A list of things that are broken at our house right now...

Our kitchen light (makes evening cooking a little difficult)
My sewing machine (just the needle, really.  But I haven't gotten around to buying new ones--not knowing which kind etc.)
Our printer (kids have to go to the library)
Our vacuum (the part they gave me didn't fit.  I walked around today picking up the biggest pieces by hand--including one dead, petrified grasshopper.)
The battery in one of our cars
Our video camera
Snow blower
Our beautiful red clock
Our phones
Andrew's gut (he seems to always have a tummy ache.  I'm guessing it's a food allergy--when we got his blood tested recently we discovered that he's igA deficient.  When he asked me to explain the results of his blood test, I started with, "Your blood is different..."  Suddenly he said, "Oh! Am I cold blooded?!"  His ability to make me laugh is not broken)

Fast Food Entertainment

A list of things that either entertained me or grossed me out at Arctic Circle today:
1. The water cups they provided were tiny Dixie bathroom cups.
2. Andrew stuck a straw into the cup of fry sauce and drank it.
3. Rachel dropped the other fry sauce onto her foot.
4. Alicia spilled more on her white shirt than she fit in her mouth.
5. As we were leaving, the cashier actually scraped the grime off the cash register and was calling her friends over to see the pile of green greasy scrapings on the counter. (And I think she was using a food spatula to do it).

Proof Preview

If you've framed a Proof Preview picture (complete with those words scrawled in white across the page), does that mean you're white trash? Just curious.

Hobo Highway Now Closed

This just in:
Hobo Highway (the one-inch space beneath our garage door) has been closed until further notice. My UDOT husband, who specializes in shutting highways down, has closed it off with a brand-new piece of weatherstripping. All spiders will have to find an alternate route for commuting to their work of terrorizing small children.

Garbage Disposal

You might be white trash if you have a conversation like this:

Me: "Honey, what do I do about the fact that our garbage disposal isn't grinding up any of the food we put in there?"

My Hunk a'Burnin' Love: "Just scoop out the chunks and put them in the garbage."

Now why didn't I think of that?

White Trash Moment of the Day

You know you're white trash when your chosen form of entertainment is watching a large, poisonous, pregnant hobo spider try to escape up the sides of a slippery garbage can.

The Skunk

🦨

You know you're white trash when your husband wakes you up at 4:00 in the morning to give you instructions on how to kill a skunk.

It goes something like this:
"Hey, wake up. I trapped a skunk, and I need you to kill it because I'm late for river rafting."
"But I don't kill skunks."
"It's easy. Just leave it out in the sun to die, and then bury it in the back yard."
"But, I don't kill skunks."
"Well, I can't do it. I'm late already and I've got no bullets in my gun."
"But just yesterday I saved two baby birds by hand feeding them every half hour until I found their nest and put them safely back in it. I don't kill things." (This really happened the day before, but I used a little poetic license. It was mostly the girls who fed them, and it was some neighbors who helped find the nest and put them back. But I totally supervised.)
"Well, you don't have to kill it. Just leave it in the trap and the sun will kill it. I'm really late now. I've got to go."

I lay there in bed wrestling with my conscience and trying to figure out what to do. I thought about those little baby birds. And I thought about the skunk. That poor little skunk. She'll get so hungry out there. . . Maybe I could feed her those little baby birds. . .

. . . wait. . .
I digress. . .

I really didn't want to have skunk blood on my hands. Not only because I would feel terrible, but it would stink SO bad!!

No, really, I couldn't kill the skunk. I decided I would set it free. I marched straight out there and analyzed the situation. I saw a steel trap encasing a little fluffy sleeping skunk. (They're so cute when they're asleep.) And I thought I saw what needed to happen to open the cage. I got closer and started working the lever as quietly as I could, but eventually the skunk stirred and I was back in the house before I knew I had started running.

A little while later I ventured out again. This time I was sure I could open the trap, but my concentration was once again interrupted by a moving skunk tail. Finally, I gave up on the trap, and settled on protecting the skunk from the sun with a white sheet (Maybe the same sheet I would later use to fix up a nice dog house for my husband when he came home.)

My best friend, upon hearing my troubles, came right over to help me. She didn't think we should settle on protecting it, but wanted to help me on my original crusade to free it. We put plastic over the top of the cage and started working vigorously with the trap to get it open. We worked so vigorously that the skunk gave us everything she was worth.

My neighbor, 'smelling trouble', came over to see what was going on. I informed him that we were letting the skunk go. He looked at me like I was crazy (now, why would he do that?). Then he said, in his very nicest voice, "Could you please not do that?"

At this point I gave in and said he could kill it. But I asked if he could shoot it instead of letting it die slowly with the heat of the sun.

As I headed inside to take a long shower after an even longer day, I heard the gunshot and was blasted by skunk aroma. Drenched in skunk, and feeling exhausted, I showered off and planned a river rafting trip with my friends.