gangsters. I just didn't have room in my brain for the blog. (As I'm sure you probably noticed that the quality of the posts was dwindling, even way back then.)

I can't promise that it won't happen again. I have a few new ideas that I'll play around with for new plots and characters, but none of it needs to occupy as much space in my brain as the others did. So for now I'm back to my blog and I hope you're happy to have me.

I'm gonna need it....because a sea change is a'coming.  

Twitter Tweets.

I am in the process of querying agents for my first manuscript.  For this, I use google excessively.  I google authors that I like to find their agents.  I search the agents' names.  I google literary agencies in various locations and I search, and I search and I search.  I read their bios, I read their blogs, I read anything that might help me turn this dream of publication into a reality.

But it got me thinking.  What if one of these agents, reading my query letter, turned around and googled me?  I wasn't too worried, after all, I'm a little intimidated by the longevity of what gets out there on the web.  I try to post thoughtfully, and always try to keep in mind that any words that I put out there on my blog or facebook page could potentially be out there in the cyberworld existence for a long, long time. 

But a quick google search for "Natalie Fowler" sounded like a good idea.  Just to be sure.

Uh oh.

There are a lot of Natalie Fowler's out there in the world. 

One of the first Natalie Fowler links lands on a Twitter Account.  NatalieYoBabyFowler something or other.  

Yikes.

The tagline under the google search reveals that the Yo Baby Natalie Fowler is an "aspiring young quirky writer." 

Huh.  Maybe it's not such a bad thing to aspire to be young.  I barely know what Twitter is.

A click on the link to her Twitter Page, reveals a tagline that states she might very well write you into one of her novels as a character.  

Oh Dear God.

She tweets about taking out the garbage, joking around with her sister, and getting flowers from a secret admirer that included a quote from Harry Potter, and (my personal favorite) getting mistaken as an employee of Hollister (and apparently that's a good thing).  

Now I just feel old.  

But I also feel really, really thankful that there was no such thing as Twitter when I was in high school. 

Maybe I should put a disclaimer at the bottom of my query letters from now on:  I am in no way connected with the "Yo Baby" Natalie Fowler on Twitter.  But then again, there probably aren't that many other Natalie Fowler's from Belgium.  I hope.  

 

Tragedy Strikes.

The tragic school shooting in Connecticut just before Christmas can hardly pass without comment.  

It's funny, just before it happened, my mother-in-law was visiting and we were talking about the song Pumped Up Kicks.  She made a comment to the boys about it being about a school shooting.  When they asked what that was I quickly directed the conversation elsewhere and later explained to her that we never had a reason to have to explain "school shooting" to the kids and I was going to protect that innocence in them for as long as I could.  Living in a bubble can sometimes have its benefits.    

How I wish that bubble hadn't burst.  Just a few short weeks later, with the tragic news from Connecticut everywhere, we had to tell them what happened before they heard about it on their own.  Oh, how my heart breaks just thinking about that horrible day.  

In the aftermath, I was struck by how big of a role Facebook played a part in that tragedy.  Now, looking back, to be able to visually track the grief and shock of a national tragedy like that was fascinating.  In the immediate hours, there was a lot of anger and emotional posts.  And lots of finger pointing.  

But eventually, the discourse changed to grief and support and compassion for those families that lost little lives that day.  As it should.  

It made me wonder, how would 9/11 have been different if we had Facebook back then? I am thankful for Facebook on so many levels, but this gave me another one.  A single, public forum for free speech and discourse.  We all have the ability to state an opinion and listen to others express theirs, and share thoughts back and forth, thus possibly impacting general public opinion.  It's an amazing tool.  

And now, I hope what comes next, beyond the world of Facebook, is problem solving.  Because really, how could something that senseless and tragic be because of just one cause?  But rather, a whole wicked combination of combustible factors that exploded into what became a national tragedy.  Every aspect of it should be looked at and reexamined.  There is a lot of screaming about gun control...but it's so much more than that.  It's about diagnosing and assistance for the mentally ill...it's about a desensitization to gun violence through realistic video games...it's about keeping guns out of the hands of the mentally ill, especially those that have been desensitized to gun violence....it's about safety in schools...it's about the media and how the race to be the first to cover a tragedy in our world of instant access to online information may not always lead to the most appropriate coverage.  All of it, all of it needs to be assessed so the problem solving can begin, and I have faith that it will.  There are twenty smiling little angels to make sure of it this time.