With the advent of TiVo, I have to admit that I don’t watch very many commercials anymore. Most of the little TV watching we do involves TiVo’ing shows and watching them at our convenience – sans commercials. I like this. A 1-hour show takes more like 40 minutes (more time for blogging — er, I mean cleaning). And I’m not stuck watching commercials that annoy or disturb me (like those old Quizno’s commercials with the singing rodents).

But I have to admit, every once in a while, I’ll add an extra 30 seconds to my viewing time to watch a commercial that tickles my funny bone. The thing is, I think I have a weird funny bone. The commercials that really make me giggle – are a bit “off,” I think. I don’t know – here, you be the judge. Am I weird for liking these commercials?

The Nationwide “On. Off.” commercial.

The current Diet Ocean Spray commercials – both of them.

And then there’s the fact that my reaction to things in life is often influenced by commercials. I have been known to say, “Where’s the beef?” or “I’ve fallen and I can’t get up” when the situation warrants (showing my age, here). And whenever I see a duck, my first thought is, “Aflac.” But I’m not the only one affected by commercials. Shannon admitted here that she’s been influenced by the Aflac duck as well. And Dianne used the ever-popular Mastercard “priceless” format in this blog post. (Speaking of which, you can go to this website to view “priceless” commercials and learn what goes into the making of one.)

So what’s my point? No point. No profound moral lesson. Just some musings on commercials and a bit of irony — I said at the beginning of this post how glad I am that TiVo allows me to skip commercials… but just spent 30 minutes searching the internet for links to commercials and watching them. But wait…that was research. Um…yeah.

So share – what are your favorite or most memorable commercials?

Given a few days of vacation time last January, we decided to go to Florida to hit a Disney park or two and just relax. My mother-in-law was staying down there for a month and had offered us the use of her condo, which we gladly took advantage of. We booked our airline tickets, packed our bags, and headed for the land of sunshine.

Now I am not one who is normally afraid of flying. I’ve read all the statistics about how it’s actually more dangerous to drive than fly, and I have just never minded the take offs, landings, or little bumps along the way. But this trip definitely tested my serene approach to flying. As we got close to the Orlando airport, the standard “little bumps” turned into rather large heaves. Forget trying to keep your nice little plastic cup of soda on your tray. Chug the drink, put the tray up, and concentrate on staying in your seat.

Of course, I had my seven-year-old sitting next to me, so I was trying to keep a very light-hearted attitude, despite the fact that I was feeling sick and more than a little nervous. C., with that innocent feeling of invincibility common to childhood, thought the turbulence ride was a blast. He got a kick out of every time we pulled a sudden up-down move and felt our bodies rising from our seats, held in place only by our seat belts.

And the noise. Everything in that airplane was creaking and squeaking. For a brief moment, I had a vision of the outside of the airplane, developing a hairline crack which slowly spread until the plane looked like an egg about to hatch. The lady behind me was clearly more disconcerted than I was. I kept hearing her saying things like:

“Do you see? This is why I don’t fly. You people will never, ever, get me on an airplane again. We’re all going to die. Do you hear all that creaking? This plane is going to fall apart and we’re going to die, I just know it.”

Her family alternated between giggling at her hysterics and trying to offer her calm reassurances that everything would be all right.

But as I tried to keep my composure and listened to the creaking, I realized something. All that creaking was a really great thing. It meant that the plane was doing just what it was made to do. Every part of that plane had been designed with just the right amount of flexibility so it would stay together while still being able to withstand high winds and extreme turbulence. This is what planes were made for!

And besides – the pilot knew what he was doing. He was aware of all the variables, the wind speeds, the ground conditions…and he was capable of making the right decisions for the safety of his passengers. That day, he took us on a little side trip to Tampa, where we waited until the Orlando winds slowed a little before we returned to land – just to be completely sure that we would be safe. I could trust that the guy in charge had our best interests in mind.

Once we were safely on the ground, I thought about “turbulence” in my life. I tend to be a bit uptight at times – I like to have every single detail planned out in advance and completely under my control (ha! as if anything is really in my control!). And so when something goes wrong, it can really throw me for a loop. I get stressed out, grouchy, and feel like everything’s falling apart. Instead of creaks and squeaks, I’m more likely to crack. Wouldn’t it be better if I had just enough flexibility to be able to withstand the bumps (and even heaves) that will inevitably cross my path? Yes structure is important. But it’s just as important to have a little “give” in my attitutude and approach to life.

And one more thing – I can trust that the One in charge of my life knows what He’s doing, too. Winds and rain don’t catch Him by surprise. He knows all the variables. And I can trust that He’s got my best in mind.

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This article in USA Today gave me an interesting tidbit of information:

“Aircraft wings are very strong and almost indestructible. They’re not going to fall off the airplane and, according to Boeing, they are designed so they can bend so far over the top of the fuselage in testing that they almost touch before they break.”

Wow – that’s flexibility!

Today, I’m participating in BooMama‘s inspiration: The Bloggy Tour of Homes. So come on in, make yourself at home, and catch a little glimpse of where I live, grow, and of course, blog.

The front door…

Before we go any further, a moment of gratitude. We just moved into this house a little over a year ago, and I cannot tell you how thankful I am that we were able to do so. Our last house was a charming little almost-75-year-old fixer-upper. Thing is, we’re not really fixer-upper-ers. The house had potential, but we just couldn’t quite make it happen. So I was thrilled when it became possible for us to move into this home which, while not much bigger than our old house, is only four years old. My husband and I have realized our limitations (namely, we have no ability when it comes to household projects) and this house allows us to enjoy living and entertaining here without worrying about a leaky roof, animals in the attic, or any number of other “projects” that plagued us before. I’m truly grateful for this home, and my desire is to use what I’ve been given to bless my family (through making this home a comfortable, safe, warm place to come home to) and our friends (by extending hospitality to others). So, without further ado…

The blogging spot…

Not surprisingly, I blog in the family room, since that’s where most of my time is spent. This is “my end” of the couch, and it’s here that I compose and edit my own posts, and read the many blogs that visit every day. My Eeyore mug full of coffee waits by my side for when I need that caffeine jolt to get my brain going in the morning. Note also the basket of books. There are books in every room of this house, and particularly in close proximity to anywhere I tend to park myself. I think I have a book addiction.

The family room…

This is where we do most of our living. Books are read, the baby is fed, video games are played, movies are watched, friends are entertained…all right here. The kitchen is directly to the right of where I was standing when I took this picture, so I can cook or clean up after dinner while still being part of the family – I love that.

The kitchen…

Here is where the baking of banana bread, the mixing of formula, and the brewing of the morning coffee takes place. I love this kitchen and it was one of the things that drew us to this house in the first place. The layout works well for us, and we have way more counter space than in our last house.

My haven…

For my final picture, I decided to post a little corner of the house that I go to when I’m feeling tired, stressed out, or overwhelmed. I’m so thankful that the original owners of this house went for the “big tub” option. I’ve spent many an hour here, relaxing with a book in a hot bubble bath. Ahhh… Note also the row of books. More evidence that I need an intervention!

Quick cute story here:

In our old house, we only had one bedroom downstairs and then an “attic room” upstairs that ran the width of the house. We took the bedroom downstairs and put our son upstairs (mostly so that our morning noises wouldn’t wake him). So basically, he slept in a “finished” portion of the attic (not the part where the squirrels lived – but that’s another story), but it was a really long room (which we also used for some storage). Anyway, when we walked through this house for the first time, we went upstairs to check out the three bedrooms. We looked at the two “regular” ones first, and then went into the master suite. C. took one look around at the bedroom and attached bathroom and said, “I think this room will work for me.” And he was dead serious. I had to break it to him that, no, this time Mom and Dad would get the big room. (Because you know, there was no way I was going to give up that tub to someone else!)

Well, there you have it. Hope you enjoyed the little “tour.” Thanks for visiting! And be sure to check out all the other participants over at BooMama’s.

Note: What follows is a long and boring account of a run-in I had this week with an unpleasant occurrence in our basement. Some parts may be gross. Many parts are long-winded. So if you manage to stick with me, thank you. You are a truly dedicated blog-reader.

So, on Tuesday L. turned 2 months old, and in celebration, I took him to the pediatrician’s, where the mean nurse poked his cute little chunky legs with big nasty needles three different times. There’s not much worse than watching your baby’s eyes widen in shock and pain when he receives his vaccinations. Ugh… All I wanted to do was get home and give him some quiet and comfort.

My wonderful husband had taken C. out for lunch while we were at the doctor’s, before he (my husband) headed out of town for two days. The plan was, when L. and I got home, he’d hit the road.

I walked into the house, lugging the car seat, complete with baby, and noticed… a strange smell. It was not a good smell, but it was very faint, and since I’ve been known to have super olfactory powers, I didn’t think too much of it. I asked Chad and C. if they smelled anything. Nope. So I let it go, figuring I was imagining things. Chad left for his trip, C. skipped off to play and I sat down to hold L., who was not pleased with me for subjecting him to needles.

The day went on… L. developed a fever and became more and more fussy. C. was patient, even though he’s not one who appreciates a screaming baby much. I did my best to keep people happy. And the smell got stronger. I wondered if someone had thrown something in the kitchen trash that should have been transported directly to the garbage cans in the garage. So I opened up the kitchen wastebasket and sniffed. Hmmm… Nope.

I got L. settled for a nap and went on a sniffing tour of the house. Kitchen…fine. Family room…fine. Bathroom…fine. Basement…ah-hah. This was the culprit. Our basement is still unfinished but serves as storage, laundry room, play area, and cat-litter location, so we use it quite often. I had just been down here the day before and there was no smell. Now it was overpowering. And I grew horrified as I realized that it smelled like…something dead.

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Now, it just so happens that I have prior experience with dead things. Unfortunately. Our last house was a lovely little cape cod. That happened to be more than 70 years old. And that happened to need a lot of work. And some of that work involved finding and sealing up animal entrances that we were not able to locate in the seven years we lived there. The local population of squirrels, chipmunks, and mice saw our house as the Wildlife Hotel, a luxurious destination for those chilly winter months. So I would occasionally do battle with the vacationers.

There was the winter that I caught and disposed of 14 mice. (And before you ask, yes, we have a cat. And no, she’s of no use whatsoever as a mouser.) There were the nights C. couldn’t get to sleep because he could hear animals scampering about in the attic. And most annoying of all were the times that some random creature would manage to get trapped in the wall and would spend 2.3 days scratching, scratching, scratching. And then presumably, it would die, although thankfully it never stunk – maybe the plaster was too thick for it to permeate. In the meantime, the cat would stare at the noise-producing wall, slowly going insane.

So all that to say, I’ve dealt with animals. I’ve dealt with dead animals. And I was pretty sure that’s what I was dealing with now.

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But here’s the thing. This house is only 4 years old. It’s not drafty, it’s not dilapidated. It’s new, for crying out loud. So I couldn’t imagine how on earth something had crawled into our house and died.

But nevertheless, I began my hunt. Using my aforementioned superior olfactory powers, I narrowed down the source of the smell to one corner of the room. I tentatively peeked behind a futon to find…something. I wasn’t sure what. It was small, the size of a mouse. But darker. And the head was all wrong. Upon closer, also tentative, inspection, I believed that it was a mole. But after conducting some research today, I’ve discovered that it was really a shrew. Ugh. I stared at it for a while, fully expecting it to jump up and cause me to scream and run up the stairs. But no. It was indeed dead. I decided to look around to make sure he was the only culprit, only to find another one in the corner about 6 feet away. Two dead shrews. In my basement. In my new house. With Chad out of town. No fair.

An aside: I’d heard of shrews, I don’t think I’ve ever been called a shrew, my clearest association with the word shrew is Shakespeare’s play, “The Taming of the Shrew.” But I didn’t know much about them. Interestingly, they’re not rodents. But they look rodent-like enough for me to not want them in my house. But anyway, being a nerd, I have appreciated learning something about these little creatures. So all was not wasted.

I immediately did what any self-respecting wife would do: I called my husband (who was still in transit), explained the situation, and hinted that he should promptly turn around and head home to handle our critter emergency. No go. He asked me if I was going to take care of them. “I can’t,” I said. “I’m sorry. I just can’t.” He assured me that if I could live with the situation for the next two days, he’d take care of it when he got home.

So I lived with it. For about 10 minutes. But I could not stand the thought of dead things in my basement. Things that were stinking up the house. Things the cat might decide to play with. Ugh. So I found a box (thank goodness I’ve placed so many orders on Amazon.com – you never know when you’ll need a cardboard box), lined it with a garbage bag, and took it and a shovel to the basement. Shrews are rather small and light, and it’s very difficult to scoop a shovel under them, as you would scoop a spatula under a grilled cheese. I won’t share all the gory details, but after considerable time and effort, the cement block wall and I eventually managed to coax them on to the shovel, after which they were unceremoniously deposited in the box. By this time, I was sweaty, mentally exhausted, and utterly grossed out.

When I took the shrew-laden box upstairs, I found that poor L. was shrieking in his crib. The shots were really taking their toll on him and he was just plain miserable. So I put the box in the garage, to be dealt with later, and attended to L.. He proceeded to cry for the next 3 hours, and I felt like crying for those same hours, but eventually I got L. calmed down, and then quickly sealed the garbage bag o’non-rodents and deposited it in the garbage can.

Throughout this adventure, a few thoughts kept me going:

Someday, I’ll look back and laugh about all this.

At least I can blog about my escapade. So, dear reader, that is why you were just subjected to this story: so that I could redeem my encounter with my home-invaders.

Oh, I found where they came in and then promptly called my husband (still in transit, by the way) to make him solemnly swear that when he got home we’d fill up the hole with cement or something else permanent. I can’t for the life of me figure out where the hole came from. Do shrews eat through cement foundations? I’m thinking no. But I hope that if any more creatures find a way into this house, they choose to make their presence known when Chad is home!

In the meantime, I am SuperMom, hear me roar! I conquered the dead animals, protecting my children from yucky smells and yuckier germs. And after a bit of Lysol-ing, I’m glad to report that the basement smells like nothing but clean.

Thirteen books I have purchased recently

Confession: I make far too many visits to Amazon.com and I probably have far too many books. But I love reading and love the feel of a new book. So since my recent escapades left me too tired to come up with a more creative Thursday Thirteen, I thought I’d share 13 of my recent book purchases. (All the books are “clickable” in case you’d like to check any of them out further!)

1. C. has thoroughly enjoyed this book.

2. Because I’d like to entertain more, but need a little encouragement along the way.

3. Because I’m always up for reading a book that helps dispel the “myths of motherhood.”

4. Because parenting has shaped my soul in so many ways and this book reminds me of that.

5. To add to my never-ending pile of “how to write” books; this one looked fun.

6. Because this is so important.

7. Just because I’m going through the baby stage for the first time in almost 8 years, and I’ve forgotten so much.

8. I’m thoroughly enjoying this cookbook.

9. I love culinary mysteries!

10. I’ve stayed up late many nights reading Harlan Coben’s page-turners.

11. My guys really liked the Cheesy Meatloaf recipe in this book.

12. All about infusing your family with Love, Loyalty, Fun, Growth, and Faith.

13. Haven’t made any of these recipes yet, but my husband has requested Pecan Pie Brownies, so that’s first on my list. And just because it starts with a mix doesn’t mean it’s not homemade!

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