Just in Time for Easter: The Empty Tomb (No, Not THAT Tomb)

We are in the middle of a huge drought. Today was our big chance of rain. And it really was a big chance, too. Like 80% or something. It is raining to the north of us. It is raining to the south of us. Heck, it is probably raining to the east and west of us, too. But here? Nada folks. Well, it rained for like 5 minutes (an act of nature that brought all of my children outdoors with umbrellas screaming, "Rain! Rain! Rain!")

Sad. Our green fields turned brown, then they dried up completely. They are sand. And my yard is sand. I refuse to water it. It is expensive and a waste of resources. So I'm open to any suggestions as to what I could do for a front yard in place of grass?

The wind is just howling here. We are always windy - visitors get out of their cars and are surprised by the wind. I don't know what causes it. We're kind of on a hill - not like up at the top of a big hill - more like on top of a very gradual slope. Our dream is to install wind generators out here someday. We'd love to have a household run completely on solar and wind. But that is expensive $$$$ and we are not wealthy people.

We are also running out of hay. And hay has gone from $30 a bail to $75. So we're looking at selling off some cattle. Like a lot of cattle.

So right now, looking outside is somewhat depressing for me. I am really visually affected - I like pretty things around me. I know - silly for a homeschooling mom of 5 to expect prettiness in her midst. Anyway, like I was saying, looking outside is gloomy. And just when I thought it couldn't get any gloomier - it did. Well, gloomy isn't the word, probably. Maybe horrific....macabre....some other word I can't think of right now.....

We have an oak tree in the front yard and at its roots are buried several pets of the rodent and cat variety. It is where Witey Watsun, the unbelievably long-lived paraplegic gerbil is buried like a viking - complete with viking ceremony. It is where Buddy lies peacefully - our adorable cat we had for 16 years. There are fish, a rat named Wilbur, Pinky the cat, and several hamsters laid to rest in our little pet cemetery. I'm sure there are more I can't remember - generally I just check to see that I am still alive and kicking and take it from there (on most days).

So last week Camille went in to give a carrot to the boys' guinea pigs. "Dalmatian is dead!" she screamed. I have a large and sincere and concrete fear of dead things. They gross me out. Jeff was out of town, of course. Hopeful, I shouted, "Are you sure? Is he sleeping?"

"If he is sleeping he doesn't seem to mind that Cotton Ball (his life partner, as they say) is eating his foot!!"

Oh God. I was eating lunch at the time.

"Where are your brothers?" I asked while trying to keep down the banana I'd just eaten. I was starting to panic. Looking for an exit. But believe me, if there was an exit I would have taken it a long time ago.

"They're outside," she said.

I was going to go outside and do my impressive "bellow for the boys" but Camille beat me to it because the idea of telling them that one of their beloved guinea pigs was dead and being consumed by his life partner was too good to pass up.

The boys do not have a fear of dead things. In fact, they seem to be attracted to dead things. Dead snakes, dead frogs, dead grasshoppers...whatever. They actually have a mummified animal collection on their shelf. Gross.

Anyway, where was I? Was I going somewhere with this? I talked about no rain, expensive hay, selling cows, dead pets.....oh yeah! Dead pets has led me to (can you imagine some creepy music in your head please) the empty grave. As I pulled into our driveway from our sandy, windblown lane, past our crispy/crunchy brown fields.... I saw it. A hole. More specifically, a grave. Even more specifically, it was Dalmatian the guinea pig's grave. Or had been. Before he vacated it. (I told you it was creepy.)

"Aack!" I screamed. Actually, I doubt I said aack. "The guinea pig grave is empty! Even the box is gone!"

To which Ellie replied, "Gross."

To which Camille replied, "Ranger dug him up."

"You mean you KNEW about this?" I asked.

"Yes," she said. "His box is in the backyard but I looked in it and he isn't in there. I think Ranger ate him."

"Why didn't you tell me about this?" I screamed.

"We told Dad," she answered.

"What did he do?" I asked.

"I don't know," she said.

I looked in the backyard and there, indeed, sat the Girl Scout cookie case otherwise known as Dalmatian's coffin.

I got out my phone. I called my husband.
"So, did you know that one of our live pets dug up a dead pet and nobody did anything about it?"

"Oh yeah," he said. "I thought you knew about that. Jules did a sorry job digging the hole."

"Why didn't you do anything about it?" I asked.

"Well, I need to go out there and get the box...." he said. Lamely.

Uugh! Ellie and I are the only ones who are even slightly disturbed by this. What is wrong with my kids? What? Is? Wrong? With? My? Kids?

You can check out my other, equally positive and enthusiastic post about sagging body parts you didn't even know you had, by clicking on Social Skills .

Sardine Mama