It started when I was looking for the dead frog in the freezer. Why was I looking for a dead frog in my freezer? And (an equally valid question) why was a dead frog in my freezer to begin with?

Sally Owen, who lives in North Carolina, holds down a fulltime job and also manages a household that...read more

There are two answers to these questions. First: The frog had a 14-day warranty. But on the day that he proved unresponsive to my son's poking, we couldn't get to the store. So my husband slipped him into a baggie and put him in the freezer for safekeeping. (You can't get your $2.49 back without producing the remains.)

The other answer is: This is how my household works. It would be more gratifying if I had something to show for my haphazard household management. It would be one thing if I looked at the winter comforter, which had made it from the bed to the landing to the hall, all with the eventual goal of being washed and dried at the Laundromat and stored for next winter, and said, "I'm too busy on my piano concerto to mess with that!" But I do, in fact, want the comforter washed and out of the hall. I just haven't gotten around to it. And I'm not working on a piano concerto.

So I'm rooting around in the freezer looking for the frog carcass when an opened box of ice cream bars slides out, sending toffee crunch bars skittering across the floor.

Then there's an avalanche. Bags of chopped spinach and corn, packs of hot dogs, containers of mozzarella cheese all begin sliding. I'm shoving them in with both hands, propping the door open with my shoulder, when a hunk of hamburger smashes one of my toes. I screech and let go of the freezer door. It swings shut and whacks me in the head.

I lose control. I start pulling things OUT of the freezer. Shrink-wrapped steaks and Lean Cuisines go flying. Broccoli pieces scatter.

Suddenly my hand lands on a black plastic bag. I see a yellow flash. I know what this is.

Frog is not the first pet to end up in our freezer. In that bag are the remains of one yellow parakeet, three mice and a white rat. The bag hides most of it, but I can see some yellow feathers and part of the rat's tail.

I am not surprised or particularly disgusted. Frankly, I've come across these items quite often while cooking dinner. (My husband offers the excuse that they died in winter and we couldn't bury them, but let's face it, it has been months.) Still, my fury is renewed.

I rip off the top of the trash can and slam in the bagful of dead animals. I start flinging other things as well: A bag of dessicated, black bananas "for banana bread." Some peanuts we moved from our old house. Something red. Something green. A plastic container labeled "lentil soup 2/5/05." A baggie with some grass my daughter swears is edible.

I lean over the trash can and jam them down and cinch the top shut. I lug it out the back door and heave it into the bin.

I return to the kitchen. My hysteria subsides.

There's a lot more room in the freezer now -- and everything is edible. Except, of course, the frog, ghastly, flat and pale inside his baggie. I found him next to the frozen parsley and resisted the urge to pitch him out. After all, he's worth $2.49. ...read more blogs