oh good, its football season again

I like football just fine. I like Penn State, and I'll like VTech when the Boy gets on the field. But I don't like football season. Possibly because I live with a man who truly believes that Penn State cannot win unless he is personally watching them. Since not every game is broadcast here (like this week's game: Penn State vs St. Scholastica girls preschool), this leads to contortions as he searches for webcasts, or local alumni association meetings where they somehow manage to get the game. Then we watch whatever other football is on, for good measure. I can't even escape to my parents house, because everyone knows Spud loves to watch football of any type. If he can't watch actual football, he wants to watch the pre-game analysis. Or the post-game wrap-up. Or the middle-of-the-week, theres-no-reason-for-it-but-lets-discuss-football specials. Besides, my folks are now in the season of regular pilgrimages to the shrine of St. Beamer, so I can escape to their house: in fact I have to, in order to let their annoying dog out 800 times, and try to keep the Widge from destroying things. Last time they went, the Widge emptied all bookshelves while I was getting the dog fresh water. Somehow the dog who drinks from mudpuddles outside shuns any but the cleanest water inside. I don't really like petsitting, and football season brings a lot of petsitting.

Today, however, I'll be going along cheerfully to my petsitting duties, because my home is going to be invaded. We won the random selection lottery, so the VA department of something or other is coming to inspect our house on the 7th. Some time before that, there will be a walk-through, and today the apartment company is doing a pre-inspection inspection. The subject, as their note helpfully explained, is "all aspects of safety." As many of you know, I've done some safety-related work, and as I gaze around my home while considering "all aspects of safety," I'm somewhat alarmed. I can only assume their concern will be the safety of the actual apartment, rather than my personal safety habits. I assume I'm entitled to little trucks all over the floor, since I pay my rent on time. What really bothers me is the number of people who have access to my home. When I was going to work, I didn't mind as much, but right around the time the Widge was born, I started to get annoyed. These apartment people just show up, without concern for whether the baby is sleeping, or being nursed, or if mom is in the shower. They knock briefly, but its a formality: they have the key, and they're coming in.

I think the real problem here is me. The apartment people leave me a note, and the paranoia begins. They don't even give me a time range, like: between 10 and 2. They just give me the date, and I'm left to imagine when they'll arrive. In my imagination, its either just when I get the Widge to drift off for his nap, or else while he's napping peacefully, and I'm enjoying a nice, hot shower. Worse, the husbun worked last night, so he's sprawled in bed, in his little boxers, snoring. No doubt I'll have to rush in to get him the wake up and put some clothes on when these inspectors show up. Apartment living is just too stressful for me.