Those Pants

We all have that pair of pants. That pair of pants you only wear in the comfort of your own home.  No, I'm not talking about yoga pants or pajama pants (but, for the love of God, please only wear pajama pants in your home!).  I'm talking about that pair of pants that are, or were at some point in time, the favorite.  I actually have several pairs.  Over time they either become too loose or too tight, faded or torn; thus being designated to the home only.  Today, being a snow day and not having to go anywhere, was one of those glorious days in which I could slide (ok, it's more like jump up and down a few times to get them over my thighs and hips) into one of my most comfy pairs of jeans.  I was truly distressed when I tore a small hole in the crotch of them two years ago while working in the woods putting up mainline and tubing.  There are a few other small holes in the legs where they got caught on something, but that's what gives them their character.  They are so soft and, besides having to jump my way into them, have a comfy waist band.  Gap sure knows how to make a good pair of jeans.  Unfortunately, I'm not always the brightest when wearing these fragile pants.  I had already done my morning workout, showered, got into these comfy jeans, and was in the process of cooking syrup to make some of our famous maple cream.  I have no idea what came over me, but apparently I was still in workout mode and decided to do sumo squats in front of the stove while I was waiting for the syrup to boil.  I was mid squat when I heard the ominous sound.  I knew right away that squats were a bad idea when wearing jeans, never mind ones that already had a hole in them.  I quickly glanced at the thermometer to check the syrup, and then bent halfway over to check out the damage.  The "little" hole that was previously in my jeans was now about two inches in length and a half inch wide.  I stood in shock for a moment; gone were the far off hopes that these pants would one day magically repair themselves and make it back to the hangers in the closet.  I decided not to do any more "exercising" and pondered what possessed me to do that in the first place.  I stood still until the syrup reached the designated temperature, and then poured it into the bowls.  I figured what the heck, they can't get any better, so I wore them out for another round of shoveling with no further damage.  I will still keep and wear these pants, but only in my home when no one else is around.  Good thing I have a few pairs.

Squeak, Squeak

It was a lovely Sunday morning.  My husband was outside pulling snow off the roof and shoveling. I had settled on the couch with my A&P book, attempting to do some reading.  I had read the first two pages of the chapter for the third time when I heard that unmistakable sound - "squeak, squeak."  I froze, listening for any noise.  Nothing.  Phew.  I hunkered back into my book, relieved that the noise was just in my head.  I flipped the page and heard it again. "Squeak, squeak."  I got up off the couch, carrying my book with me (you never know when you need something for defense), and went to the bedroom where I thought the squeaking noise came from.  I crept in the room, trying not to make a sound and hoping not to see anything.  "Squeak, squeak." There it was again, but coming from the other side of the house.  I tiptoed past the living room and peered inside the kiddo's room.  I couldn't see anything, but maybe it was in the closet....  I opened the door and jumped back, just in case.  A huge sigh of relief when I couldn't find anything.  "Squeak, squeak." A panic fell over me as I realized I hadn't seen our cat in a while.  Find the cat, find the mouse.  I looked in all the usual places: the bath tubs, her food dish, litter box, bed.... Nothing.  "Squeak, squeak."  The living room.  It was definitely coming from the living room.  What if all this time while I was on the couch Lily was right behind me toying with a mouse?  I shuddered at the thought.  I jumped on the couch, just in case, and cautiously glanced behind.  There was Lily, on the windowsill, no mouse in sight.  "Squeak, squeak." I raised my gaze out the window.  There was my husband, diligently putting up mainline on the wire we replaced out front.  "Squeak, squeak."  The sound of the wire ties being twisted to hold up the mainline mimicked that of a mouse.  I was both relieved and embarrassed, having let my imagination get the better of me, and also thankful that my husband had no idea I was going through the house like a crazy woman searching for the imaginary mouse.  He would have never let me live it down.  My distaste and fear for rodents had gotten the better of me this time, but I'm glad I can say they are not in my home.