My subconscious speaking

Hang on a minute ... 

That box over there, in the homework corner!

(What a messy homework corner, by the way!)

That box!  I remember putting it there to hold empty boxes, cardboard tubes, empty tins and jars ... 

And I put a sign on the front, but I don't quite remember putting ...

Ooh.  

Goodness.  

How indelicate.

I honestly put THAT on the box?

I mean, it's true, but really?  I did that?

Let me move a bit to the left to get a better look ...

Oh.

OH!!!

I remember now.

Yes.  That's what I put.  Of course.

A bit like an Elvis Sighting

Guess what?!?!? 

Some people think they've seen Elvis.  It's called an "Elvis Sighting."

Well we think - think - we've had a Greeny Sighting.

This could be Greeny. 
He looks different to how he looked before, so we're not sure.

But he's a different kind of moth to the regular inside moths.  

So we think it's Greeny.  We're going with that.

He was in our homework corner so we put him in a container and released him.

He was too quick for Mum to photograph and anyway, Rex was in her arms and she can't do anything when he's in her arms. 
So this is a recreation of how "The Release Of Probably Greeny" went:

A fake depiction of the release of a moth that may or may not have been Greeny.  Lame?  Possibly.

We can all sleep well now.

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Greeny Part 1: "Greeny"
Greeny Part 2: "Goodbye my larva, 'tis time to pupate"
Greeny Part 3: "In Which Procrastination Finds Me Out"

In Which Procrastination Finds Me Out

"I really should put a net over Greeny's pupa," I've been saying for the last fortnight.  "I'll do it soon.  At least before he hatches."

Well, we all know how this one ends.

This morning I decided that enough procrastination was enough, and I was going to put a little net over his egg-carton accommodation to capture him if/when he hatched.  And, predictably, this is what I found:

"Greeny is risen!" - "He is risen indeed!"

An empty pupa, and a few dead ants for emphasis.

See, this here is what we call a "Fail."  Sure, I'll spin this somehow: "Greeny has hatched while we weren't watching and flapped off to live somewhere, in the trees perhaps, and he's very very happy there ..." and the discarded pupa will go to school for Show and Tell (which will be a relief because it looked like this week's Show and Tell was going to be a doorknob, an implausible story involving a mattock and a few bits of broken door,) but still.

I could easily have not procrastinated on the net and have Greeny the Moth to show the children this afternoon after school.  There could have been a triumphant release and the children could send him off with fond wishes that he may parent many babies, much to Sue Ellen's completely justified horror and disgust.

But instead, Greeny seems to have hatched and hidden himself inside somewhere and isn't making himself easy to find.  If we do find him, it could still end poorly as I'm reminded how easy it is to crunch the life out of a child's beloved moth by the simple action of shutting a door.

Somehow, I knew the Greeny story wasn't going to end with the completion of the Life Cycle loop.  Jolly Greeny.

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Greeny Part 1: "Greeny"
Greeny Part 2: "Goodbye my larva, 'tis time to pupate"

The day the doorknob broke and we couldn't fix it so we chopped the door down with a mattock

Or, the blog post title with the biggest spoiler of all time.

Last week's blog post was sparked by Jessie having tonsillitis, Buzz having asymptomatosis and me having asymptomatata.  ONE of those people kissed Rex and passed it on.  It was the only person who was truly infectious and by the end of the week, tiny Rex had a husky voice, pain on sneezing, a roasting fever and diarrhoea.  Diagnosis: Tonsillitis.

On Sunday after church, we all tried for a rest.  Poor Rex was feverish but still up for a good sleep, and I tried for one too.  Woody interrupted me right up until five minutes before Rex woke up, so my sleep was poor.  But when I finally heard my baby boy crying his husky, pained cry, Woody had fallen asleep to enjoy the rest he'd robbed from me, and I graciously allowed him to live.

Jessie came to me and whispered, "Rex is crying."  I knew this.  I asked her to ask Daddy kindly if he might get Rex but Daddy was very busy killing bad guys with Buzz (I'm still working out if I should be worried when my moral-policeman-seven-year-old-son gleefully shouts things like, "I've lost the cops!!") so Rex continued to cry.

I staggered down the hallway to rescue him, turned the handle of his door and barrelled in.  Specifically, I barrelled into the door.  I smashed my head into it, and momentarily worried about my sanity.  I turned the knob properly the next time, and again smacked my face into the still-closed door.

Certain about my sanity now (Diagnosis: Stupid) I tried the knob the other way.  And the first way.  And the other way.  At some point, I realised the door wasn't opening and I yelled to Mr de Elba mid-slaughter, "Can you come and tell me if I'm not properly awake or if Rex's door won't open?"

He came, and tried the doorknob many times.  In the words of a tradesman who once did work for us:  "Diagnosis: Buggered."

So while Rex cried his poor little lungs out, we grabbed my screwdriver set and took off the screws holding the knob onto the door.  We fiddled with the mechanism.  We turned the square sticky-outy thing that works the openy-closey mechanism: no luck.  We tried to access parts further down the workings to retract the little tongue-thing from the hole-in-the-other-side thing: no luck.  We kicked the door: no luck.

Now at this point, if time hadn't been an issue, we could have called my Mum, who is Tinkerbell Incarnate.  She tinkers with stuff and it falls into place.  We could have called Justadad, the husband of my friend Justamum, who knows how things work.  We could have researched doorknob problems, we could have gone out and bought some magical tools, we could have asked the tradesman who is coming soon to work on some other doors around the house.

But it was a lazy Sunday afternoon and poor feverish Rex had screamed hard for 20 minutes so he was about to burst into flames.  We'd exhausted all the options at our disposal so there was only one option left.  It was drastic, it was destructive, and it was a whole heap of fun.

Mr de Elba chopped the door down with a mattock.

The door was cheap and the knob was rubbish, and recently Mr de Elba has been so busy at work that a bit of door-chopping was a rather welcome and therapeutic distraction.  Also, he'd just been killing bad guys so he was in the mood.

I wasn't joking.

Buzz LOVED it.  Jessie cried loudly and shouted, "Will the police have to come and see what we've done to the door?  Will we get in trouble from The Police?!?" and generally lost her head.  Woody slept through the whole thing in the next room, and Rex cried and cried.

Finally, the hole was big enough for me to crawl through and I went in to rescue my baby who had wriggled himself into a painful position all smashed up against the bars of the cot.  I handed him out to his Daddy who had lovingly chopped his door down with a mattock.

I did this for you, my son.

The cleanup was extensive.  The picture above shows only half of the final destruction, and only a quarter of the final mess.  A wheelie bin was actually brought into the house for the cleanup, the whole area was vacuumed twice with a Dyson (using both the Contact Head and the Turbo-brush) during which one of Woody's socks was sucked up (I can recommend the Dyson's suction ability, by the way) and now there is only one more thing to be done.

Buy a new door.

And a really good quality doorknob.

And get it from the shop to our house.

Somehow.

And install it.

Somehow.

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Addendum: Although the Dyson is very good, the door was spread far and wide.  We are still finding bits of door in unlikely places.