Here is what you can see of him.  On a clear day.  When the sun is shining directly overhead.
 

Here is a scale pic to show the relative size of the drain.
 

Here’s how we found out we had a snake in the drain in the first place.
 

Yep, Hermes, the (apparently) great hunter, both smelled and saw the thing plotzing around in there.
 

And with the optimism of the very young, thinks if he just gets the right angle, he can get his paw down in there and snag the beastie.
 

That angle didn’t work, how about this one.
 

It’s still there…how about this way.
 

Or maybe this way.
 

Ah screw it…
 

I’ll just lay in the sun instead.
 

What?
 

We’re pretty sure it is a Mole Kingsnake, which spend most of their life underground.  And since his main diet consists of bugs and lizards, I’m more than fine with him being a guest in our drain!

Oh hey, I don’t want to hear any of your handwriting analysis theories, mmkay?  I write in all caps because A) I’m a visual artist, and B) it’s soooo much neater than my cursive.  NOT a serial killer.  And apparently can’t spell radicchio.

Bonus kitty pictures!  Hermes, taking a break from the outside excitement of chasing bugs and fleeing from the wind:
 

Oliver, wondering why I’m pointing that thing at him and when I’m going to wash off the patio:

Later, ya judgemental little orange bastard.

Him: That *is* a supah-clean sink.

Me:  I couldn’t find a junk toothbrush though, so there’s still this tiny grotty bit between the faucets.

Him:  So we’ll buy a cheap one next time we’re out.

*fifteen minutes later*

Him (brandishing a pink Hello Kitty toothbrush I haven’t seen the Girlchild use in years):  Hey babe?  Zoe just brought this, left it in the hallway for you.

Me:  *blink*

Zoe:  *purr*

Me:  Zoe, I’d like 11 million dollars, please.

Schlepped the kids to the doctor yesterday for a checkup. Boychild is huge…something we already knew just from standing next to him…he’s 5’1″ tall at age 11.  The doctor says if he keeps growing at this rate (which he thinks unlikely), he’ll be 6’3″ by the time he’s done.  He’s been complaining of pain in his knee lately, right under the patella, which Doctor man believes is Osgood-Schlatter’s disease.  It occurs in (mainly) boys of this age and disappears in their late teens.

I ask you…if it up and spontaneously disappears, should it really be called a DISEASE???   Or just a Syndrome.  Maybe an Inconvenience.  I officially object to the use of the word Disease in this instance.  Dammit.

The Girlchild is also huge, 4’5″ tall, which was evident in the way she towered over the classmate that escorted her to the office for checkout yesterday.  This soccer season should be interesting.

Turns out both kiddos needed a booster shot yesterday, the Chicken Pops vaccine (I can’t be the only one who calls it that…), which came as a surprise to the Girlchild.  An unpleasant surprise.  As tough as the little bird is, she is the biggest needle fraidycat on earth, she just does not dig pain of any stripe.  Unhelpful in the extreme was the bitch whore cow of a nurse administering the injection.  She demanded that I physically restrain Boychild (who could give a crap someone’s sticking a needle in his arm) so he wouldn’t, I don’t know, turn into the frickin’ Hulk and eat her up yum?  Then when Girlchild started her tear-ridden floor show, Nurse Wussypants acted like the child had suddenly grown spikes and an insatiable bloodlust for forebrain-stunted immigrants, and scurried over to the door to shriek for help.

Here is where I Lost My Cool.

She does not need to be physically restrained, much less by a complete stranger, I snapped.  Nurse Wussypants blinked at me.  Get over here and give her this injection or I will do it for you, I snapped again.  I Do. Not. Have. patience for horseshit of this variety, particularly where my children are concerned, and I sincerely do not give a damn if that cow locked herself in the supply closet for the rest of the day, ala Elliot.  If she doesn’t have the intestinal fortitude to deal with her chosen profession then she needs to get her ass into the nearest call center and start answering Verizon helpdesk requests in a way guaranteed to make the caller wish for a meteorite strike on their own residence, just to End The Agony.

Is it really too much to expect that you’ll deal with intelligent people at any given time, or has the population density become so, er, dense, that it’s statistically impossible?  Whatever the case, I’m not backing down.  Especially when this is the very same doctor’s office (albeit different doctor) that was responsible for this nightmare.

Here, have a picture of our cat collection, and their favorite catnip pusher supplier.

Yeah, but I now have the vocabulary of a GOD, thank you very much.

The Boychild started 6th grade, which is so far different from elementary school as to be actual college. He has EIGHT classes in his 8 hour school day, but check out this schedule:

1. Chorus (apparently the punk has quite the nice singing voice)
2. Advanced World Geography
3. Advanced PE (I really couldn’t tell you what makes it “advanced”)
4. Earth and Space Science (I’m so bloody excited about this class that I offered to attend it for him)
5. Language Arts
6. Advanced Reading
7. Advanced Math (!!!!)
8. Art/Art Appreciation

I am LOVING this schedule. Last year was a math nightmare for the kid, mainly due to personality conflicts, I think…but not to be discounted, a crappy teacher can completely ruin a kid. My ninth grade math teacher, Mrs. Blackburn (may she burn in hell), completely destroyed my interest in mathematics for decades, and is why I am not a robotics engineer right now. The boy apparently tests very well, though, since placement in 6th grade is determined by the (ridiculous) FCAT test.

Middle school is quite different than elementary, not just in the different classes, but the almost exponential increase in responsibility for the kids. They’re expected to get to each class on their own (after the first week of orienteering), they’re expected to get themselves to lunch, etc. etc. etc. It’s perceived as more freedom, too, I suppose, in not constantly having someone telling you where to go/what to do…which is very important to the newly-pubescent, particularly the offpsring of two very Alpha parents. Most importantly, though, the Boychild seems to have undergone an attitude shift, maybe listened to us one of the thousand times we exhorted him to not let someone else determine his destiny, and is determined to do well this year. I think our visit to Uncle NASA’s workplace this summer was a nice prod for him, too. He got to see the real world, and see how seriously cool it can be. So, cross your fingers for him, once the homework starts piling on things might go straight to hell. *bangs head on desk*

As for the other “kids,” both orange babies are growing like weeds. Hermes has gone from pretty kitten to gorgeous adolescent:

A better view of his target:

Oliver is not so lion-faced anymore, but still a lovely boy:

This white spot on his chest just appeared this week:

De-Everything Day is in about two weeks, which, after receiving claws in the bottom of my foot whilst trying to sleep, as well as regularly prying a horny Oliver off a screeching Hermes’ back, I await with almost gleeful anticipation.

HAH! I had to stop in the middle of writing this post to take clean shorts and shoes over to the Boychild’s school. He apparently tried to stop a basketball with his face, which resulted in the routine nosebleed. And that reminds me that I’ve started a new project site called This + That, in which we snark on news, current events, and our child taking a basketball to the schnozz. We’re looking for more contributors, so if you’re interested in joining, drop me a a line.

Today we take an extreme close-up tour of the homestead…actually, we’ll be doing this tomorrow, too, because when you get right up close, there’s so many wonderful things to see. (That’s shorthand for “I took a whole lotta pictures.”)

First up is kitteh cuteness, Mister Hermes, who feels it necessary to miaow incessantly at me whenever he’s awake. Fortunately because he’s a bebe, he’s quite often asleep:

Marigold-y goodness:

Dahlberg daisy, the blooms of which are about the size of a dime, just to give you some perspective:

Bouganvillea blossoms:

A visiting dragonfly:

A Red Rocket pepper bloom, which always look like little lanterns to me:

One of the gajillion sprouts on the Key Lime tree, which has vastly appreciated me NOT watering it:

The Red Cheese pepper, who I canna wait to get my fork into, after sauteeing with onion and spicy sausage, of course:

One of the multitude of Red Rice beans:

The (purely ornamental) Hyacinth Bean going up its trellis:

The amazingly firecrackery Tropical Milkweed:

The amazingly flying-the-hell-everywhere Tropical Milkweed seeds:

Orange Butterfly Weed:

A sneaky skipper pretending to be part of the Butterfly Bush:

And this spectacular “weed” growing behind the composter. It reminds me of a sweet pea bloom, and might actually be one, but the color is like the Holy Grail in lip color for me, have alternately had it and been looking for it my entire life. A beautiful delicate bloom, on a viny plant, this “weed” is more than welcome in our yard:

Tune in tomorrow for the exciting sequel: “Extreme Closeup, The Revenge!”

…and boy were we PISSED.

You wait four years for a sequel to a movie you really enjoyed, and instead of a story, you get needlessly elaborate CGI creations. Interesting to look at, sure, but at the expense of every other aspect of the film? Seems the studio should be asking some questions…

It wasn’t just us disappointed…the entire theater was near silent for nearly the entire film. I counted three times when I heard any sort of a chuckle or exclamation from anyone. In a nearly 2 hour movie.

This is the same writer/director who did the original Hellboy, so I have to assume something has just come loose in his brain since Pan’s Labyrinth…the rave reviews for the visuals in that film made him think that was all we were looking for, perhaps…which surely does not bode well for The Hobbit films. The Hellboy characters deserve much better treatment, and they sure didn’t get it.

Last weekend we saw Get Smart, and did not stop laughing the entire time. Steve Carell is still Steve Carell (see airplane lavatory scene for an example), but he is capable of also being someone else (ie. ACTING), unlike others we could mention (*coff* Ben Stiller, who only ever plays that one angry, clueless guy), and did a fine job as a Maxwell Smart who was both inept and ept at the same time. I remember very little of the television show, but Husband assures me this is faithful to the Smart character. He may have appeared hapless but things always fell out in his favor in the end.

Anne Hathaway is, for lack of a more original word, luminous. The camera adores her, and she had the opportunity to Sydney Bristow her way through several scenes, with slinky dresses, hooker wigs, and do-me make-up. Dwayne Johnson is likewise appealing, just as amiable and likeable as hell. He seems like the kind of guy you’d like to have over for dinner. Which virtually guarantees he is an abandoner of kittens.*

Speaking of kittens, it is five days and counting to vacation time, and seeing our kids for the first time in nearly four weeks! I miss them to the point that I’ve started making kitten slideshows with silly little captions to amuse them long distance, like this one.

The little buggers are growing fast, and making chasing a string into an art form. This shot of Hermes still makes me laugh til I snort. One kitten is often funny, but two are endlessly hysterical.

*That is a JOKE, people.

One pulls on the string tied around the tower, the other pulls on the end of the string in the ring. You just sit back and enjoy the show.

A lull in the action…

This is the usual playtime scenario…Oliver on top, BITING, and Hermes yowling like his ear is being ripped off. “No, honey, just excessively slobbered on.”

“Oh.”

Yep, still cute.

Oliver, in his excitement (or maybe just the throes of teething), simply *must* chew on something. Usually my fingers.

But Hermes is more fun to chew on. He’s like the original squeaky toy.

“I’m not gonna EAT him…”

“Is the mean kitty gone, mama?”

“Hmph. Little brothers are *boring.*

Zzzzzzz…