I am blessed to have met and become friends with some wonderful women online and I’m honored to be featuring one of them today. Christine is the stay at home mom of 2 girls and is a newer addition to the blogging community.

Her blog is called Serenity How? time out for moms to laugh and learn about life and laundry! Take a few moments to stop by her blog and I assure you it will be time well spent. She is funny and delightful while thought provoking. Recently I stumbled on Compost Happens, a post that is located in her “Irrational Fears, Serene Solutions” category and I simply had to share it with you. Enjoy!

Compost Happens

Last spring we bought a composter. It’s kind of cute really, like a black plastic mini Space Shuttle with a big lid on top. It was shiny. It was heavily subsidized by our city government cheap. It was love at first sight…heavy sigh…

Well, let me confess a little something here. The thrill is gone. I’m no longer smitten. I’ve moved on.

Don’t get me wrong, I still think composting is a wonderful thing. We haven’t stopped saving up our kitchen scraps, coffee grounds (complete with the filters) and yard clippings. Did you know you can compost hair and even dryer lint? How cool is that?

See, I’m all for it. The fact that you can put a bunch of otherwise useless stuff into a container, wait a while, and get a big mess of quality topsoil is to me a bit of a miracle. It’s also proof positive that God has a great sense of humor.

The problem is…well…I’m afraid of it. More precisely, I’m afraid to open it. Not because it’s smelly in there, though sometimes it is. That’s nature baby, and sometimes nature stinks. No, my problem is I think something might live in there. Something that might jump up and gnaw my face off if I dare to remove the lid. I can’t tell B or the kids. B would laugh at me and the kids might also laugh at me get scared. So until I posted this, it’s been my burden to bear alone.

We live in an area with all kinds of critters. For the most part we’ve managed to peacefully coexist. “Peacefully” has come to mean they stay out of my house and occasionally come into my yard at night to set off motion detectors, wake us up, then leave. Enter the composter, and now our little peace treaty is null and void. On several occasions I’ve found evidence that some kind of hungry varmint has tried to dig it’s way into the Promised Land of Rotting Things. Once I found a moldy slice of bread left beside the compost bin. I guess even critters have standards.

I’ve been filling up the holes with dirt and big rocks. So far so good, but I still can’t shake the notion that my cute little composter is home to some nasty little beastie. I’m going to have to ‘fess up to my family or conquer my fear soon, before B finds my collection of dryer lint and has me committed once and for all.

Oh, the shame.

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