A month of blankness. At least on my blog. My life, unfortunately has had so much in it, that I couldn't blog. Someday, I'm sure our family will be able to look back at this month and tell funny jokes about it, or find something to be amused about. (At least I hope we will, as that's my favorite coping mechanism.) But I think instead, we will look back on this month, years from now, and hold each other tighter -- thankful that we're all in one piece. We made it.

I know I promised my facebook friends some details, but I don't really want to re-live it all, so you're going to have to make do with what I chose to share here. (I'm not worried; I know you'll still love me!) :-)

About a month ago, Liberty was severely burned on our stove, and since that time we have been occupied with medically related concerns. She has now been officially released from doctor care, and she is expected to fully heal (as long as I can keep her from picking her scars into bloody messes.)

Now that I've explained my silent blog, let's move on to things that are infinitely more fun to discuss.

Our new house has WALLS and WINDOWS and a BACK DOOR! But no front door. We are having a wonderful time walking through the shell and imagining where to put furniture. (At least, I've been having a wonderful time doing that. Jeremy's brain has been focused on the best spot for boring stuff like speakers and computer equipment.)

We've already made friends with our neighbors on one side; they have a second grade boy. A four bedroom house is going up on the other side of us, so we're hoping a family with young kids will move in next door. The girls LOVE the park behind us, and through it, we made friends with another family in the neighborhood who also have two girls. Their girls are six and eight, but that has not stopped Liberty from bonding with them, and Jeremy and I really enjoy sitting and chatting with their parents. We've met up at the park unintentionally three times now. It's been nice, one of my favorite ways to spend a dwindling summer evening!

But it sure isn't fun to have to leave our home behind to drive back to this apartment when the sun settles below the tree line. One more month!

If Jeremy were here, he'd make me tell you that it's really two more months because this is the beginning of September, and we probably won't be in the house until the end of October, but he's not here! I can tell you that it's only one more month because this is September, and we'll move in during October!

Hooray!

Sometimes questions seep into my brain and keep me awake at night. Questions like "How many licks does it take to get to the tootsie roll center of a tootsie pop?" and "Where could that Big Bird video we rented from the library be?" and "What caused The Great Raccoon Massacre of Twenty-Ten?"

That last question has plagued me for several nights now, and it occupies my mind every time I get into my van and drive down the road. It all started innocently enough...

We were headed to church on Sunday morning -- my husband driving, myself reclining in the passenger seat and our two daughters strapped in behind us -- when we passed the massacre scene. Five raccoons, dead in the road. Immediately, my detective radar beeped on high alert. One would expect to find one raccoon in the road, or possibly even two separated by an appropriate distance, but five? Five within ten feet of each other?

Maybe you are smarter. Maybe you can figure this out. Picture this for me, if you will:

A two lane road flanked by trees on the right and a corn field on the left. Two carcasses side by side on the right side of the road. Approximately four feet away, a third body near the center lines and three feet beyond that a fourth body in about the same position. The fifth cadaver occupied the left side of the road, not far enough over to be out of the way of traffic.

Now I ask you: what could have caused this mass destruction? I first surmised that poison had been involved. This must have been a renegade band of marauders, stealing from dumpster to dumpster, becoming a public menace that the mayor had sworn to obliterate. The Coonsters (as they had started calling their gang) had escaped the snares set before them time and time again, but this time the mayor's campaign promise to rid the town of these bandits changed the dynamic. He knew if he did not carry out his pledge, his re-election bid would be toast. The Coonsters swaggered their way around town late Saturday night, confident in their ability to scavenge successfully, but unbeknownst to them, one dumpster was a trap! The garbage bags had been laced with poison. As the gang stole away to their next crime-scene, the poison slowly worked its way through their systems, and WHAM! Killed them instantly in their footsteps as they crossed the road!

Yes/No?

Then I wondered, "Do raccoons travel in packs?" "And if they do, is it likely that a poison would kill them all at the exact same time?"

Oh great, more questions to keep me up at night.

My next theory follows thusly: A bored young man, a stolen gun and a moonlit night rendezvous by the side of the road. He must have previously studied the nocturnal habits of these lumbering mammals. He must have known that they habitually crossed the street right at this spot, and so he waited. Possibly perched in the bed of a truck. Possibly sitting in the driver's seat of a run-down car. Oh! But I've checked and rechecked that stretch of road for a likely parking spot. There is none. Therefore, did he take a lawn chair out to the field with him? He waited. Along came the first raccoon, unaware of his coming demise. BANG! It only took one shot. An hour or so passes before the young man hears another tell-tale rustling in the grass. He waits until the coon has halfway crossed the street. BANG! Oh rats! He only clipped him. BANG! He shoots again. This one lands on the center line. Another hour passes. The third ringtail enters the roadway, but wait! It sniffs the breeze. Something doesn't smell right. Slowly, unsure of where the danger lies, it turns around and heads back into the field. The boy un-tenses his shoulders and tells his brain to let the animal go. There will be more. He knows this.

What do you think? That's the answer for sure, right?

Maybe not?

Well, how about this scenario: a race car burns rubber as it accelerates down the street...

I do have more, but it just occurred to me that you may be bored with mine and want to submit a theory of your own.

If you will, please, tell me, WHAT CAUSED THE GREAT RACCOON MASSACRE OF TWENTY-TEN? I need to know so that I can stop imagining possible events. I need my sleep!

It is a dreary, rainy Tuesday in Indiana. This morning Liberty woke around six to tell me she was hungry. (We're not normally up until about 7:30 most mornings. Yay for me! You were probably up much earlier this morning, but six is hard for me.) We kissed Daddy goodbye, then Mercy woke up. Mercy's my sleep-in girl, so that was a surprise. After breakfast, the girls asked if they could play in the rain. I looked at the chores to be done inside, quickly agreed to their plan, and out we went.

We thoroughly enjoyed watching the garbage truck do its dumpster-lifting trick. Thoroughly. The garbage man must have enjoyed our cheers and shrieks of delight because he kept smiling and waving at us. I wonder if he's ever so validated in his work as he is when he shows up at our apartment building?

After a while, I retrieved my Bible and prayer journal and sat on the covered patio in a lawn chair, thinking I might be able to concentrate on my time with God while the girls splashed in puddles and rode their bikes up and down the sidewalk. The drops pounding down into our personal patio puddle quickly showed me in no uncertain terms who was boss of the patio. The short answer was Not Me, and I had to take my books back inside.

We are now back inside, too. The rain continues to splash a soothing percussion outside our windows, and the girls are playing happily together in their "dog house" made of cushions, chairs and blankets. The Newsies soundtrack plays cheerily in the background, while I valiantly push onward in my quest to become the next Miss Procrastination USA.

Household chores, who needs 'em?