jumping on the trampoline to prevent encephalitis

This is the hardest blog post I have ever tried to write. It's not particularly moving or emotionally revealing. It doesn't delve into the balmy pit of my soul. It just hurt to write it.

I woke up at five o'clock because my baby is convinced that this is an acceptable time to have breakfast. and then talk about deep shit like the meaning of life and poopy diapers and stuff while I lay awake wondering if i should just get up or sleep another hour. All the while, JG is rolling over and over and over and sometimes saying the eff word- so I just got up and gave the dogs the finger when they stretched and followed me to the door.
not today, dogs. not. to. day.
So I put on a pot of coffee and the chatter from the nursery dies down and all that can be heard in the house is the trickle of the aquarium pump bubbling and the cat jumping at frogs on the sliding glass door.
ahh. an hour to myself. what. to. do?
clean leftover mess from last night's pizza party? too "worky"
take dogs for early walk? too much poop.
one hundred crunches? ha. as if.
watch the sunset over the moor from the patio. woo-hoo. i feel so close to mother earth already.

I douse my sugar in coffee and head to the patio to enjoy the solitude a morning alone. And because i'm generous and an overall thoughtful type gal, I invite the cat to sit with me. No harm in a little fresh air for my feline shut-in on a quiet morning? That lasted two minutes. He first tried to leave the patio for the moor and breakfast birds and then refused to sit on my lap like the cats in the movies do. I squished him back into the house quick-like so I could still enjoy my sunrise.

sat. waited. yawned. slapped a mosquito. got cold, got bored, fetched sweater and laptop, gave dogs the finger again, resumed my patio setup with the intention of writing an inspiring blog about the sunrise.

where the hell is the damn sun?
*slap
Why are there mosquitoes out here? It's fifty-six degrees?
*slap, smack, efffff

"The dew is on the moor and sillohuettes of whipporwills streak the early morning sky..."

*whack, thwack, swat

What the hell, bugs? Through my sweater? Really?

And then, like a beacon in the blackish-brownish morning-of-the-living-bloodsuckers, a child's plaything provides a solution. A tiny Richard-Simmons sized trampoline in the yard invites me to escape the *slap insatiable thirst of the bugs of the night.

Jump jump jump. Ahh. They can't bite what they can't land on.
Jump jump jump.
I will see my sunrise yet.
Jump jump jump.
Thighs. Jump. Burrnninngg.

Hurry. Jump. Up. Jump. Sunshine.
Jump. W. Jump. T. Jump. F?
sporst. jump. bra.

Jump jump jump.
Hurry the eff up, sunshine! I just want to be awed by you in all your spelndid shine-ness! Jump Jump Jump. *SLAP

A sound from the baby monitor distracts me from my jumping long enough for a fifty-gatrillion bugs to land and attack all at one time.

Abort, abort, aborrrrrttttttt.
Splendor in the sky, mission FAILED.

Do not pass go. Do not have peaceful morning.

Thank you mother nature. For being nothing like you are on the Discovery channel.