I don't know where the flies were when we previewed the house. Maybe the previous owners had saturated the neighborhood with Deep Woods Off and they were just biding their time until it abated. But they're here now. They're not the little tiny black things that occasionally land on your counter and make you wish you were wearing flip-flops. These are the big, green bumble monsters.
They're so large that the windows shake as they bop against them. I found about twenty-five of them congregated at the top of one window in the laundry room and was given the chance to discover that they've come a long way in the last ten years toward making household insectesides smell pleasant. Good thing, too.
These are also the laziest flies I've ever seen. I think they have that Borg mentality - they know that the Fly Collective is more important than any individual fly, so each of them is more than willing to take one for the team. Unfortunately, all the combined brainpower of all the flies in the house is still practically none at all, so we're essentially just scooping them off of surfaces and giving them to the pitcher plant, which is probably being overfed. Before the winter's out we're going to end up with Audrey in the kitchen from feeding the damn thing so much.
The accoustics of this house are weird. It's odd to hear echos in rooms that shouldn't have them. Especially when what's echoing isn't what you said in the first place. Even more if the echo just sounds like "GET OUT" over and over. I think some of those accoustic tiles will take care of that, though.
We're sending the girls to speech therapy. It's not that I mind Sumerian. It's just that it's hard to communicate with a child who's not speaking your language, and even harder when they use really difficult-to-translate concepts like "heathen spawn of the interlopers." And I think that a chiropracter wouldn't be out of line either, although I'm fairly sure that the head rotating like a barstool was happening before we moved here. I mean, the kid *is* four, fer cryin' out loud.
We're going to put off re-papering the bedroom, too. I've come to realize that the wallpaper, hideous as it may be, does go a long way toward disguising blood stains.
I'm currently trying to work a deal to get Martha Stewart to serve her community service time over here, redecorating and exorcising the demons from my house. It'd be a good thing.