so very sorry

I love my blog dearly. But recently I'm sure you noticed I have been unusually silent. It may be a couple more months of silence guys. I have four, children two with very weak immune systems. Don't think I am gone forever but it will be February probably before I can write regularly or even at all. I apologize but with homeschooling and other responsibilities it is impossible for me to write as well. Please bear with me, and don't lose faith.

frightening medicine

I'm fightin a cold. I hate colds. I'd rather have the flu. Not hangin in this perpetual state of functioning but miserable. At least when you have the flu, you are sick. Sick enough to justify layin' in bed all day utterly miserable. With a cold you have to push through.

But while makin my lemon tea with honey for my throat I was thinkin of some of the old timer remedies. Whenever I read some of them I wonder if more people died from the remedies rather than the illness.

Who thought that putting dried horse droppings in ale would cure anything? I don't drink but I have tasted alcohol. It tastes bad enough without adding horse fertilizer to it! Although after some of those drunken episodes I'm sure there's more than one wife who would add an extra dose of fertilizer to their hubby's morning ale.

What about dragon liver or pickled dragon liver? We all know there's no such thing as dragons. So where'd they get these rather rancid pieces of "magical" meat? On second thought I really don't want to know.

But the whole thing is who decided these specific ingredients "cured" anything? Healers borrowed their surgical equipment from the cook or the horse farrier. So I'm sharing dental extraction tools with a horses hooves. Yummy. Maybe that's where the droppings came into use?

Then there's the odd animal sacrafice usually a white or black. So why those two colors? Can't we all just get along. Or insects. Everything from lice, leaches, to cockroaches to spider webs. Supposedly if you stick a cockroach cut in two in your ear it'll fix an earache. I'd rather be deaf.

Ya know I think I'll just stick to my bee spit up. It at least tastes sweet.

scrooged

There's a great debate goin' on here, it will continue for years to come. What could possibly be so controversial? The best Christmas movie. We all have very different tastes so this gets to be quite the argument when it's time for a new movie to be popped in.

Let's see Honeybear's fave is actually a toss up; Christmas Vacation and A Christmas Story. It's not uncommon to hear the kids pop up with "You'll shoot your eye out kid." This gets us weird looks but hey whatya goin' to do. Personally the most important part is when he says a naughty word and blames it on his friend. We all know we slip once in a while as adults but think we could never be the ones to teach them those things. (Yeah right. Hey mom, dad, you feel bad lookin' back? Yeah well you should.)

Martin's fave is supposedly the Polar Express. I beg to differ seeing as how each and every one of these kids can quote Jim Carrey's rendition of the Grinch word for word and line for line. I swear I am tempted to make that movie disappear and they've only watched it once so far this year. Can't remember yesterday's history but they can quote a movie they haven't seen in months!

Madison's fave is more a character than a movie itself. She loves all the movies equally I would say. But is there anyone as fashionable as Martin Short playin' Jack Frost? I don't think so, at least accordin' to Madison. She loves him.

Degan favors any and all "manly" Christmas movies. These include the Grinch, Polar Express, Christmas Carol, and Ruldoph. He says they all got men gettin stuff done. *rolls eyes Anyone want to tell the boy he's five?!

Bella? She just takes advantage of the arguin' to take more than her fair share of popcorn and treats that are a staple this time of year. Although she loves the Grinch too.

So what's your favorite Christmas movie?

And what do you think is mine? I'll give you a hint, He's makin a list and checkin it twice BANG BANG.

wally world weirdos

Today we ran to Wally world. And once again we met one of those odd people that makes me wonder "Why me?" People when did we stop trying? I mean honestly! I am no peach by any means. But I draw the line at leaving the house in fleece with kid pleasing characters all over them. Peep Show

Okay so I may not do my make up every day. And I really don't have a great wardrobe. But I don't embarrass my children by stealing their pjs to wear to town either. It frightens me every time we go to Wal-Mart cause I know there's goin' to be that weirdo that has to go shopping right when I do.

If it isn't some one with a slight megalomaniac streak seeking attention, it's the parents that make you wonder why their isn't an IQ requirement to reproduce. You know who I'm talkin' about. They have their kids on the leashes with the pacifier and diapers and nothing else on. When you pass them you wonder what a thirteen year old is doing in the diaper, forget the other stuff. If the kid can walk and talk and throw a fit it is time to start disciplinin'.

And ladies I know the celebs do it but honestly no one and I mean NOT ONE PERSON on this planet wants to see your big old belly. It isn't cute, it isn't cuddly. It's skin stretched beyond the normal means. Stretch marks are all well and good and come with the territory, but we don't want a front row view to the makin' of yours.

practice run

Oh the weather out side is frightful, but the fire is so delightful. And since we have no way to go. Let it...rain? Well, that's my version right about now. But it's all good. My stay with mom and dad has been extended unexpectedly, thank the van, and we are actually enjoying it.

I know who'd thunk it right? Who actually wants to stay with their parents when they have a nice warm house to go to? I do. It helps that Gypsy comes with us so no worries about destruction. But I love seeing my mom and dad. And I love going to our little churches down here.

One big difference between this house and ours. Daddy. Daddy is the greatest grandpa ever, not surprising he was a pretty decent dad. But (there's always a but) he is a little OCD. After the first two days he started having panic attacks. The kids are a little messy (my fault partly, theirs mostly.)

So today we are practicing Daddy's rules. No the boots are not suppose to be in the floor. Line them up at the door. No we don't play with toys on the table. Quit making paper airplanes and keep the first ones you made. We do NOT make confetti in Granny's blender. No we are not disturbing Pappaw while he watches football. Do you want to be the next log thrown on the fire?!

They have been on a destructive kick since the van broke down....again. But hey if they live through this maybe I'll have them trained better. (I don't really believe that. I'm closer to believin the big man in red will bring me a brand new van that runs perfect. Santa are you listening?)

But I'm lookin' at this as a practice run for Christmas, then I'll know how much duct tape and rope is actually needed. I already know at least four rolls to shut my older brother up. (He's a magician. His best trick is his head fits in the door. Followed by the fact he can make a grizzly bear with a chainsaw appear at night in his room to keep us all awake. I don't know how he makes it through the night without waking himself up but he manages.)

Personally I am considerin' a coup and making him sleep in the barn...at the neighbors.

Then there's my mother. Dear, sweet, loving, mother. She reads my blog. She took my advice from the last entry to heart. Right in the middle of my ultraconservative family ( armed with guns and cuffs even {bounty hunters}) she announces Sheena HATES Sarah Palin. Was this even close to accurate? NO. What does she do? She announces this and WALKS AWAY. I thought moms were suppose to be on their children's side?

So anyone at all have an interesting story from Thanksgiving?

ahhh the holidays.....pass the gin

We're here at our second of three Thanksgivings. Honeybear accomplished his goal and the Christmas tree hasn't made it's appearance yet. Wasn't hard really. Just schedule three Thanksgivings insist you have one at home before the festivities start and stir. How exactly was I suppose to find the time between cooking?

But I have found an easy way to make it through the holidays with various frightening relatives. No not alcohol. Dress up nicely. But a bright smile on your face. And make fun of the person nearest you. Pretty soon everyone joins in and you slink away to do it again in the next room.

One of two things will happen. People that are uptight will get angry and the "jokes" will get more personal. (And we all know that's more entertaining than football.) Or the jokes will get louder and the laughter will become indulgent as the insults get more outlandish. (I do believe someone accused somebody else of eating the Easter Bunny.)

Now the best thing to do in this situation is just blend in to the background and watch what you've started. But every once in a while people start looking for the cause of their discomfort and want a little revenge. There is no way of avoiding this (if you try the accusations can get way out there and said in a serious tone since you put them in this position.) So have some standard comebacks ready.

Now "your mama" is juvenile. But placed in the right situation (for instance, said mama is standing next to her offspring) can be hilarious. Unless of course they're your mama too. (Sometimes it's still appropriate.)

Then there's the always fun parrot. This is also juvenile. But once again with the right person can be a party pleaser. Usually it has to be the know it all of the crowd. People enjoy know it alls frustrated. (At least when it's me as the know it all.)

My personal favorite is throwing someone else under the bus. Usually Honeybear. But I think he enjoys it since he is king of one liners and comebacks. Sometimes this back fires and he aims it back at you. (Which is actually closer to about 75% of the time.) But hey I'm an easy target. Redneck beauty queen, homeschooler, and all around goof ball, but it's all part of my charm.

Now this is not a technique for the meek and mild be prepared for battle and remember my favorite comeback at all times. You can't win a battle of wits with me if you're not armed.

Happy Thanksgiving Ya'all

Dear Tooth Fairy

Dear Tooth Fairy,
Please refrain from removing Madison's tooth till later this week. She would really like to keep it till she can show her Pappaw and Granny this weekend. She has promised you can have it immediately there after. Thank you.

Madison has lost her first tooth. It's a unique little piranha tooth. I'm guessing it's something to do with her inability to thrive that her first teeth are so tiny. But never the less with her sensitivity to...well everything, this was quite the process.

It started over a week ago with Madison's announcement that her tooth was loose. We dismissed it cause there wasn't a whole lot to do anyways. We knew it would practically have to be falling out before she would let us near it. So nothing else was said or done except an occasional reminder it was loose and a uh huh wiggle it reply.

Today as I cooked dinner she giggled periodically and finally we asked what her deal was. She told us her tooth was dancing around. Curious, I beckoned her over and wiggled it with my finger. Yep, it was definitely loose. Loose enough it was actually lower in the gum and sticking our at a weird angle.

Her daddy said let me see it. He was trying to get enough leverage to pop it out. She backed up and dodged him repeatedly. No way was Daddy getting near her teeth. (Here's a quirky thing about SPD-she laughed. She was in pain and she just kept laughing uncontrollably.) Never once did she cry.

Whenever her older brother loses a tooth it's all Honeybear and I can do to hold him down and get it out. He screams and screams like you would not believe. Once we have him it's simple to pop out but you would think we were trying to pull out the rooted ones with dull pliers when it's that time. All because he swallowed his second one.

Anyway, we finally gave up and told her to get an apple. She giggled every time she took a bite. (In all honesty it's a tiny bit odd. But hey that's Madison for you. She is unique.)She was intrigued, her tooth was now sticking out towards her lip. She was mesmerized when she found blood leaking from around it. She giggled every time she saw where she had bit.

Finally after letting me look, and practically choking while giggling, and me wiggling we convinced her to go see Daddy. Daddy was cautiously subtle. He acted all puzzled got her to come closer. Then he quietly placed his thumb under her chin. With leverage he quickly took his index finger and POP the tooth released mostly from the gum, held by a minuscule thread. Madison was giggling like crazy, and reached up and plucked the tooth from it's precarious position.

Never once did she stop giggling. Even with the always present blood of a newly pulled tooth welling slowly to the surface, she just kept giggling. With the tiny minuscule tooth held tightly in her hand like a key to the land of fairies, she giggled and touched the exposed gum.

She finally handed it over to me. I kid you not this thing is maybe a quarter inch long and quarter inch wide. She insists she wants to keep it till this weekend when she can show her grandparents and cousin-hence the note to keep the Tooth Fairy from taking it tonight. Everyone cross your fingers and clap your hands and repeat after me, I DO BELIEVE IN FAIRIES, I DO BELIEVE IN FAIRIES.
We don't want to disappoint Madison do we?

death's door is opening

I don't want to achieve immortality through my work. I want to achieve it through not dying.
Woody Allen

Death is for the birds. Yesterday Honeybear asked what's the deal with your blog? I asked him what he meant. "Well how do expect to be famous for your writing after your dead if you don't write."

A pensive moment or two went by then I asked the big question. "When are you planning on knocking me off?" The uh-what reply followed. You know, the one where they weren't expecting that answer and they stammer and look puzzled. But I'm not fooled he's most likely planning my imminent demise after I finish Gypsy Moon. What better catch than a dead artist right?

So now when I mysteriously die ya'all are my witnesses. The butler did it. And apparently with help from the munchkin squad cause a few short seconds later, I was told were I would be buried by Degan. Straight through the heart, it's a conspiracy!


But it's alright they'll be sure to follow me quickly. Since no one else apparently knows how to fix even a pb & j. That alone comforts me.

Of course I tried to get details out of the MS (munchkin squad) but they only look at me funny when I asked when the assassination was. They told me they already had. Then Bella got out her play gun and shot me a couple of times just to be sure.

the swiss is open for business

Obviously I am not writing as much as normally here. I hope I haven't lost anyone, but I know I have gained a couple of new followers. So before I get to today's story I would like to say hello to all my new followers, and set some expectations. I cannot write every single day in the winter. My kids wake up way to early. The more time I spend trying to write takes away from obvserving them in the day to day. So look for a new post every other day.

So here at the Walton's we have a new addition. A tree house. This morning I woke up to "Mom we're going to the Swiss." (In case you didn't understand that it's a reference to Swiss Family Robinson.) I told them make sure they had their coats tight and I would holler when breakfast was ready. Door slams, I grin and get around.

This all started Thursday. Honeybear was sitting on the sofa and suddenly stood up and says he's going to go build something. Five minutes later he's back saying okay lets go everyone. I am now getting suspicious. He's been talking an awful lot about the two story playhouse he built and we had to leave behind. (It had a deck off the second story that had a slide all built from scratch.But was to heavy to move.)

Sure enough my suspicions are confirmed. He's backed the truck ,filled full of lumber from a discarded project at our little country church, to the dry creek bed opposite our camp fire circle. I'm thinking okay he's going to make them a playhouse next to our campfire, not a bad idea . I'm wrong. Pretty soon I'm standing under a sheet of plywood holding up the floor while he braces it.

All the while I'm getting directions from the pipsqueaks, "Higher" "No the other way" "Mom your slipping" I was quite close to getting the ladder and letting them use their heads for supports. I restrain myself...barely. (Does anyone else notice how much restraint I must show with this group of nuts. I'm the only sane one I swear.)

Soon the floor is up. And it's naptime for Bella. Her and I leave them to their jumping up and down on the platform. About an hour later Martin comes running in. He's out of breath and red faced. But having seen this look many times before I'm not worried. If it was an emergency he wouldn't be exaggerating his breathlessness. They need a drill bit.

Soon the project is brought to a halt. We're out of screws. Bella is roused from sleep and we head to Wally world. (I maybe should have looked at everyone before this. We looked like a group of ragtags coming to get out of the cold.) As anyone knows you can't just walk into Wal-Mart get the one thing you need and leave. Two hours later it's dark.

The next morning we are roused by cannonballs being launched at us. Oh no wait that's just our children jumping on us. They are eager to finish their tree house. Me and Honeybear? Well considering it isn't dawn yet, we just want to sleep. Eventually we get up. Helped by a pot of coffee.

Later that day it's about complete. I am in the house for Bella's naptime again. This time Degan comes to get me. He instructs me as we get closer not to look and leads me to the creek bank. I stand there for ten minutes getting told repeatedly not to look. There is some discussion as to why I was brought out if I couldn't look. No one has that answer.

Finally I'm allowed to look. To an untrained eye it might look like just a box with a door and some windows. To the kids it a wonderful clubhouse built by their daddy and them. It has a secret backdoor and the ladder has been carefully constructed to make it accessible to D as well.

Soon the kids' recliners are brought out from the shed and D's bed is placed in the corner. I donate some old pleather throw pillows and soon it feels like home. They beg to spend the night out there, but I make them come in to their nice cozy beds. (I know. I'm mean.)

It always amazes the simple things in life that overjoy a child. There's nothing special about the treehouse. No electricity, no pictures on the wall, nothing like their rooms in the house. But to them the Swiss is a magical land filled with wonder and it belongs to them. I'm not goin' to complain. I get peace...mostly.

hello there stranger

I'm back from my sabbatical. Not that it was really a vacation. More like writer's block for the blog. Notice I say for the blog. I am working hard on my book which now has a name, "Gypsy Moon". I have been in a novel writing binge. Better than a cookie binge by far.

Anyway, on my writers forum I have met some new friends. And thanks to Deniz at the Girdle of Melian was inspired. Not by the blog (which I love, even if it is sickening she writes ten times more than me in a day, by hand no less) but one of our sarcastic forum posts back and forth. On such short acquaintance I already look forward to her witty remarks. Reminds me of me. They always say the most intelligent conversation is the one you have with yourself. ;)

Anywho, she mentioned a VCR. And me in my self proclaimed wittiness asked her what that was. Her description...priceless. Ah, that special item from the dark ages... Those tapes where you had to guess, based on your recording speed, whether you had 8 hours or 16 hours on the tape... were there two hours worth of space left to tape a movie in the middle of the night? Or would the tape run out just as the hero advanced on the villain?

See what I mean a wit to match my own. This was just a small chunk of the conversation that had started over a song quote. A song that I was blissfully unfamiliar with until I made the mistake of following this link while the kids were sitting around me.

Now I am having to compose a Christmas song program around this silly song. Forget Jingle Bells, Batman Smells...I got to work with Startrek lingo on Chipmunk pace. How in the heck am I suppose to get Ruldoph and Santa worked into the Klingons on the starboard?





**On a side note how much do I rock? I finally figured out how to tag links.

boneheads are everywhere

Today I'm going to be serious, well mostly. There is a growing epidemic in this country, and my dogs have been the focus more than once. Pit bull hatred. No, we don't have pits. Honestly I don't know why, we love bully breeds. But they have been mistaken for them by hysterical uninformed media watching people of the world.

One of my friends on facebook shared a link (http://www.petitiononline.com/ look for Lennox) about something going on not just in this country but all over the world. This family is about to lose their dog because he looks to pit bully.

Now come on people. You know what breed I find frightening? Chihuahuas! There's something about those little rat looking dogs. Everyone I have ever met, was a mean little bugger. And get this-they are the breed with the most reported bites five years running. Evil little rat dogs. (If you own one, well sorry I guess)


Guess who was second on the list for bites. Labs. That's right the big goofy lovable family breed. Now personally, I've only met big stupid or big lovey labs. But hey I didn't do the stats. Honeybear swears that the coloring has a close tie to IQ.

He worked at a duck training facility for a couple of years in high school.Here's his take on the three different coats. Chocolates are like the ones that have been dropped on their heads one to many times. Blondes are more prone to look up you in utter devotion and never wants to leave your side. And Blacks, they're pretty intelligent, but a lot more stubborn.

For years people have to have a bad breed to pin things on. Before now it's been Rotts, German Shepards, and Dobies. I have personal experience with all three breeds. Dobie. I will never ever own one. But that's my prerogative. Mom and Dad loves them had them for years.

Rotts, wonderful love hounds. Some can be protective others are more of the lead ya to the silver as long as you love them. Ours was so lovable someone stole her...twice.

German Shepards. How did these dogs get a bad rap? They are bull headed yes. But with a good trainer they are marvelous. Still pigheaded but marvelous.

All these dogs have also had their time in the limelight. Before or after their popularity spiked they were a family favorite. Just like the pit. People need to wake up and realize- There is no bad dog, just bone headed owners.

chica bow wow

As we speak my children are running around my living room hands behind there heads shaking their hips hollering "Chica bow wow." Why? Because Alvin and the Chipmunks is the closest thing to a Christmas movie they're allowed to watch. Honeybear is very strict about when Christmas stuff is allowed. No movies, no trees, no discussing it till Thanksgiving.

See, I am already thumbing my nose at him. I mentioned Christmas twice. Take that you dictator. I do what any mother would do with four small children clamoring for Christmas (thanks Wal-Mart, without your decorations everywhere this might not be an issue) and a hubby demanding I create tradition, I combined the two. I let them watch all the silly made for cartoon network specials on netflix, and keep the traditional movies in their box.

But my hubby has deemed Alvin and the Chipmunks isn't a Christmas movie. The children disagree. They watch them open all their presents for the thousandth time, and discuss their wishlist. They really are greedy little buggers. Which I don't get cause we do traditions more than presents.

We have a lot of traditions. At dusk we look for Christmas lights, new pajamas for Christmas Eve, homemade and decorated Santa cookies, The Night Before Christmas read while drinking hot chocolate Christmas Eve after making the cookies and putting on the pjs, and then there are more traditions after the children are in bed but best not mentioning all of those.

Of course there are traditions on Christmas day too. Mommies are very busy on Christmas morning, we have a huge brunch with a Christmas ham, we stay in pjs pretty much all day, and lounge around doing nothing. It's a wonderful family day.

This year is a my parent's house. Martin is extremely excited. He plans on sleeping on the rock hearth to catch Santa. Pictures will be taken. They have not one but two beautiful fireplaces. (Built by Daddy himself, fifth generation mason in this country alone.)

The one downstairs is about fifteen feet long (if not twenty or more) and at least two and a half feet across, stone. Martin is sure this is were Santa enters. His reason? If he has the chance to use a nice big opening instead of the small or nonexistent kind of course that's the one he'll use.

Daddy has a thing for Santa figurines, and the whole house has hundreds of them. There is even a table full of musical ones just for the kids to turn on. Boy do they love those ones. Daddy better stock up on batteries this year. Five grandchildren and all the adults that love to press them to, if nothing more than to see the children dance with them.

And my gorgeous and lovely niece Paige will be there. Which makes it that much more fun for my kids. She really loved our holiday traditions last time. Gosh I just can't wait for Christmas.

Ps. Can't wait to watch A Christmas Carol with you Daddy.

greed and wishful thinking

Do you realize that there is 41 days, 13 hours, and 24 no now 23 minutes till Christmas?! Do you know how much Christmas shopping I have accomplished?! Your all wrong! None, nada, zip, zilch. I have four children to take care of and I haven't accomplished anything.

Okay now that my slight moment of panic has passed. (Don't you believe that one?) I thought I would give you a rundown of our experience with the kids' writing their letters to Santa. I'm sure the big guy won't mind me sharing his mail as long as no one ruins the surprise.

Bella of course tried her darndest to keep up with her siblings. Her hand flew across the page. She would stop long enough how to spell a word. "How you spell baby?" And before we could answer she would have her head bent over the paper, nodding in agreement like she thought that was right but was just double checking.

When she presented us with the letter, her older brother exclaimed that Santa couldn't read that. She promptly smacked him in the head with her clipboard (anyone see a pattern in Bella's way of dealing with others) and was sent to her room.

Then there's Degan he opted for a picture letter. What did he draw? A tiger, a dragon, and a transformer. When we asked he said he wanted the tiger for a pet, the dragon for a horse, and the transformer to beat up Martin.

Now we're to the beautiful Madison. Hers was skillfully flattering, even while being greatly misleading. "Dear Santa,
How are you this year? And the Mrs. Santa, is she good? I would love to tell you just in case you missed it Martin has been in lots of trouble, so has Degan. Bella doesn't listen, but I have been an angel. Mama says so. Daddy says so. Everyone says I'm the best. So if you bring me all the things on my list I would love it. I want a unicorn, Princess home, my own room, more clothes, and some clothes for my Barbie, and a new friend for her, a TV for my room, more shoes, and slap bracelets, a horse in a purse, a large Tinker doll, a pillow pet (unicorn), and a watch. I would really be happy. Love, Madison"

Martin was much more to the point. "Dear Santa, Please leave pillow pet, a new bow, bbs for my gun, a mate for Buck, my own laptop, big big big T-Rex like Sid the Science Kid, a new fishing rod, a spider like mommy, and my own TV, another rabbit, and a new bow. Oh a pet snake or scorpion, a guitar, and a big big log cabin for Buck's cage. Love, Martin"

Not asking for much are they?

I have discovered something about myself-I'm a wuss. Yeah, yeah, yeah. The country girl a wuss? The one who gave birth four times naturally? That can't be right? Well, let me tell you something, sitting in the dark at four in the morning watching a paranormal movie and you hear something scratching in the wall, you're a wuss too.

You see, for some odd reason, I like to watch thriller paranormal flicks. No that doesn't mean Ghostbusters. More along the lines of Paranormal Activity, Blair Witch Project, and Project Runway. Of the three mentioned the latter is what gives me the worst nightmares. *shivers What some people consider fashion.

Anyway, when Honeybear leaves for huntin' or something and I can't sleep...You got it I watch one of these movies. Intelligent huh? Not like I haven't dealt with night terrors my entire life. There is a HUGE difference between nightmares and night terrors, just for the record.

Honeybear knows that I do this, there has been many a times he sneaks back up to the house just to scare the pants off me. While he rolls in laughter, I clean up the mess or kick him whichever one seems to fit.

Last night it wasn't Honeybear, or any of the kids. It was the dreaded...mouse. I hate mice. So now I am waging the war every country person does. Project Vermin Execution. Glue Traps, spring traps, and a cat. I will get that mouse.

full circle

I looked around my halfway decent living room this morning and saw a broken crayon. Orange, Martin's favorite color. Can you imagine the life of this little crayon?

Somehow I picture it coming to life after being formed. Looking around and realizing that it and it's siblings are standing in their birthdays suits. Being completely embarrassed but having no arms to hide it's shame.

Relief washes over it as the machine gives it a nice orange outfit trimmed in black. As it aimlessly wanders down the line it dreams of what it'll be able to do. Sees pumpkins and dogs, maybe a tiger or two in its future. Held by the loving hand of a child.

Does it ever occur to this lone crayon in the midst of this group that there just might be a toddler that insists she is a teething ring? Is she aware the cat will bat her from one end of the room to the other? Or that she may end up in a classroom with several children who will fight over her at any given moment?

She is separated from her siblings of the same color. Shoved in a box between a grumpy blue, that insists she is crowding him, and a bright red, that will not quit singing Living la vida loca in a deep voice. They feel their new home shifting constantly for a couple of days. All of them excitedly discussing who they hope will take them home.

They will be disappointed. The first couple of days they sit and wait there is still hope. Soon they all give up hope and turn to hibernation in boredom. One day they are awaken by the jolting around of their cardboard home. They believe the end is near now, they are almost home.

This time when they stop moving brighter light than before is above them. They hear lots of people, and lots of whining. "But mooooommmmmm I neeeeeeeddddddddd it." and other similar woes. They all cross their imaginary fingers hoping that's not their child. Until one day they hear,"Momma, could we get some fresh crayons please? Mine are getting rather stubby."

They feel their box being lifted. Waiting to be sat back down, they realize the child is holding them close to his chest. They know that they have gotten a child who will cherish them, and they are happy.

Their arrival home proves this to be just right. Their lid is thrown back. A young boy looks happily down at them. He runs his hands over the crayons in their box. He smiles and pulls out his favorite color, orange. He puts her tip to paper and together they make a smiling transformer. Orange sighs happily. Life has come full circle for her.

nerves

I am sitting here in utter despair. My stomach is in knots, my hands are clamping into fists. I feel as if I will faint, either from anticipation or from utter mortification. Why? WHY? WHAT DO YOU MEAN WHY?

Oh yeah, I forgot I haven't told you yet. I submitted the first five pages of my story for other career authors to critique. I am going through a virtual rainbow of emotions here. It's been about twelve hours and I have yet to hear a peep out of anyone. Don't they know they are torturing me?

But then again, ignorance is bliss, right? If they don't say anything at all I can imagine them sitting there in utter awe. In utter despair I haven't made my writing available before now. My writing is the answer to world peace. All hail, Sheena!!!

Or they could be wishing hail to rain down on me and knock some sense into me. What was this woman thinking, obviously she doesn't belong here. Let's kick her out of the writer's community so she doesn't taint us with her presence.

See I have become schizo to try and cope with the waiting. Now I am off to do a paint by numbers of the Sistine Chapel. Happy Trails to you, until we meet again. Which might only be after they stop making me use the jacket that makes you hug yourself.

who took the cookie from the cookie jar

Secrets. Everyone has them, we don't want them discovered. But what happens when they are uncovered? Well, normally someone is irked. Someone is hurt. Or someone is in seriously big trouble. Does any of that sound like something that happens in this house? Of course not, secrets are scarce in nature around her anyways.

There is the secrets the children hold dear. Who ate the last of the cereal. Who finger-painted in the toothpaste. Who shoved what under where. (Personally, I am quite content not knowin' the answer to these secrets.) But a child with a secret is a grenade without a pin. You know it's goin' to explode, so duck and cover.

Unfortunately for me, the kids feel the need to spill the beans constantly. The chaos, recriminations, and swingin' for the fences is soon to follow. Where does this leave me? Hiding. Or when that isn't an option-clapping my hand over the tattle tales mouth. Did either of these options occur today? Nope.

There was taunting, there was name calling, there is probably a black eye on the morrow. All over one thing-peanut butter. It went something like the old nursery rhyme game of my childhood.

Madison: Who took the peanut butter from the cupboard.
Degan: Martin took the pb from the cupboard.
Martin: Who me?
Degan: Yes you!
Martin: No way! Wasn't me.
Madison: Then who?

(Madison has special pb that is gluten free, and only available in the little jars. We don't buy many things not in bulk, but her and Honeybear are the only ones that are suppose to touch it. {Yeah I know. Wheat in peanut butter? What is wrong with these companies?})

What happened next was a great debate of where Madison's pb was. This situation soon dissolved into angry accusations, a little bit of back biting, and one unexpected head butt. That's right a head butt. Who was the culprit? I'll give you three guesses. Nope...Nu huh...you in the back. Yeah, you. Who did you say? You got it-Bella. The recipient? Martin.

What was the atrocious and odious act that incurred such wrath from my sweeter than honey, angelic two year old daughter? He snitched. He sang like a canary. He was a rat fink. And Bella did not appreciate it. Her comment as she walked smugly away wasn't any better. "Pooper mouth."

Should I be worried that the two year old runs the other three like the lions run the hyenas in the Lion King? The next sixty years should be fun. *sigh Anyone have some valium?

battle continues

Apparently the vigorous fall air, is fillin' the kids full of vim and vinegar. We did not have one, or two, or even three episodes. This has been an all day thing. So in the interest of keepin' it short, I will give ya the dialogue mostly.

Scene: Wakin' up to voices in the living room.

Madison: No way are we watching Superman again. I will not allow it.

Martin: Well, I got the remote. You can't do anything about it.


Here we could hear some scuffling, then other noises. Turns out Bella thought this was a game and went after the remote from Martin. Degan, in favor of all things superhero, was blocking her from gettin' to Martin. Who was dancing with glee, as Superman loaded. (Oh! Superman was on Netflix, which is routed through the previously mentioned Wii.)

Martin: Hey, you can't do that! That's not fair! Gimme that!

Here we hear Madison laughing evilly, and then running footsteps. Madison's solution to the dispute was to get another of the Wii controllers...and hit the back button. Disabling the download. To which Martin thought the proper response was to tackle her and take it. She gracefully slipped his hold.

This situation was repeated once more when she acted like she was givin' in and gave him the remote only to go and get another one. Foiling his attempt at download again.

Martin: Don't ya know girls, aren't suppose to try and control men.

Madison: Don't YOU know that men's responses should be yes, dear.

Now I'm not keepin' track or anything but this is two for Madison and zero for Martin.

*********************************************************

Scene: Kids doing the morning dishes, while I make gluten free cookies for Daddy.

Madison: Shouldn't you be wearing an apron.

Martin: Shouldn't you be makin' yourself pretty for the day.

Madison: I already got plenty of beauty sleep. Maybe you should try it.

Degan: Boys don't care about pretty. Chicks dig scars.
Degan learned this from his Pappaw when he broke his nose. Thanks Daddy.)

I turn around and break it up. Degan looks at me with his angelic face, pulls his arms up in body builder pose and....

Degan: I'm a MAN. (in as deep a voice as he can do) Then he turns here and there and Martin joins in.

Martin: Do you have your ticket?

I am thinkin' dear Lord no please don't let him say it.

Martin: Your goin' to need it for this gun show. (Then actually kisses his arm.)

As Madison walks by with a cookie for Daddy, she never even pauses.

Madison: Degan's are bigger.

I had no idea these children inherited my sarcastic wit till this week. I could not be any prouder, as long as they don't turn on me.

***************************************************************

Scene: Sittin' at the table doing math problems.

Martin: Why do we have to know fractions? The only place we've ever used them is cooking. And cooking is for girls.

Me: Well, what if you have to live on your own before you get married, you'll have to cook. You'll need fractions.

Madison: *Snorts Ya. Sure, Mom.

Me: You don't think you'll need fractions?

Madison: No. I don't think Martin will ever get married.

I think Martin is just in shock right now. Normally he's the one sayin' things that make me have to contain myself. He's just not used to Madison talkin' like this. He's really off his game.

**********************************************************

Scene: Outside workin' on my van that recently had a brief and intimate relationship with a deer. (The deer then left it for our freezer.)

Honeybear (disembodied under the hood):Get me a screwdriver. Philips.

Madison: Where's it at?

Degan: Where else would it be? In the toolbox. (Rolls eyes as he walks away)

About five minutes later-no screw driver. Madison has abandoned this grimy job in favor of swinging, and me, I'm just admiring my laying hen. (No matter what Honeybear tells ya. I was NOT cooing. Nor was I babytalking.)

Honeybear: Where's that screwdriver?

Degan: In the toolbox.

Honeybear: Why isn't it in my hand?

Degan: Well, Martin and Madison are ahead of me. I think we better question them.

Honeybear: Where are they?

Degan: In the toolbox, where I left them.

No, he did not lock them in. Apparently all three of them had gotten into the big truck's toolbox. While Honeybear specifically had them gettin' tools from the little truck's toolbox. Everyone had abandoned the screwdriver in favor of playing with the tape measure.

A couple more days of this...Well, anyone gotta spare room?

battle of the sexes

Apparently, my children believe they are oppressed. That they are the only children made to work for their, oh so precious, Wii time. They have decided to ban together for the purpose of freeing themselves from the oppression. Great example of careful what you wish for.

The rule was ,before yesterday, thirty minutes of chores gets you thirty minutes of free Wii time. (Sometimes we bowl and such for p.e. or just family fun.) Well, suddenly the thirty minutes that would usually accomplish a specific chore (ie. the dishes, or an animal cage cleaned) no longer accomplished anything.

Finally I had to put my foot down. I mean, come on, I was on the verge of actually doin' the dishes myself on a regular basis. Yesterday in one hour they got exactly five plates, two glasses, and three forks done. This was with all three of the oldest working together.

When they then asked for their Wii time, I stopped, came in the kitchen to relieve them, and was mortified. I told them absolutely no way on Earth were they going to get their Wii time. They all three looked at me dumbfounded.

"But the timer went off twice." This was Martin's response. Then Madison, "We did our time, that's the rule." Did our time? I'm sorry I wasn't aware we were in prison. Well, it wasn't over yet. Bella heard Wii time, and came running in with all the remotes bear hugged in her grubby little hand, hollerin', "Wii time. Wii time."

What do my children do? If you said obediently went about finding something else to do, like say dishes. You haven't been paying attention. Martin walks past me takes a remote from Bella, and goes about like he's gettin' ready for some intense Mario Carts. (If they want to do a multiple player game they get an hour limit instead of their individual time. Which was the chosen option today.)

At this point I have to lift my jaw off the ground. I ask Martin what he thinks he is doing. To which he responds, "Gettin' our game ready." I'm sorry? Did I not just speak? I could have swore my mouth and lips moved in unison to form the sounds necessary to say No... I pointed this out.

I get several different protests at once all along these lines. "We did our time." "We followed the rule." "The timer went off." and of course "Wii time. Wii time. Wiiiiitiiiiimmmmmme." (Bella loves Wii time since she is "player four" the computer that always wins. Come on-you don't think a two year old can actually do the Wii? Well, she is a mean sword player.)

I tell them no again, and give them a choice. They either can go play quietly in their rooms, do the dishes properly for thirty minutes and get Wii, or go clean their rooms and bathroom if they want to argue further. They chose d) none of the above. They quietly retreat to their rooms, while I assume they will just go and play. I was wrong-they plotted.

About ten minutes later they all line up in the living room. All silent, until I turn to see what they want. (The silence should have been a clue.) Martin looks at me and says, "We have decided that if you won't give us our Wii time, we aren't doin' anymore chores."

I will wait while you gather your wits after that shocker....

Ready? Okay. Well, I actually remained calm. I walked over to the sofa, sat down, and waved them over. I calmly told them that had two options. They apologized and went and corrected the situation. Or they could watch Mommy and Daddy play the Wii the next month with out ever touching the remote-only after doin' all of Mommy's chores that day.

Madison tentatively raised her hand. "All of your chores?" I nodded and said, "Yes, even cleaning the toilets with a toothbrush." She looked at her brothers, I saw Martin give her a little shake of his head. United they stand, right? Wrong, she looked back at me, then back at him, and walked to the sink and started washing dishes. Degan followed.

Martin stood there in defiance for a moment longer, trying to stare me down. Lucky for him, Bella took the chance to whack him on the head while he was distracted. As soon as his concentration was broken, his will crumbled.

As he walks to the sink, I hear him mumble, "Sisters, why sisters?" A few minutes later as I am changing laundry I hear one more comment, "If you were a boy this wouldn't have happened." .....followed by "Owwww, Madison that hurt."
"Good thing I'm not a boy, or it would be broken."

Thank God above the levels of estrogen and testosterone are balanced in this house.

a tale of two chickens

So we now can safely let the chickens roam free, with Scout the mass chicken murder safely in the freezer. This however, has seemed to lower our chickens I.Q. level. We can't leave them alone for a second.

We have rescued them from the water dish as they drowned. (It's about 2 inches deep.) We have untangled their heads out of the fence. (Cause they were trying to go back in with out using the gate.) And we finally gave up and penned them back up. Apparently chickens don't like freedom as much as peta says.

(I shouldn't make fun of peta really since I am a member in good standing. Don't look so shocked. How could I not be a member of such an elite society? People for the Eating of Tasty Animals is my life! I just looked and realized my computer has been autocorrecting my spelling. hahaha)

Anyways, back to the stories of our two chickens. Those mainly involved would be Cracker and Cracker. (All of our white chickens have the same name. So there are nine Crackers.) But we did manage to keep two colored chickens, Black Beauty or BB for short, and Scarlett Red (I voted for Off Red, but no one agreed with me. She is a cream with Red tips.) Darn me and my whoo shiny moments!

Anyways Cracker was walking around the water dish. It is maybe two to three inches deep if you fill it all the way to the top. It's never filled all the way to the top. Cracker jumps up and tries to sit on the edge. This isn't hard for a chicken they roost. However this particular batch of our chickens was bought from some one we will never purchase chickens from again. They are...inbred?

We are all throwing feed to the chickens, and Bella and Degan are trying to get Little Red to stand still so they can check her for eggs. (They're convinced they can catch her actually dropping an egg.) Madison is picking up Cracker after Cracker, and Martin and D are in the field with the beagle hunting rabbits.

Madison starts laughing, and hollers for me. I turn to see Cracker flaying around in the water. I go over and pick it up and it has bubbles coming out of its beak. How hard is it for a chicken to lift its head? Honeybear has walked out of the barn and came over. The Cracker is literally gasping.

We look at each other for a second, then I hold Cracker out to him. "Wanna give it mouth to mouth?" ,I say. Honeybear laughs looks thoughtful, then smacks the chicken in the chest. It kinda wheezed then shook its head and flaps out of my hand.

So now we have all learned an important lesson. Chickens don't swim.

As for Cracker, the kids came running in the next morning, a Cracker was stuck in the fence. (You use two types of fencing to prevent chicks from getting out. This makes about one inch squares. Perfect for the idiot juvenile to stick its head in evidently.)

We go out and get it loose. It's pretty obvious it's been there a while. It's wing feathers are rather ruffled. (From beating them in panic against the fence most likely.) And it's unsteady on it's feet. ( Well, they all are ungraceful, but worse than normal.) So the kids bring it in, put it in a laundry basket, and position it next to the heater.

About ten minutes later, Cracker is up and making noises. (My guess is this Cracker is a roo. I am going to guess that we have at least one roo in this group, out of nine whites one is sure to be a roo.) I ignore it for a few minutes and we all go about our business. Only to pass by the basket a minute later to notice...it's empty.

Cracker is loose in the house. Now come on it's a WHITE chicken. It can't be that good at hiding, right? Wrong. It took us thirty minutes to find this silly chicken. Where was it? Under the girls' bed with a gypsy veil on being hand fed popcorn by Bella.

My kids will make a pet out of anything, even if it is future dinner.

two of two

Two in one day. Don't ya'all feel so special? It's gotta just be something in the air. Cause I have actually wrote four posts, archiving two for when I am uninspired. Impossible around here right?

Today was a good day. Maybe even great. Why? I got my revenge! And whoever said revenge is a dish best served cold, obviously was not doing it against a murdering pig. Ahhh sweet victory, and sweet meat, perfect.

Now all you bleeding hearts, how are you still coming back? Jealous, aren't ya? You want some of delicious meat. Well, I ain't sharing my chicken fed pork. He was expensive. The last day he tried to get Porky. Porky! Lucky for him I couldn't damage his meat or he would have taken a two by four between the eyes.

But the real treat? I know my kids have the bodily systems down pat exceptionally well for their ages. And the botched castration gave them an extraordinary chance at seeing first hand the amazing things a body will do to adapt after injury.

What do you mean I didn't tell ya about the botched castration. Okay long story short, very thin membranes separates the inner scroctum (inside joke meant to spell it that way) from the intestines. His membrane was cut during his castration, and his intestines popped out and filled his scroctum. His intestines being somewhat cut off after it healed is what caused him to grow so much slower.

When Honeybear was trying to gut (or remove the intestines and such so as not to spoil the meat) the intestine was stuck. Skin had grown around the pouch as a protector. The kids were riveted. Right up until Honeybear pulled it loose and it squirted everywhere. We all jumped back, only to slip on the hose. We then all sat down...hard-into draining blood.

While the boys were hardly fazed, us girls, well we might be country girls but...blood. Madison is country, but a prissy miss especially. She went running for the house, only to be called back. No way was I letting her go fling those pants down somewhere.

Now moms you know you have to rinse blood out before you wash. And Honeybear was ready to wash out Scout so......I just lined up the kids. Rinsed out the blood and wah lah no stains. They were not nearly as satisfied with my resolution to the problem. *shrugs Can't please everybody.

Ya'all come back now, ya hear?

one of two

There will be two posts today. This will be the first. My girlfriend yesterday, was asking for ideas for two little girls. While she has several little girls herself, I was puzzled. Turns out she and her family had adopted a family for the holidays.

This made me think. I can't afford myself to adopt a family, and I'm sure there are a lot of other families that can't either. But if we can all just gather together, maybe we can give some families who are having a harder time in this economy a wonderful Christmas.

I was going to start a pledge drive, I wanted to try and get one hundred and fifty families adopted. But the Salvation Army doesn't make it easy. After about a dozen calls I am still no farther with approval. So instead I want to draw attention to the situation.

There are lots of things you can do to help. You can adopt a family. Meaning the whole family or just the kids. You can donate to Salvation Army or another like-wise minded organization. This is not just monetary donations. Gently used clothes, coats, and toys are also appreciated.

The organizations to look for include local churches, Big Brother or Big Sister, fire departments or police departments. They all usually have some kind of drive for the holidays.

You can work at a mission, donate to a mission. Or just give someone some much needed hot food or clothing. There are as many ways to help, almost as many people in need of the help.

Or you can try and bring awareness to others that might be better equipped to do more than you.

Just remember, most these people are not lazy. They are not stupid. If they could fix their situation they would. This year more than any other we should try and help our fellow man. For this is the worst year for our economy in close to a century.

God bless, and Happy Holidays.

a monumental moment

That wondrous day has come. There are no longer freeloaders here. That's right we got our first egg. Look upon the beauty of homegrown food.


That's right be jealous. hehehehe

Thank you little Red. I feel kinda bad for her though. If the other hens don't hurry up and grow she will be bald very shortly. (Side note for city slickers. A favorite hen or two few of hens with to many roosters will end up bald from gettin rode by roosters.)

So now we have little Red, who is being bred by Brownie and Big Red. Porky just sits there, givin everyone disapproving looks. Personally, I have yet to figure out without a doubt whether Porky is a he or she. No crowing, but also no eggs. And she is a month older than the rest!

And Scout has been...processed. No more worrying if my chickens would be alive in the morning, no more chasing him down in the yard. But lots of meat. We have pork butt, fresh side (uncured bacon), and lots of other cuts. Yum yum.

Well, I'm off to cook my family some side and egg, everyone have a great day.

trick or treat smicker smeet

We don't do the traditional Halloween celebration around here. Not that we disagree with trick or treating or anything like that. We just discovered a fun and easy way of avoiding something that always somehow ends in disaster.

Three years ago on the twenty-ninth, I was life flighted out of our small town hospital. Bella's twin was born on this day, Gideon Wyatt Hawkins. With me gone, and Honeybear working there was few to watch the kids. My Mama and Daddy took them for the first week or so. (Correct me if ya gotta, Mama.)

So we started Halloween night. We buy the desired candy, a few "scary" movies, and stay up late binging on chocolate. I also "paint" the kids' faces, and usually do some sort of are project with them. Halloween inspired of course.

I tell you this to say this: After hearing what alot of my friends have said about doing the whole trick or treating thing, I don't miss it a bit. For one, about ninety percent of candy is off limits in this house anyways. And it never fails, someone comes down with a nasty bug.

Is it any wonder that flu season starts shortly after Halloween? Think of all the ucky germs floating around that night. How many times have your kids been told to grab what they want? How many kids were there before them? No, I will reaffirm I am not a germaphobe, but still ewwwww.

How about the people that still hand out homemade or unwrapped candy? Does anyone actually eat the popcorn ball? Why go to all the trouble of doing that if you know most people are just going to throw it out? Is it the principle of the matter? I gotta tell you, it's lost on most people.

All in all, one day we will trick or treat again, but for the moment:Give me chocolate-or give me death!

*Disclaimer: Please don't do either. I don't really care for chocolate, and I like living just fine thanks. ;)

it really shouldn't be that hard

This is what Degan said as he showed Bella once again the bunny running around the tree. I look at him thinking, you realize she isn't even three? You got a better chance of teaching D to use the toilet. But Degan, then Madison sat and patiently tried to show Bella over and over again.

Bella calmly looked at them both, picked up both laces, tied them in the underloop. Stood up, bowed, said "Tank you", and walked away. Degan smacked his face and hollers her name, before falling backwards. Madison dives giggling, ordering her to sit down, and Bella neatly side steps her. She smiles and says, "Can't catch me."

Can anyone else see what is about to happen? Martin makes a grab for her, and the chase is on. This chase lasts exactly five seconds. Ending in a dog pile, when Bella trips on her shoe lace. With Martin, Madison, and Degan doing one of those cartoon stops. You know the ones. Where the first person stops short, the second runs hard into their back, and the third causes all of them to fall.

This wouldn't have been so bad, except Bella decided to bite whoever she could get to. This was thought to be an act of war for the boys. Assuming that one of them would be the culprit not their dear, sweet, baby sister. The tangle that ensued was punctuated by howls of pain, anger, and several struggles.

I start grabbing waists, and throwing them to the side. When everyone is separated and I go to help Bella up...she bared her teeth and growled at me. Seriously she bared her teeth and growled. Then she announces,"I a monster. GRRRRRR." Martin has this look of absolute astonishment on his face, looks at Degan and Madison. Then hollers, "Get her."

Once again the battle is on. But this time I'm in the middle. The only way to call parlay was to shout above the ruckus. (By now D is barking, Gypsy is giving everyone disdainful looks, and chaos once again reins.) I shout," Who wants pudding?" That stops everything so suddenly you could hear a pin drop.

God bless whoever figured out how to make instant pudding. Without it I wouldn't have a bargaining chip.

I'mmmmm baaacckkkk

Like poltergeist you just can't get rid of me. Oh, come on you know you missed me. Just a little right? Right? RIGHT? Okay now that I have stroked my ego. I will fill ya in on the happenings here at the Waltons homestead.

First, we just finished butchering...a deer. Scout got a reprieve till next week. But he has eaten two more of my chickens, so he is darn lucky. Cause I will gladly dance on his grave. That's right pita, I said I will rejoice at the slaughter of an animal. I will savor his bacon.

Next, we have a new arrival. Or should I say an unwanted arrival. Unfortunately, she doesn't care how much we chuck things at her, or the dogs run her away, she just slinks back under the porch. She is a beagle. We are looking for her owner, but to no avail. We do not need another dog! Anyone want her?

Here's an interesting fact. The kids informed us we are saying Scout's name wrong. They actually named him Scallop like scallop potatoes. Honeybear and I have decided it doesn't matter, they can call him Scallop, we are still calling him Scout. I am going to have a most wanted poster tshirt made with his face on it.

Well, that's all for now. But I will be back tomorrow.

Due to technical difficulties

This blog has been interrupted due to technical issues. Stay tuned next week for more adventures in Motherhood and Mayhem!!

white lights and headlines

So... I have had a couple of very busy days. And have been using all my archived extras to fill the void of not being able to write. But now I am out. So here's a tale of two near death experiences about two minutes apart.

This last weekend I had agreed to let Ro's dogs out all weekend so she could go south to a festival. This meant I had to drive the twenty five miles both ways three times a day. After figuring out I really didn't want to drag the kids with me unless it was absolutely unavoidable, the releases became scheduled. The last doggie prison release after everyone else was in bed. (We are old and married even at twenty six this means ten at the latest. It is hunting season.)

I left the house, turned off our little dirt road onto the highway and nearly avoided a cow. Then as I drove the half mile to the nearest neighbor, whose cows I assumed were out. I had my first near death, you know how they say you see a white light? Well, mine was a white face as the black calf in front of me turned to me.

I didn't even see him cause he was in a bend in the road. You know how you can't really see on a sharp curve at night, that was what happened. So I hit the brakes hard. The life that flashed before me wasn't mine, it was Roast Beef's.

At this point Roast Beef leisurely walks out of the road. I continue up the road to the driveway, which is only about a hundred feet away. I pull up, shut the engine off, and undo my seat belt, walk up to the door. The door is standing wide open. But their pack of chihuahuas was absent. (They have six of the little rat dogs. Plus about six other dogs.)

So I knock. Only to have a guy that I thought was a coat on a chair, turn and swing. I jumped back. (And I ain't goin' to lie, I might have kicked out aimin' for a soft spot.) I think I scared him as much as or more as he scared me. (Did I mention I was on one side of the screen door and he was on the other? No?)

We both kinda laughed, then I told him what was goin' on. Apparently, they weren't his and they had been tryin' to catch them for about twenty four hours. But for the second time in a few minutes time I saw something flash before my eyes-a news headline. Woman Charged With Assault Claims good samaritan defense.

how crazy are ya

So, I believe I have finally managed to lose my last adult marble. I am officially kid-crazy mama-brained with no hope in sight. I know for a fact my shut up button has been obliterated. But what are the other signs? Well, if I knew that I would stop doing them. But here are some things I have noticed.

When you are walking through the store and run into a mom you know-and you can't remember one detail about her. Yet, you can remember every detail about her kid. Down to what games he likes to play, and if he is bossy or not.

You no longer call your hubby by his love name. But call him Dad or Daddy. Even tattling to him when the kids are driving you nuts. And his reply is "Do you need a time out?"

You are trying to lesson plan, and decide on projects by your fun-a-meter. Nah, lets not study Newton's theory, I can't find a project that's messy. That right there is bad enough. You quit worrying about how much a mess you're goin to make, even though you know you'll have to clean it up.

When you call your seven year old a meanie, cause he said you are too big to play in the tree. Well, you might just have issues.

If you get all excited about new crayons, and markers, and more paper. Thinking of all the pretty pics you can do. Or how many airplanes or pumpkins or ghosts for a door display.

So do ya'all have any signs that your kids have made you crazy?

the bright side

Stinky Cheese Man! It's been one of those days. Heck it's been one of those weeks. But I chose to look on the bright side, at least after I rant to my mama and get the anger out. So here's some of the funny things I have taken from the awful day.

On the way to the courthouse, I got pulled over. In the middle of the local college. Lots of "kids" on their way to class. One was so involved with watching the cop he didn't notice his baggy pants needed hitched. As he stepped off the curb, they fell down, then he fell down.

Okay, so that might be mean, but hey it made me laugh, which I really needed. Then on the plus side, I got off with a warning on almost everything. And as I drove off I got to imagine playing hit the pedestrian for a hundred points. There was plenty of idiotic kids just walking out in front of cars, so I read the blood in other drivers eyes too.

Then I got to see the bailiff tackle another court participant. He was rather irate that they would dare to set a judgement against his elderly mother. He was all of seventy himself. And the nursing home they had removed her from was the plaintiff.

Once again, this also might be seen as mean. But come on a seventy year old with a cane brandishing it at an attorney and a wiry little bailiff. And he was using all kinds of mumbled oaths, it was hard not to laugh. The bailiff had to grab his arms and the old man stepped on his foot. Come on who wouldn't be a little amused.

Then my friend who was watching my kids told me that we had scratched a blu ray dvd. So now I have to replace it probably, but then we own Percy Jackson and the Lightning Thief. And I know places that will buff it out and it will be good as new. My kids loved this movie, and so do I.

So let's see, one ticket, one judgement, and one scratch. I think the old man and his cane was enough to balance out all three. With the doofus and his baggy pants a close second. So remember to look on the bright side ya'all, it's there you just gotta look.

gypsy protection

Did you know in 1572, William the Silent (the King of Holland) was at war with Spain. One night he was awakened by one of his pugs (he took his pugs with him, wherever he went ) just in time to avoid being assassinated.

Okay there is a reason for the history lesson. All of you are aware my beloved and loyal companion is a black pug named Gypsy Rose. The last several mornings after telling the kids some famous people who have owned pugs and their stories. (There are actually quite a few royalty that owned pugs, and at one point they were the symbol of the freemasons. Which all came about because of an historic art lesson and discussing their(paintings) subjects.) They have decided to see if they can "assassinate" me in my sleep.

Well, the first morning they figured out really quickly they would have to put D out before they tried their sneak attack. (It just doesn't work to have a hundred pound galoot see where you're headed and jump on the bed to say good morning first. You just lose the element of surprise.)

The second morning did not go any better. While the rest were putting D out, Bella came and crawled in and started patting me in the face going "assapate." (Yeah, maybe we need to teach them a different word for spy traitor.) So as they came around for their blitz they found me in bed looking somewhat grouchy cause not only was Gypsy Rose licking my nose, Bella was alternating with her (she was patting my face not licking.)

Yesterday morning, we beat them up with deer hunting and all. So as Martin put it "Rats foiled again!" (Where the heck do they get these things?)

This morning ,however, was different. For one, their Daddy had to go stay with his father who was having some heart issues again. So I was alone sprawled across our king size bed with pillows everywhere to make up for no body in the bed with me. And Gypsy Rose had come to rest on my stomach at some point in the night. (Hey why not it's probably softer than the pillows and bed.) I woke up to her growling deeply. (Gypsy Rose does not growl. Well before this morning I hadn't heard her.) I was wide eyed awake flipping out cause Honeybear wasn't there and there was obviously a murderer in the house. When Gypsy jumped to her feet and started her funny barking- followed by muffled giggling. They had managed to sneak around the door when Gypsy Rose came alert. Now Martin decided to stick his hand up over the edge of the bed. (They had crouched at the foot of the bed.) She went beserk and was jumping around on his hand. All the kids took turns, all giggling hysterically.

By the time I "officially" woke up they would have woke the dead with their belly laughter. I told Gypsy Rose to lay down and they joined me on the bed. Martin turned to me and goes "Mama, Gypsy Rose won't let you be assilenated." (Seriously we need to work on vocabulary words or something.)

the most magical time of the year.

It is that surreal time of year,every thing is magical. You wake up and it is dark and cool. You dress and walk out as the grass crunches beneath your feet.

You look around in wonder. Watching the animals play, and gather. Breathing deeply of the fragrant leaves, that crumble underneath your feet. Looking... looking for the right tree. It has to be perfect.

You find it and after a couple hours, strap your prize to the roof and take it home. All at home meet you joyously upon arrival. Dancing around, ever so happy.

It is that time of the year family comes together. We laugh, and play, as we prepare the food. The kids run around sneaking a treat from the table every now and then. (But hey that's why the bag is there.)

Your husband has that primitive smile, he has done his job well. The kids faces are alight with happiness. All is perfect.

Then comes that beautiful dinner. We bow are heads and give thanks, then happily dig in. It's as perfect as we imagined.

I'm talking about the opening of deer season. What are you thinking about?

counting lessons

Everyone has heard the expression "Never count your eggs before they hatch." I can add one to that from personal experience "Never count your hens till they start crowing." Okay, so that might seem a little backwards, but it's how it worked out. So here is a couple of things that I have learned not to count before the proper times.

First, I'll explain never counting hens till they start crowing. You remember the group photo of Porky, Li'l Red, Big Red (the rooster), and Brownie. Well, apparently BR isn't the only rooster. Yesterday morning we heard a very startling crowing. It definitely wasn't the sad little warbling that BR has been screeching out for the last three weeks. This was a robust, loud, and quite clear crowing, that was repeated three times.

Now, Honeybear said, "That's Brownie." I, of course, argued. No way would my beautiful hen be crowing!! Then another robust crow came from the yard. This time it was Martin who attested that it was Brownie. His proof? Brownie was stretching out her neck. Still I argued. NO NO NO. Not my beautiful Brownie, her beautiful black feathers with metallic undertones was going to be my best broody. Yet another robust crow sounds as we near the pen. I am still saying no way. Right up until I see the kung fu rooster launch Brownie is doing to BR. Okay, I guess I should know better than to deny thrice before the cock crows. But lesson learned.

Another thing never to count to early? A healthy child in the middle of sick siblings. For the last week, we have been battling the weather change colds. I made this mistake twice. Friday Bella had been ill. I tallied it up to sudden weather change and her allergies. So Saturday I prepared to go to church. Why not Bella was better? Right up until we arrived at the old church house. We got in and sat down, only to see Martin start holding his stomach. Yep, you got it. Pretty soon he was doubled over. I started to gather up the brood, yet he insisted he could make it through church.

So I had him lay down. That lasted a while. If you call twenty minutes a while. As we started to sing, Martin started trying to say something to me. I leaned in closer only to hear, "I think I'm going throw up, Mama." Okay, church is over for us. I gather the brood, and we head home. As we are walking to the front door...Martin's stomach rebels. Close call.

So for the next couple of days we have played the sick tango. One kids well, the next kid is sick. I was sure that Degan's very mild case Sunday was all he was going to get. He is such a tough little cookie. We start preparing to go to the revival (hallelujah!) Only to be told twenty minutes before we were preparing to leave, "Mommy, I don't feel good. My tummy hurts." I pull him close and kiss his forehead. Yep, time for him to go to bed. So much for counting a healthy kid amongst the sick. *sigh

I'm off to fight the ongoing epic battle every mom faces-lysoling every surface I can that anyone might have touched.

aging gracefrully part 2

You know I talked about my birthday and my graceful aging, when I told my Honeybear-he laughed. Apparently stating that it stinks that no one sang “Happy Birthday” makes me ungraceful. This got me to thinking about all the things that happen in the inbetween stage. You know the stage im talking about- the responsible period that starts at about 25 and ends when your “all grown up and settled” say 110.

Twenty five is when your suppose to start “acting your age” with less irresponsible spending and behaviors. Mine started at-well, birth., which was right around the same time I was married. Supposedly there was seventeen years between these two events. I beg to differ I was born married, I remember no other life than the one I am living. But once again I digress into a shining object moment.

This is right around the time people become better drivers-according to the insurance companies. Sad isn’t it this is your peak. (it slowly spirals downwards to the point that many people only drive as fast as they can walk) Honeybear once said ,as we slowly trudged along a back road in a train of eight cars, why is it our car says don’t drive faster than your guardian angel can fly but older people are waiting on a guardian snail

Then theres the music .I am suppose to like “my generation” music. I’m sorry-I can’t help I have good taste. No one told me a requirement of growing up meant I turned into one of the herd. I missed that memo obviously since I never have conformed to “my generation”. No I am not a rebel. I am an old person trapped in a twenty six year olds body.

You’re also suppose to start saving for retirement. How ironic. This time coincides with the birth of children. I don’t know bout ya’all but trying to save money in a one income household is like trying to catch a rainbow. Nice thought, but if you really think it’s goin to happen little men in white coats come to take ya away. Having kids means you have no money. Right about the time you think your going to save some money, someone needs braces, or ya know food.

Hmmm, seems to me I am ahead of the curve on reality checks. That’s at least worth grace right. Maybe not the “ful” but at least the grace.

antifeminist

The other day I was told by a guy “You’re the kind of woman that keeps woman down.” No, I didn’t type that wrong, really it was a guy. I’ll just wait right here while you absorb that, and let the laughter die down. Are ya done now? Okay, one more minute.

Anyways as I tried (unsuccessfully) to contain my laughter, I flashed back to Jerry Clower and the woman libber. Jerry Clower? You know Jerry Clower. Marcel Ledbetter? Oh geeze, he was around before Andy Griffith. America’s first “oral storyteller”, other words a stand up comedian.

Let me summarize the story for you. He’s waiting backstage when a women’s libber comes in an tells him she’s going to free his wife from oppression. He looks at her and goes “Ma’am, mama has a house keeper, a brand new car every year, and doesn’t get up till she wants to. (I am summarizing he is much funnier.) Mama, don’t want you messing with the deal she’s got.” I feel the same way.

Look at it from my point of view. I haven’t held a job in almost ten years. (Don’t get it wrong, I worked hard when I was gainfully employed. Ask my Mama, I earned over two thousand dollars in a little over a month ,while keeping straight A’s in my advanced classes.) I get to spend every day doing what I love. I am a teacher, I am a nurse, and I am a personal chef. But all those jobs are for the ones I love the most-the dogs. Just kidding, my family.

Anytime I want something (okay, I am a mom that doesn’t happen a lot) I get it. And sometimes it appears before I ever ask. Honeybear is a smart man, you keep mama happy you got it made.

Actually that brings up a valid point let’s look at this from my family members point of view. Honeybear never has to pick out or rummage for clothes. He never has to come home to anything less than a delicious meal, this is probably a little bit of a con. (He has put on about twenty pounds or so since our marriage almost a decade ago.) He is the envy of all his friends and acquaintances, they love when I bake for the break room. And for all intensive purposes he has it made.

Now look at it from the kids’ point of view. They have the storybook life. They help mama cook, they get to study things in a way that interests them. (I don’t care what anyone says, you put physics in front of a kid with a Scooby twist they’re goin learn.) They are also the envy of their friends (well not so much anymore since most of their friends are home schooled or have stay at home mamas too.) They are growing up the way people grew up fifty years ago. And they love it.

(I did try and get a part time job about two years ago this month. We wanted to have a really big Christmas {that’s the year we decided going broke wasn’t what Christmas was about-after the fact.} This resulted in a couple of things. Degan quit speaking to me for two weeks, Madison wouldn’t sleep till I came home to read to her, and Martin told me he hated me being gone and wished I was like other moms and just stayed home. That job did not last longer than four weeks.)

So if I am a woman that keeps woman down all I gotta say is Jerry Clower hit the nail on the head, “Mama don’t want you messin with the deal she’s got.” And I will add,"This family don't want you messin with the deal they got."

i tried to warn you

So you still want to be a mom? Even after all I have wrote on here? Really? Okay, I am going to tell you the things no one mentions before that little bundle of joy comes along.

Don't get me wrong-you'll make a great mama. But there seems to be the thought amongst other women to keep mum about the nitty gritty of motherhood. What's the saying? Misery loves company.

So here's the first thing, ya know all those charming little quirks you love about your hubby? Yeah. Well, your little bundle will have those, along with all the annoying little quirks. Oh, and all your annoying little quirks too. Fun, huh? You want to live with yourself? Yeah, I didn't think so.

And here's a little secret about having a baby boy. They get little soldiers standing at salute. For some reason when you take that diaper off and the air hits it, well they just let go. And if you don't have that diaper wipe ready to cover it-well you know. Although when it misses you its alright. Except if they get themselves in the face-then you cover and then laugh. Be sure to cover cause they can't get away from the stream, and it's just not nice.

The other thing no one tells you and after having the baby you seem to forget. They grow up! You know that cute little bundle of joy? Well, it will start walking and talking, and soon it's ninety pounds of hostility and hormones.

But I am jumping way ahead. There's also the fact that your vocabulary regresses. You will catch yourself saying things like: "I have to go potty." or even "We don't put the kitty in the thingy. Don't look at me like that you know what I mean."

Of course, your relationship with your spouse changes too. He no longer walks in the door and comes straight to you for a kiss. He walks in and gets this: "They won't let me play. And Bella ate all my popcorn, then Degan looked at me and said I was stinky. Make them be nice." This is usually when he responds with, "Babe you're the mommy." I respond by pouting.

So you still want to be a mom? Alright, don't say I didn't warn you.

teaser

One of my favorite reads put up a short fiction writing the other day. Mommy of a Monster inspired me to take the plunge. This is the prologue to the novel I am writing. I have said time and again it is nothing like what I normally write, my goal is it leaves you wanting more.

PROLOGUE

She heard the foot falls and howling in the distance. Knowing she had moments before they were upon her she ran through a rolling creek highlighted by the full moon. As she reached the opposite bank her foot slid in the mud and she stumbled to the ground. Staring up at the full moon she whispered a prayer for strength.

She just needed a few more crucial minutes. If she could just get up, but her strength was spent. As the underbrush crackled and she smelled their musky scent, she knew it was too late. A shadow flowed into the shape of a man. His cruel handsome face smug with his victory looked down on her.

“Where is she, sister?” his voice cracked in the night air. His voice held a promise of violence yet to come. Demanding an answer, and an answer she would give.

“Somewhere you will never lay your hands on her”. Her voice hushed with the hope that she spoke the truth. She looked up at him and smiled serenely. “Never.”

“Then lets not draw this out.” he snarled with hatred. As he uttered his commands to his minions and walked away, his one thought was with the infant he hunted for. The death cries of his sister did little more than make him pause to make sure she had surrendered to eternal sleep. When sure she cried no more, his attention turned back to the quest at hand. He looked to the moon and whispered “Sleep well, little one. I will find you.”

kidtism

I gotta say I am trying really hard to not laugh out loud at my children today. It has been one of those days. Every time one of them opens their mouths, they make absolutely sincere observations that are absolutely hysterical.

First we have, Martin. As they were working on their math problems I called my cuz, who just had a baby. Bella proceeded to climb on top of a bucket, trying to climb onto a table, to reach the shelf with candy. I told her to get down, and then turned my attention back to my cousin. "See what happens in two years?" This is where Martin inserted, "Yeah, they get really annoying." Ummm, when did he separate himself from the rest of the pack? He is the main heathen, the ring leader.

When I got off the phone, we started into our science lesson. It's the skeletal system this week. We were discussing what the cranium is for. Somewhere along the lines I said something about how it protects your brain. Madison looked puzzled then said, "So not everyone has one since not everyone has brains." It took everything in me to explain that one. I managed not to laugh, but my eyes watered with the effort.

Bella's was more to the point. We were all doing scientific observations and comparing our hypothesis about the chicken bones and vinegar. I got the bright idea to show them the chemical reaction of baking soda and vinegar. Doing this at the school table with out preparing, so ya know it might have made a mess. Bella looked at me and said "Momma make mess, that no no. Go time out, after you clean up YOUR mess." Hmmm, maybe I say that one to often.


With kids like these who needs a t.v.-ME!!! I do. Don't take my t.v. its my adult time. Now I must go sit in the corner and finish my time out.

hillbilly definition redefined

Origins of the term "hillbilly" are obscure. According to Anthony Harkins in Hillbilly: A Cultural History of an American Icon, the term first appeared in print in a 1900 New York Journal article, with the definition: "a Hill-Billie is a free and untrammeled white citizen of Alabama, who lives in the hills, has no means to speak of, dresses as he can, talks as he pleases, drinks whiskey when he gets it, and fires off his revolver as the fancy takes him."

Okay people, we have been going over this for a while and still haven't got this right. Someone felt the need to send this to me (they were being funny) so obviously I need to help redeem the hillbilly name. Or at least better define it than this snobbish definition.

So let's start and pick it apart piece by piece. "a Hill-Billie is a free and untrammeled white citizen of Alabama,who lives in the hills" For one the person ,albiet snobby, is ignorant! Every one knows hillbilly is spelled as one word. Not to mention his spelling is horrid. He did manage to get the free and undtrammeled part right. But puh-lease Alabama? We are from Misery (that's a Missouri joke, ha ha)or if you want to go back further (on Honeybear's side remember, I'm country-I married a hillbilly) they're Creole, or from the Louisana bayou. Hills are optional.

"has no means to speak of, dresses as he can, talks as he pleases," Once again, how wrong can one Yankee snob be? They assume that frugal, means no money. My father in law may not drive a Lexus, just an old Dodge. But that's his run around vehicle. There is also his working truck, and the Grey Ghost his "purdy" vehicle. Owns more guns than a pawn shop, and if you need a couple hundred he has it somewhere close by. He's also the only person I know that actually owns everything of his. There is no mortgage, no bank loans, no one signed off behind him. The clothing is usually whatever blends in with the landscape of what your hunting. If it isn't hunting season, then the clothing is all about function. LOTS of pockets. Never know when you will need to use your pocket knife, pliers, string, wire, and don't forget your chaw. The talking part is dead on, they don't talk much but when they decide they got something to say, you ain't going to shut them up.

"drinks whiskey when he gets it, and fires off his revolver as the fancy takes him."
Okay so one of my hillbillies drinks whiskey, but the other one does not. Honeybear never drinks. Okay in the old days, before he met me (the preacher's daughter), he drank whiskey. But come on that's profiling and it ain't right. And the whole firin' off a revolver any ole time he pleases? The first person to do that around my hillbillies will probably get his block knocked off. They believe whole heartedly in gun control. Shocking, right? But they always say if you don't use both hands, you don't got control. (Here Honeybear wants to tell you a principle of hillbilly living and gun control-if you can't grill it, don't kill it.)

So here's my definition of hillbilly. A man of infinite character, respects all, provides fiscally and nutritionally for his family, and is the man to get the job done. Honeybear read this, then said "That's all?" It would take several more blogs before I would ever have a handle of the definition of a hillbilly. But I will say this Yankees, quit trying to define us. You'll never get it.

the care and feeding of husbands

Most of us have a hubby. Most of us love and adore said hubby. And most of us at one time or another want to hide the body after a temporary moment of insanity and violence. These moments can be kept to a minimum if you follow a few simple rules.

Never ask a hubby to ask for directions. It doesn't matter if the last hour has been spent on another of his classic shortcuts. It doesn't matter if the country side is starting to look like something out of Deliverance. The moment you question his manly power of direction, you are automatically the one in the wrong. You distracted him, and he now has missed his turn. Even if you haven't once said a word since he turned down this side highway that's going to cut the trip in half, some how some way you messed up his navigation.

Always agree after the first two times of denial. Supposedly he told you he needed something today. (Whether it's a certain shirt, or a belonging he has misplaced.) Try and tell him nicely a time or two that you have no clue what he is talking about. After that just nod your head and say "Yes, dear." No matter what he throws out there just repeat after me, "Yes, dear." Whether it's the "you moved it, didn't you?" or the "I told you last night." comments. Just stand up shuffle things around and repeat the key phrase over and over. Quick movements and loud noises just draw their attention further. As soon as they leave the room, resume your casual perusal of the newest Cosmo. Casually throwing out a "nope not there, darn" and a "hmmm, I think I already looked there". Just don't forget to ruffle your page as you turn them to mimic actual searching.

When they ask what you are making for dinner before you make dinner or have something dethawing, always answer with "What do you want?" Now, if they ask for something that sounds really unappetizing just tell them you don't have the ingredients for that. Then suggest two dishes you want to make or sound appetizing. This is a great trick to still let them have their manly power, and not eating something that just sounds like way to much work.

When they wander into the kitchen, and start rattling around looking for something to eat-get out of their way! You're either about to get roped into cooking something or you can turn the tables. Sit down casually and just as they are about to come out of the kitchen, ask him for a glass of water or snack. This is a great way to repay all those times you have sat down only to have to get back up to get him what he wanted. It's kind of hard to deny some one something when they are sitting and you're right there right?

If you follow these few steps, the need to run away screaming to live with the purple penguins will be kept to a minimum.

another change of pace

Well, our life has taken another turn. Hopefully for the better. Honeybear and Madison have been put on a gluten-free diet. Let me tell ya, that's fun to figure out.
Yesterday I made a supposed gluten-free recipe. Four bites in both got really sick. Fun, fun, fun.

After hours of research, and I do literally mean hours, I found the culprit! My seasoning salt. Seriously? You have to add wheat as a filler to salt? So I start going through my seasonings, HALF had wheat fillers. Does anyone understand why we would need wheat added to salt? If you figure this out, let me know.

While this did give us an chance to teach new vocabulary words. We taught the words gluten and wheat to the kids. They already can read free. Let me tell ya, when we got to the store they found plenty that said "wheat". Gluten-free on the other hand is scarce and far between.

Degan was so proud when he found them some syrup. I don't think they were quite as appreciative-glue just isn't that appetizing of an option. I was getting so frustrated I tried to convince them it was at least worth a try. They weren't open to the possibilities. *sigh

On another note...I am sorry this week hasn't been my best for blogging. This weekend was extremely busy, with church and all. Since I made them sick, I didn't get much sleep either. I will try and make it more interesting tomorrow.

Just don't leave me-I'm needy.

a day in the life

As I open my eyes I smell freshly brewed coffee and hear bacon sizzling. The smoke detector hangs open, making me wonder what's already been burn cooking.

Rolling over I come face to face with Gypsy Rose, she darts out her pink tongue making contact with my nose. She whimpers and sticks her haunches in the air and her curly q tail wiggles in anticipation. A clear sign it is time to get up, seeing as how she won't let any one else in the house let her out.

I roll out of bed, and Gypsy lets out a warning yip, alerting the rest of the house to the good news-Mommy is awake. Before I can stand four sets of bright eyes stare at me from the door. "Good morning, Mama." they chorus.

I make my way to the kitchen to be greeted by my hubby. He hands me a cup of coffee, to strong and bitter but hey he tries. Then he turns the spatula over to me as I yawn and I take over the turning of already slightly charred bacon. Yummy.

As the breakfast is finished, and school begins, the kids are fully awake and rearing to go. I try and hold their attention on things as mundane as fractions and geography. No easy task with their father in the next room throwing out interesting tidbits he finds as he researches their next science project. He gets all the fun stuff.

As school ends we grapple with what to do with the rest of our day. Our list of chores stretches day to day. Do we clean the church? Help the grandparent? Or take a field trip? Oh let's not forget it's time to go check animals yet again. Three times a day just like us humans.

Wait it's Monday, don't forget cub scouts! Where did we but that popcorn sheet? What do you mean you need your uniform ironed? I told you to hang it up. Oh, alright give it to me.

Dinner, it's dinner time already I just woke up! Yes, I know you want a four course meal. No, I didn't know I was expected to make thirty cupcakes for tonight. Tonight? You knew last week, and wait until ten minutes before we leave to tell me? Well, Wal-Mart is on the way. Get in the van.

An hour later we head for home, the kids hyped up on sugar that I would never give them. We drag into the house. I start with the simple request, "Get ready for bed."
All of the sudden I realize I have yet to feed or water four children all day. At least that's what they make it sound like. I am told I promised a story, then this is revised to two stories. I tell them a story that goes something like this, "There once was four children that were suppose to be in bed, the end."

The protests grow louder. And then Daddy steps in with the look. Suddenly I am bombarded with hugs and kisses and all is quiet. We say prayers, and I fall exhausted onto the sofa. Look at my husband and smile. Only to see the sleepy child standing in the hall, she has misplaced her blanky.

We look through the bedrooms, living room, anywhere we can think of ,finally tell the upset child we will locate it in the morning. As I pull the covers up to tuck her in the missing blanky is located. The now placated child rolls up in her comfort, as I go to join the hubby on the sofa.

He's asleep. Oh well there is always tomorrow.

nostalgia

This morning I listened to my playlist, while I fiddled with the photos and such. It made me think back to how this (my life as of now) started. Believe it or not, it started with a straw.

I was seventeen, working at Sonic. Fall had just started rearing it's head. Seemed like any other Saturday, I was at my second job. (Yes, I was still in school. But I was working two jobs to get my car.)My best friend and I were both carhops at Sonic. The town we lived in was a sleepy country town, by nine everyone was at home. So we were goofing around, we had another two hours till closing.

We heard the deep rumble of a truck, and looked out the window. In Eldo you usually know the owner by the vehicle. This time we didn't. They pulled around to a parking spot, Jan and I looked at each other. She said, "Old guys." and I said, "Next towners." (A little game we played at guessing who our customers were that we didn't know.) We later found out I was right. It was my turn to take the order, the intercom and computer were right in front of their parking spot.

I walked over, looking back at Jan and laughing. The minute I turned to push the button, I was frozen. Startling eyes met mine. Before I pushed the button to answer them, I turned to Jan. "Get over here." That was enough for her, she came and acted like she was helping me. We took their order, and then argued over who would take the order out. We finally decided to use the straw trick. This is where the one carhop takes the order out, but forgets the straw for the drink. The other carhop then follows a few seconds later. (Hey, I was seventeen. Give me a break.)

I got to be first, she already had once that night. (Did I mention by 8:30 we were usually dead, unless there was a football game?) I walked out to the truck, and smiled into-teeth. A dog so ugly it was cute, with a definite underbite was waiting at the open window. With my appearance the two guys cut off their conversation, and looked at me. The driver smiled at me, and said something irrelevant, pulling the dog out of the window.

I started handing him food, and he took it, asking about the town being dead. I told him it was always like this, noticing his hands-they looked blood splattered!! He must have caught my look and explained they had just come from catfishing. I smiled and told him I loved fishing. Jan arrived right about then, she saw the dog and started cooing over him. Since we had nothing better to do, we sat and chatted with the guys for a few. When another customer drove in, we excused ourselves, and went back to work. They drove away.

For the next little bit we cleaned and talked about how gorgeous these guys were. I had no idea about the other guy really. We were about an hour from closing when who drives back up-the gorgeous guys.

I took out an order and he hollered at me playfully. I smiled, and kept walking. When we were out of customers, I took a foot long hotdog out to his ugly dog. He asked my name, and I pointed to my name tag and laughed. We had another customer so I ran inside. I didn't notice till I was coming back from delivering an order, but Jan was at his truck. I was a little perturbed, I told her I liked him. When I got back in, she was right behind me. I turned to say something (probably snotty), and she handed me a scrap of paper with his name and number. I was stunned, but what was I going to do? I wasn't allowed to call guys! Before I could do anything he drove away. Cripes!

I sat there for a little bit, and we started cleaning again. It was fifteen minutes till close. I was jumping at every rumble of a big motor, till I finally gave up. Then while I was in back, Jan came told me I had an order. I looked at her like she was crazy, I was doing prep. Till I saw her smile. I calmly walked to the front, (Anyone believe that?) got his order, (he hadn't seen me so he ordered a Pepper, hoping, he says) and walked towards his truck with butterflies in my stomache. I gave him his drink, took a breathe, and handed him his number back. I told him "I don't call guys, if they want me they have to call me." (Pretty good save, huh?) He seemed a little shocked, so I turned and walked away. As I was walking back in, he stood on his running board and hollered,"Well, then can I have yours?" I looked over my shoulder, and smiled. When I got a free minute, I ran back out. Asked him to wait for a few till I was off, and gave him my number.

He did wait, and I was ecstatic! He asked me out for the following Monday-I, of course, said yes. I drew him a map to my house, and explained he should honk. My aussie hated men, he had already attacked two of my boyfriends. We said good bye and went our separate ways.

I might want to explain here, I had never been on a date. I had boyfriends, but I refused to go on a date with them. They were to handsy. They were allowed to come to my house for dinner, which is where Rusty(my aussie) met them. So while I had boy experience, I had no idea whatsoever what to do on a date.

He called the next day, to confirm our date, and I was over the moon. I gave him specific instructions about what time to arrive, because I had to work before our date. (It was Labor Day Monday.)I had to have danced around for an hour after is call.

The next day was our date, I was jumping around watching the clock for every second to pass. When it was about an hour from the end of my shift, Jan came and grabbed me. She said, "Your ride is here." I couldn't figure out why the heck my mom would show up so early. At least till I looked out-it was him!!!! I freaked, literally! I had been working in the back for a couple of hours, this was not easy lifting carhopping, I was a wreck.

I ran out and asked him what he was doing here? (Okay, I could have been a little more subtle.) But then was shocked by his answer, he was afraid he wouldn't be able to find my house, so he figured he'd just come get me at work. I melted, told him I would see if I could go a few minutes early, and ran inside. Only then did I realize my mom was probably leaving the house. Sure enough, I called the house and she was on her way.

I looked at the clock, I had thirty minutes left in my shift. So I went looking for my boss, I asked if I could get off a few minutes early. She was reluctant but let me. By the time I got outside, my mom was waiting, so I went over pointed to Honeybear and told her what was going on. She smiled like a cat with cream, and told me not to keep him waiting. I ran over opened the door and told him I was off. His worried look dissolved into a smile. I jumped in and he took me to my house so I could clean up.

When we got to the house I jumped out, told him not to pet Rusty, and ran inside. Little did I know, my brother had let Rusty off his chain, to try and scare Honeybear probably. He denies it to this day. My dad and brother were in the back working on the brickwork. They chatted with Honeybear, right up until Rusty came running up. I'm sure my dad was flipping out, just as I am sure, my brother was smirking, watching my dog walk up to this strange guy. Much to everyone present amazement, Rusty sat down and put his paw on Honeybear's foot. He allowed for Honeybear to pet him, and Honeybear looked up and asked, "Is this the vicious attack dog she keeps warning me about?"

My dad just stared, my brother looked at him and said," Alright, leave now." My dad says he should have known then that this was the man for me. They came in and chatted in the formal parlor. I came down the staircase (exactly like my future wedding day, actually) and Daddy says then he knew it was over. The look on Honeybear's face ,according to Daddy, was the beginning of the end.

We went on our date, and as they say the rest is history. But I never forget it all- started with a straw.