A Welcome Mat for MyTrash Can

I think I have sufficiently acknowledged the fact that I don't leave home too often. Probably, if you've read this blog more than once, you have already deduced that this is a 'good' thing and the world may be safer without me running around glossy and doe-eyed frightening the normal. So if you could crawl into the mind of a hermit for a bit, you will understand why the last four days have been like an escalator ride through something akin to Dante's inferno but with a more feminine and, dare I say, colder and sharper, edge? Thursday began like any other day - school, hubster running late and cursing in the yard, cold enough to make even a Mother of the Order of Frigidity cry, and someone left the freezer door on the porch ajar and the cats have stolen the chicken and the ice cream. I'm okay with the chicken part, but I didn't know how badly I'd need the ice cream.

Three weeks ago, we placed an ad in our local buy-swap-sell magazine to find good homes for some of our sheep - as the downsizing option seemed more practical than getting rid of the whole herd, sending the Things off to Hogwarts, and spending the rest of my days behind hubster on his harley - tearing up the roads again. But, the ad never appeared. Hmm. We checked for two weeks in a row and no ad. I would have called them but I was running really low on phone minutes so I decided it must have been a mistake. Let sleeping dogs lie sort of thing...we'll try again later. Some time after Thing-whatever number here-meltdown 2, I thought, 'maybe this isn't my day, I better double check'. So I call dear hubster, who reads said publication while on coffee time for fun:
ME: Hey, have you checked to see if we are advertised this week?
HIM: Nope, I read the whole section. I told you, we're not going to be in there. Just go on with your day, I think I've found someone who wants the sheep anyway.
ME: Whew! Because I'm about two hours behind schedule and if people were going to be stopping by I would change my plans now and clean the kitchen and walkway so I'm not mortified by having anyone in the trashcan.
HIM: Stop worrying!
About ten minutes after stopping my worrying, the first of about a dozen calls came in about my advertisement in said publication for a small flock of sheep. Ten minutes enough for me to okay an afternoon of chemistry experiments and painting and all manner of gooey, messy things. Ten minutes to lay out the vest I am almost finishing for thing 1's birthday...
ME: Uh, I hate your guts
HIM: Don't worry, I won't schedule a time for anyone to come until Saturday. And, I'll help you clean up tonight.
Flash forward another three hours. Dinner is done. Things are in the nightly ritual place to get them in bed (who didn't brush their teeth?) and we are all exhausted. The house is a wreck and we're giving up and heading to bed.
HIM: Oh, that guy I called back is coming by tomorrow night to look at the herd.
ME: %*^^&^&(*(* you said Saturday, so I thought I could relax tonight and get things straight by Saturday.
HIM: But, you said we have to drive 2 hrs each way to visit friends on Saturday and since he didn't want to come on Sunday, I said okay to tomorrow.
ME: muttering in my sleep and HIM: sleeping with one eye open and trembling cuz I stole my crocheted wool blanket!
The day came and went with more horrid surprises, animal mishaps and trucks with trailers getting stuck in the icy snow - but I am now down to just my llama and 6 ewes - something I can surely handle - oh, and the ram - who hubster and I both became sentimental about selling so the poor buyer made arrangements to 'use him' instead. Gawd, I love the animal husbandry world. Nowhere else could you have a conversation with someone about using someone for sex and have it seem so ethical and clean. Saturday came and went with long car rides and sugared-up kids who'd had the pleasure of running around with friends screaming all day and felt certain it was due them on the ride home as well. We stopped at the book store (one of the only places still open) for some good coffee, bought the little monsters a book each, and were kicked out when they closed at 11pm. Now, my teenager thinks I'm cool because we stayed out late buying books and I think she's pretty cool to like staying out late in the night to buy books. And they read all day on Sunday which made for a quiet day. Ahh. Now, if only some little farty gremlin hadn't stolen an hour from me, I might have gotten some knitting done.