The squirrels figured out how to open the bird suet feeder.

They chewed off the bread bag twisty-ties I used to secure it.

They somehow managed to remove the paperclip I fastened there yesterday.

If they foil me on this safety device, I will set up a video camera to catch them in the act.

Note: I bought that combination lock at Staples. You push the dial between the four directions: north-south-east-west, and you can set your own code. It helps if you have a sentence to remember your combination: Ethel Works Whenever She Wants New Stuff. The combination can be as long as you want. Bill needed four locks for his gear, didn’t want to have keys that would get lost, and didn’t want to have to remember different combinations. These locks helped greatly.

It’s never fun to stumble out of bed and first thing see a problem.

It’s better to have your coffee first.

I suffered through mice this past fall and winter. I kindly caught and released them, nice person that I am, although I considered other options. Maybe I should join the Franciscan order.

But I’m not so nice to the kitchen ants. Tiny, annoying little things. I will say, though, that they force you to clean up every crumb and kool-aid spill. They really like kool-aid.

I had a man come out last week and spray. It worked for a bit, but then they came back. Not as many as before, but more than two or three. I can tolerate that many, since it only takes a few seconds to squish them, but after that, it’s too much work and quite a mess. Windex, for what it’s worth, either kills them or knocks them out on impact. Then your counters look like an aerial view of a battlefield with tiny bodies strewn about. It’s yucky, especially on the walls where the matte finish prevents them from wiping up easily.

Yesterday morning, I made my way to the sink to fill the coffee maker. There had to be 500 ants in it swarming over a single knife covered in peanut butter. Peanut butter, I thought, who had peanut butter last night? I knew I hadn’t left this knife there before I went to bed.

As soon as I turned on the water, the ants ran for the sides of the sink and started climbing out. I was able to catch most of them with the spray nozzle, but the fast ones had to be Windexed and wiped. Such slaughtering at such an early hour is so unpleasant.

An hour or so later, Billy woke up and proudly said, “I had a midnight snack last night!”

Yes, darling, I noticed.

Only a few random ants in sight this morning. No midnight snackers either. I’ve got the pest man scheduled to come back out on Thursday anyway.

If you are waiting for a phone call, it can be very frustrating and a test of your patience. Here are some tips to make that phone ring right away:

1. Rock the baby to sleep four rooms away from the nearest phone where you can hear the ring, but will not be able to get to it before it goes to voice mail.

2. Go for a run on the treadmill.

3. If you take a shower, you must leave the phone in another room. Taking the phone with you guarantees that it will not ring.

4. Lie on the couch with the baby who was prematurely awakened from her nap. Decide that a few minutes to rest your own eyes is a great idea. I think Mom-naptimes are the best generators of phone calls. I usually get an average of one for every 15 minutes of dozing.

Unfortunately, though the phone may ring, it may not be the person you wanted to call. Try again the next day.

Watching fireworks on television is a waste of time. If you can’t feel the boom, there’s no point.

The kids wanted to go see fireworks live, but I said no. I explained that me with six little kids in a dark field at night trying to find a car (even a big white 12 passenger van) was not my idea of fun. Fritz very seriously detailed a plan involving rope that would give me peace of mind. Duct tape would probably work better.

As it is, the baby fell asleep at 530 PM in the car on the way home from the pool. I suspect a 3 AM wake up, but I promise I will not have a Part III to my series on my sleeping habits. Maybe I’ll just do a daily log of my weight and how many cigarettes I smoked…no, that’s been done already. Perhaps a mundane sleeping diary is the ticket to fame and fortune…

Then Jenny and Peter and I fell asleep during the pre-fireworks show at the Nation’s Capital being show on PBS. I’d have had a hard time doing that in a dark field with six little charges, unless of course, duct tape were involved. I’m happy to only have to carry the little ones up the stairs to bed and not in and out of a car and up the stairs.

Before I fell asleep, I saw (on TV) a military helicopter in the air over the Mall. I know several pilots, and I can tell you that being assigned to the DC area has some drawbacks, to include being tasked to do flyovers of public events on federal holidays, usually the ones geared toward honoring you. So, while the average civilian’s heart gets to swell with pride at seeing your helicopter or jet screaming through the air, your thanks for a job well done is another day at the office. And no, folks, there is no such thing as comp time in the US Military.

On the PBS show, they announced Barry Manilow performing. I muttered some amount of surprise that he was still alive and kicking. When the kids saw him, Billy said, “He’s a young man!” I said he was an old man when I was their age (at least he seemed that way – he’s three years older than my parents). I assume the man has had some assistance in his appearance. Either that or he has a very ugly portrait hidden in his attic. For perspective, Billy was insisting that his own father was an old man just the other day. But Barry Manilow is young. Maybe I should get Bill some botox for Christmas.

When I began this post, Katie interrupted to say that she couldn’t sleep because of the locals setting off firecrackers. I told her lie in her bed, awake, until they were done. About 10 minutes later, some local fireworks show began and it woke up the baby (so much for 3 AM…). I looked in on Katie and she was fast asleep.

Fritz passed out too, but the noise got Billy to hopping around from window to window. Alas for him, we live in a forest, practically, and he could barely see some of the lights over the tops of the trees. I remember a time when I was about his age or a little younger and I was still awake when the fireworks started. My mom helped me find the best view (I think she wanted to see too). It was neat being up past my bedtime, being quiet to not wake my siblings, and being able to watch something wonderful.

I am glad that people still set off firecrackers and fireworks and whatever else is legal (or not). I’m not so sure that we all appreciate the magnitude of what was done on that original July the 4th. Certainly, we all are guilty of taking our liberties for granted most of the time – and I thank God for that. To be ever cognizant of our blessings usually means that we experience otherwise or fear that we are in danger of losing them. But it is because we are so assured of our freedom that we grow numb to just how special that is.

And once a year we simulate the noise and excitement of war without all that messy bloodshed. I think the roman candles are my favorite. Nothing gets your heart pumping faster.

At some early hour of the morning, I was awakened by a 4 year old who was incapable of expressing his needs and wants. All I got was moaning. Groggily, I got up and put him on the toilet. He went. Great, I thought, problem solved. But no, he continued to moan. I put him on my bed, but he flailed. So I put him on the floor next to the bed. His wailing grew louder, but I managed to roll over and go back to sleep.

At another early hour of the morning, I was awakened by an 11 year old who was complaining that the calamine lotion was not helping to relieve the itching of his mosquito bites. “Sorry, honey,” I muttered, “go back to bed.” He left, and I took the opportunity to check the floor for my earlier distraction. The floor was empty. Sleep, though, overrode any curiosity I may have felt.

At 5 AM my alarm-that-has-no-snooze-button went off. It’s a cute alarm, but the early wake-up has gotten annoying after nearly 21 months. 6 months ago, it was automatically set to 4 AM, so I am grateful for the little progress it is making in adjusting itself to reasonable hours.

I fetched the alarm clock and looked around her room for the 4 year old, since that is where his bed is. Not there. Interesting, I thought. I took the little alarm clock back to my room and looked harder at my floor. Only the dog looked back at me.

Early morning snuggling with the alarm clock usually only gets me 15-20 minutes of light dozing, but I guess she was really tired today. It was nearly 7 AM before she decided it was time to get up. Fritz had been puttering in the sunroom outside my bedroom, heard me talking to her, and came in. “Have you seen Peter?” I asked. Negative. Perhaps he’s in the girls’ room, I thought. Or….

I got up and looked under my bed. Sure enough, there he was.

After my coffee, I got the camera and went to get a picture, but just then he came out of my room. “Mommy, somebody put me under your bed,” he said. Sure, son, little elves were playing a trick on you, and on me too.

Me against the lawn with only a mower to protect me.

It was not a pretty sight. The back is swampy woods with 3 foot high vegetation or bare dirt dotted with dandelions or moss with spiky weeds or lush beds of clover. The front includes a steep hill; sandy, rocky soil with sparse grass and weeds; a huge bed of insidious English Ivy; a dozen trees to mow around; and deep channels of soil erosion.

I managed to avoid sunburn, and kept dehydration at bay with ice cold lemonade breaks (the drinking of fluid from elephant dung was, fortunately, unnecessary). I did get one nasty blister on my hand from the mower before it occurred to me to put on work gloves, and my right shoulder is very sore this morning.

It took all day, but I now have 3/4 acre covered with trimmed “grass.”I think I’ll have my husband teach me how to operate the riding mower before he goes.