Home Snake Invasion

It started in the middle of a blizzard.

Temperatures were plummeting to 40 below, six foot snowdrifts made the roads impassable, and our drafty 1908 farm house was frigid. Putting wood in the stove was an hourly chore that kept me running to the basement. On one of my many trips to the basement I discovered a horrible secret our home had been hiding from us.

I had just finished filling the stove with wood. Upon glancing down I saw him. Stretched out across the floor, head raised high, and beady little eyes staring me down. I paused in a moment of disbelief.

Surely, this was a joke that J.R. was playing on me, right?

And then it happened, with a flutter of his tongue in and out of his mouth, he moved. MOVED!
I was face to face with a living, breathing, three foot long snake.



I screamed like a prepubescent teen girl who just ran into Justin Beiber and bolted from the basement. J.R. was no where to be found so like the responsible home owner I am, I geared up for snake battle.

One needs a number of accessories for battle with a snake:

1. Big rubber boots covered in flowers. Check.


2. Thick leather gloves to save you from any bites. Check.


3. A giant garbage can to put the snake into. Check.


4. Guts...... Check?

I headed to the basement, prepared for battle, when wait! Did you hear that? My knight in shining armor had returned from saving the neighbors, and now he could save me!

I met JR in the driveway and started screaming that there was a snake in the basement. Clearly, he thought, being snowed in for five hours was morphing his wife into the female Jack Torrance. He would have to restrain me before anything bad happened. There was simply no way a living snake was in the basement.

Boy was he surprised.

J.R. saved me from playing snake wrangler. He also wore big rubber boots.

After we found our snake a new home with the UW Stout Biology department, we just kept thinking; this doesn't happen in Wisconsin, in the middle of a blizzard. Snakes don't just slither into your house in February. No, snakes slither into your house in the fall before it freezes. Could it be that this snake had been living in our home for months unknown to us?

Looking back, there hadn't been any mice in the house since the fall. In fact, not one mouse had been caught in the traps and there had been no signs of mice in the kitchen. For a 1908 farm house, with a partial rock foundation, not having mice is unheard of.

We chalked the whole experience up to random chance, but for a long time I couldn't walk in the basement without shoes and the site of electrical cords gave me the heebie-jeebies. Winter passed with no more snakes, and gradually I relaxed in the house.

Just when I got comfortable walking around with no shoes, it happened again.

This time we had just returned from a week long family vacation. We entered a home that had the unmistakable smell of something dead. Probably a mouse that fell into a bin in the basement, right? After searching high and low we realized the smell was coming from under the fridge. "Bravely," we rolled the fridge from the wall and discovered the source of the horrible smell.

Another snake. Same size, same type as the one from the winter. It is our belief that the snake was slithering up and down the hole that the plumbing for the ice maker goes through. In his effort to get back down the hole, the snake crawled into the uncovered electrical outlet and electrocuted itself. I was very thankful it didn't burn the house down in the processing of committing snake suicide. I made J.R. clean it up.

Once again, I was back to wearing my shoes in the house and obsessed with looking at the floor around the fridge. Two days hadn't passed when my vigilance paid off. While making breakfast I glanced down and saw it. The unmistakable back inches of a snake, slithering under the fridge.

Same size. Same type.

I've never seen J.R. get out of bed so quickly.

By the time we got our snake armor on and pulled the fridge out, the snake was gone. That was in the spring. We still haven't found that snake.

If you have lost count, that's THREE large snakes. In.our.HOME.

We started doing our research. We believe they are Western Fox Snakes. A female lays between 10-20 eggs in the early spring. Three snakes is bad. Twenty more? No thank you. Begin Operation Bye-Bye Snakes.

We doubled our rodent poison stations.

We searched our foundation for possible entry spots.

And then we went to town with a teeny tiny inspection camera. We drilled holes in our walls and plunged the camera into the guts of our home looking for any signs of snakes. We couldn't find anything. We saw no nest or signs of snake skin, so we were clear, right?

Summer passed with no signs of them. And then yesterday, it happened.

I glanced into the mudroom and realized that the shoe lace I thought I was looking at was moving. I grabbed the mason jar sitting on my counter, found a leather glove, and swiftly scooped the moving shoelace into the jar. (I'm giving myself a gold star for bravery and I would really like to know when J.R. is going to stumble upon a snake. Why is it always ME finding them?



My worst nightmare has come true. Somewhere, in the guts of my house, there are snake eggs and they are hatching. If one snake laid 10-20 eggs, we are looking at 10-20 baby snakes hatching in the house. Remember, we've seen THREE adult snakes. If three snakes laid 10-20 eggs a piece we are looking at 30-60 baby snakes. Doing the math just causes a panic attack.

This is my home. I have a child that spends the entire day playing on the floor. The floor that has snakes slithering over it. I'm suppose to provide a safe space for my child and I'm feeling very helpless in this situation. Even the exterminators have very few answers other than to say "an established den of snakes is the most challenging pest control situation to deal with. They must physically be removed from the den." Great. Sign me up for snake removal duty.

I've been pouring over google for answers in an OCD type manner. I need answers. I need methods to solve the situation. I need new snake wrangling boots.

I need a mongoose!

While I can't find many positives in having snakes in our home, it is great motivation for finishing my degree. When I have a big kid job and a big kid salary, we can afford a NEW home. One with a solid foundation not made from rock, and is more suitable for having small children running around. So Winterm, here I come. I'll be loading up the credits and getting myself closer to a salary that can really provide for my family.

In the mean time, you can just call me the Snake Wrangler.

How to Communicate... with your Spouse

It's 10 AM. You've been up with the baby since 7 AM. You've fed both you and your child breakfast, cleaned the kitchen, changed two dirty diapers (what the heck are you feeding that child!), completed your homework, and solved world hunger.

Your spouse is still sleeping.

On the couch.

In the middle of the living room.

They are totally interfering with your efforts to provide clean drinking water to nations an ocean away.

You communicate your frustration in the following manner:

A - You kiss your spouse on the forehead, gently rousing them from their blissful slumber. You explain that their sleeping on the couch greatly interferes with your efforts to feed the Olson Twins, and you ask then to kindly move to the bed upstairs to continue their slumber.

B - You throw a pillow at your spouses head and tell them the sun came up hours ago and there are things to be done... like changing dirty diapers, washing bottles, and saving the stink bug from extinction.

C - You say nothing. Place the child in a safe spot with their favorite cartoon. You take your frustrations out on your treadmill, hoping that your spouse hears every.single.thud. of your feet slamming into belt. For safe measure, you blare the Glee soundtrack and sing along. Correction - belt along because you totally sound just like Lea Michele. Mention nothing of your jealousy that they are sleeping late into the day while you are busy promoting world peace. When you see your spouse awake, say nothing. Slam lots of cupboard doors to make sure they know you're extra irritated.

If you answered...

A - You're probably a newly wed. Your romantic love makes me throw up in my mouth a little.

B - Congratulations! Young love is wearing off and you are entering the phase of marriage where you can show your true personality.

C - You're probably a student going to school for Professional Communication. You clearly have a strong grip on ways to communicate effectively, and you're sure to land a high paying job right after college. Keep practicing the silent treatment. I hear it solves work place drama better than speaking actual words out of your mouth.

Multitasking

My son has an obsession with the bathroom. Particularly, the bath tub. Say the word "bath" in front of my child and you better be prepared to follow up with tub time. He loves trying to catch the water as it comes pouring from the faucet, but recently he has discovered how to blow bubbles in the tub water. He's still working on sorting out the whole "don't drink the tub water after the soap has been added." I'm sure in time he'll sort that all out, but until then, I'm going to keep laughing at the horrible faces he makes after drinking the soapy water. I'm aware that my reaction puts me in the category of "Evil Mom."

While I do enjoy the funny faces he makes out of disgust, the simple fact that my son can take such enjoyment in splashing water, blowing bubbles, and swimming in the tub is enough to remind me that it's the little things in life that count.

After a particularly long day, I decided to take a lesson from my son and enjoy the simple pleasures of a bath. I informed my husband that he was in charge and locked myself in the bathroom with high anticipation of quiet. Scorching hot water, lavender bubble bath, a big glass of sangria, and a fresh bottle of nail polish meant I was ready to relax. I threw in a rubber ducky just for kicks.

Simplicity for the win!

One deep sigh as I sank into the water when the quiet was broken by a man rambling on and on about smart things - like Plato and the solar system. Back to reality. I'm a college student... with a one year old, and a job, and a dog, and a husband, and laundry, and floors that need to be cleaned! I don't have time to be taking a bath and enjoying a glass of wine, but my tired body just needed twenty minutes to relax.

The only solution I could find was to create the ultimate multitasking environment that would allow me to relax while becoming a genius at the same time. It's like the obnoxious commercial that tells you you can go to school in your pajamas. From the comfort of your own home. In your fluffy slippers. With your hair and makeup done...... Right.

While I sat in the tub, painting my nails, drinking my wine juice (I would never drink in class), and listening to my lecture, I realized that the most important thing I can do in my future career is realize that the people I will be writing for live lives just like mine - overwhelmingly busy with very little free time to use reading my prose. To be a successful communicator, I will need to find the most effective way to communicate information that allows my readers to fulfill their needs while the hustle and bustle of life continues around them.

And here I thought bath time was just for relaxtion.

Introductions

I recently read an article about the percentage of college freshman who change their major. Why anyone would find that 50% of college students change their major in the course of their college career shocking, is beyond me. With the exception of my best friend who has ALWAYS known she has wanted to be a Doctor (she's in Podiatry school - someday she will be able to repair my feet that I've damaged wearing heels every.single.day. #winning!), nobody I know has actually grown up to be an astronaut like they dreamed at the age of 5.

Most high schools students start feeling the pressure to decide what they want to do professionally, and where they want to attend college, around their junior year. I was 15 starting my Junior year. My main concerns dealt more with picking the best flavor combination of chapstick and lipgloss (I recommend strawberry lipsmackers with a pineapple gloss over it), than it did picking a career.

At 17 I began my education as a music education major. I made it a semester. Young love interfered and I ran off and got hitched at 19. Our marriage became an extreme test of stubborn love thanks to Operation Iraqi Freedom, and we dealt with more challenging moments in our first year of marriage than most people deal with in 50 years of committed bliss. That, however, is another story. You can read about that here.

THIS story is about my current life as a new mother, a college student, and a wife of a wounded warrior. Simplicity, Interrupted seeks to investigate the new ways we communicate with each other, especially in the intimate family setting. How have new technologies changed the way we interact with our children, our spouses, and our friends? Why are these changes important? And perhaps my biggest wonder: How have these new technologies simplified my life?