Public Service Announcement

It's true, I just scooped that sucker right up and tossed him in a ziploc bag..........wonder if it'll keep him fresh.......But anyways, I made sure I took a picture of it in all it's bagged glory to show Wyatt that first Halloween when he asks to eat all his candy. I'll just take that picture out and say "Son, this is what happens when you eat too much Halloween candy." (Joke edited by Beth for optimum funniness.)

I had a different endingso let's try my version out, you know, for market research. "Son, this is what happens when you eat too much Halloween candy........you turn into a mouse."

Vote for me!

I'm Byron Leeth and I approve this message.


I have known for quite some time that we had a rodent guest. I bought a bag of candy for Halloween at BJ's and when I pulled it out to distribute it to Trick or Treaters I made an unsettling discovery. A hole in the bag and tiny shreds of Snickers wrapper. (The mouse at least has excellent taste in candy.) Off went our porch light. Into the trash went the bag of candy. And then I just kind of forgot about it.

Until last week.

I went into our laundry room and the smell of death LITERALLY made me gag. Now our laundry room is not an actual laundry room. A good portion of our basement is unfinished and that is where the washer, dryer, deep freezer, storage, etc. are located in our house. Anyway, I told Byron that I would like him to investigate and see if he could find anything dead. When he came home he said he just thought it was the dog's crate and that there probably wasn't anything dead at all.

So I tried to do laundry. Which consisted of me opening the door. Gagging. Tossing the dirty clothes in. Shutting the door with great force.

This does not clean clothes make.

Byron decided he needed clean clothes so tonight he was doing laundry. About ten minutes ago he came out of the laundry room, "Whatever you do, do not go in the laundry room."

There is a dead mouse in my laundry room behind my dryer. Decomposing.

So far Byron has gathered an empty Kleenex box and a Ziploc bag. There have been strict instructions that my salad tongs are to stay IN the drawer.

He has just emerged, victorious.

"It was easy. Rigor mortis had set in so it was nice and stiff."


How Could I Forget?!

As previously mentioned, Byron is not as excited for Christmas as I am. But being the nice husband that he is on Friday night once Wyatt was settled he headed out to Wal-Mart to get some lights for the Christmas tree. Let me tell you, I was soooooo excited that he was willing to do that. Until he got home. With one strand of lights. 100 light bulbs. No more. No less. 100 bulbs.

"What?! It will be PLENTY!"


Wait, What??

There have been some questions as to how I gradually "snuck" Christmas into the casa without Byron noticing. Following is a photo essay (photojournalistic no?) depicting the arrival of Christmas. Before Byron knew it, Christmas was here and past the point of stopping!

First, don't you love how nice and PINK Christmas seems to be at my house? I know I sure do!! Actually the "real" Christmas things are normal colors but in the kitchen I have free reign for as bright and tacky as my Chrismas heart desires. Here is what our tree actually looks like.

See, not even tacky. Not a chili pepper light in sight.


Top Ten Reasons Baby Gap is Actually Crazy.

I entered Wyatt in Gap's Casting Call and they had the nerve to NOT select him. Following are ten reasons why they made a huge mistake. (Does anyone else enjoy Arrested Development? If so, read that as though Gob said it.)

And now the top ten reasons why Wyatt would have been an awesome Gap model.

10. Wyatt knows how to kick back and relax.

9. He's not anorexic.

8. Good personal hygiene is a must for those in the fashion industry.

7. He has his own wheels.

6. He is brave. Still smiling despite the imminent threat of bear attack.

5. He emotes. This one is "surprise."

4. He looks good in black and white.

3. Ladies love bad boys. And Wyatt's done hard time.

2. That's where he learned to be all gangsta.

1. Because he is adorable and this is the photo I submitted to the contest:

I rest my case Baby Gap.


Feliz Navidad

So Christmas has OFFICIALLY hit Casa de Leeth.

Byron and I MAY have had an agreement that I would not get the Christmas things out until after Thanksgiving. So my solution to that ridiculous rule was to just do it really gradually.

For instance, 2 weekends ago we were at the Mart (Wal-Mart for those of you not down with the lingo) when I reminded my darling husband that last year we had to settle for disgusting wrapping paper because we waited too long and anything remotely free of Bratz girlz/Barbie/Ninja Turtles was long gone. So we bought some. And then I wrapped a bunch of things (like baby clothes that are still too big for my petite son..he doesn't know he is supposed to get good stuff yet) and kind of just left them sitting in a pile...Already Christmassy!

THEN, the Christmas dishes made their way into the cupboard.

Next, on a trip to Kohl's (because they were having an awesome toy sale) I accidentally bought a snowman bath mat and soap dispenser which are now cheerfully sitting in our half-bath.

Yesterday, I rearranged the living room furniture to make room for the Christmas tree. So now the corner looks very lonely and barren. Even Byron thinks it needs a little Christmas cheer.

Today, I actually had the guts to hang Christmas lights up in the kitchen. It looks AWESOME. Like a Mexican cantina. Perhaps I need chili pepper lights for authenticity. Oh wait, I already convinced Byron we needed those 2 years ago. Ole!

This photo (taken at South of the Border in 2006) reminds me of a funny story from my freshman year of college actually. I think it was probably no later than October and I was already feeling festive. I had my mini-tree sitting on my desk with all its mini-ornaments. Jose Feliciano was gaily singing "Feliz Navidad." I was so moved by his exuberant wishes for a Merry Christmas that I felt compelled to join in. I stood up in my desk chair belting it out with him. At that EXACT moment a tour group of prospective students walked into my room to see what a typical dorm looked like. They were greeted with me, in my pajamas, wrapped in a blanket toga style, standing in my desk chair, singing Feliz Navidad, in October. Do you think any of them wound up at Mary Wash?


I'm Don Wingard and I do What I Want

For those of you who have never had the great fortune of meeting my dad, the man is a piece of work. A hilarious piece of work.
My mom has not been feeling well so we had my dad over for dinner last night. Can I just say how proud I was that I successfully made an edible meal on an evening we had company? It seems like every time someone is over something goes horribly wrong and they are presented with a pile of slop a pig would turn its nose up at.

But back to my dad.

He informed that he is now listening to Don Imus on his way to work.
"I really hate Don Imus. Really hate him. If I was on a desert island with Don Imus [pause] Adolf Hitler and [pause] Osama Bin Laden and I had a gun with only two bullets [pause, pause, exaggerated thinking face] I'd shoot Imus twice."
Look how even at 6 weeks old Wyatt is saying, "Is this guy for REAL?!"


Oh Camry, My Camry...The Amusement Never Ends

As promised, here is another story about the gloriousness of my 1995 Toyota Camry.

Last winter I came out to the car after a looong day of first graders to discover that the unthinkable had occurred...My poor Camry's battery had once again died. I don't recall exactly what the cause of death was this time though the battery generally dies for one of two reasons.

1. I have left the lights on. This is not because I am a ditz! When I first got the old gal in 2002, her lights would turn off automatically when the driver's door was opened. This ability has left in her old age but the habit has not left me causing quite a few dead batteries.
2. She allows the very life to be sucked out of her by a cell phone charger that somehow does not get unplugged before the car is exited. I have no idea how someone forgets to do this but it happens kind of a lot. And sometimes in conjunction with the #1 reason the battery dies.

That said, I had never been alone with a dead car battery. No dad/husband/boyfriend/anyone who remotely knew what they were doing. So, what was I to do? I went back inside to find my co-teacher Lori to see if she knew what to do.

Her very enthusiastic response was, "Lauren's car battery dies all the time!! She has a jumper box!! Her dad gave it to her for Christmas!! Let's get her!!"

We raced up to the Kindergarten hall. Raced is probably a bit of a stretch. Keep in mind I was 7-8 months pregnant and Lori (hence-forth Miss Licter, because this story will be way better if you imagine it as it truly was...teachers without a clue) was already running late for a physical therapy appointment for her ankle. Sauntered is probably a better term.

When we finally meandered up to Lauren's room (hence-forth Miss Marino) she was super-excited to get to use her jumper box thing for the first time. We followed the directions kind of but the jumper box did not work. Probably because we only kind of followed the directions. Hmm...time to do the dreaded deed...Call Dad.

He asked me the following questions:

1. Is there a man around?
A: Unfortunately, the only man who works here has gone home.

2. A janitor or custodian?
A: The last thing you want is to owe Miss Ruthie a favor. That woman is CRAZY. If you owed her/were the last one at your desk, all of a sudden the entire staff would begin receiving emails from you in the following format:

A message from Ruthie:



Beth Leeth

So obviously, that was not an option

3. A farmer's daughter?
A: No.

4. A military wife?
A: No

5. So it's just two first grade teachers and a kindergarten teacher?
A: Yes.

6. Ok, hook the black to the red...blah, blah...obviously I wasn't a good student.

And that was that. We would have to figure it out ourselves because I couldn't remember to turn my headlights off, much less the directions to jumpstart a car!

I will now describe what happened as though it was witnessed by one of my students.

Mrs. Leeth was trying to get her hood to stay open and Miss Licter was yelling at her to get away because she didn't want Peanut to get exploded. And Miss Marino was running between some cars. And Miss Licter was talking on her cell phone and the she was holding Mrs. Leeth's hood open and then the car started.

Doesn't the first grade version of things leave a lot to be desired?

Mrs. Leeth was trying to get her hood to stay open and Miss Licter was yelling at her to get away because she doesn't want Peanut to get exploded.
At one point in time the Camry had some kind of hydraulics or something that kept the hood open without one of those metal sticks like most cars have. Yeah, well it didn't work anymore. Miss Licter was very concerned that we didn't know what we were doing and that if I was holding onto the hood I might blow myself up. She took this dangerous responsibility upon herself. Peanut is what my class called Wyatt before he was born.

And Miss Marino was running between some cars.
She was kind of the only one who knew what she was doing. She was hooking up all the cables and telling us what to do. Thanks Miss Marino!

And Miss Licter was talking on her cell phone and the she was holding Mrs. Leeth's hood open and then the car started.
Miss Licter's end of telling the doctor's office she would be late for her PT appointment: "My pregnant co-worker's battery is dead so I am going to be late." What kind of a laugh do you think the receptionist got at my expense? Probably a pretty good one.

That Camry.


Motherhood: The End of Dignity

It starts with the multiple doctors appointments that are BEYOND invasive. This culminates in childbirth which, as you may recall from high school biology's "Miracle of Life" video, is about as undignified as one can get. Then you think, finally, I can rejoin the human race as a person with a bit of privacy and decency.
You kind of expect that you will no longer do any of the following without tiny eyes following your every move:
1. Change your clothes.
2. Bathe.
3. Use the bathroom.

As a mother you also spend an inordinate amount of time dealing with poop. As in cleaning it off of another human being who seemingly produces more than his body weight in it twice a day. Dignity? Not really.

But that is really not even the worst of it!

No. What really comes as a shock is the way you allow yourself to be photographed. I am about to publish some photos of myself looking pretty much as bad as it gets. Why you may ask? Because my son looks cute/is doing something cute/is doing something milestoneish. That's right, a mother has no dignity because her child is darling.

Here we have Wyatt brushing his own teeth.
The first to comment on my Medusa hair/Rabies mouth/General disgustingness will be immediately stoned and subsequently unfriended on Facebook. And we all know FB is the true test of friendship.

Wyatt holding his own bottle.

My pajamas need no comment from you dear reader. That is what I have a husband for.


Frightfully Cute

Happy Halloween!