Saturday, July 31, 2010

what's an allowance?

My oldest asked me this question after hearing a movie parent reprimanding his childern. I looked at him and pondered how to answer this. Thankfully the movie started a scene of destruction that caught his attention. But as the childern sat watching the Baker's dozen destroy a birthday party I wondered what I would say when the question arose again.

Restless I got up and went to do a load of laundry. (Meaning I go gather the clothes off the floor and put them in the hamper, replacing the clean clothes that have been carelessly discarded in search of the ratty shirt they wear every chance they get.) And as I sighed and did the laundry dance I saw the poster ripped off the boys' wall yet again. I glanced around the room and saw the small damages they've inflicted on their room. Nothing major or unboy like. A hole from shoving the door open to hard, scratches from rocking their chair to fast and bumping the wall. You know a boys room. And it came to me. (Lightbulb flickering slightly then shining bright.)

After the movie was finished, laundry started, and the dishes done I sat the three oldest down for "a talk". I asked if any had an idea how much a bucket of paint cost. The responses were varied. We ended up with two dollars, a nickle, and a hundred dollars , they then talked amongst themselves and agreed on a hundred. When asked if they had a hundred dollars I was presented with a monoply junior dollar bill.

So we made an agreement. When they have a hundred dollars to buy paint for their rooms, they get an allowance. I'm still not to worried, they bargained hard-but I finally gave in. They'll each make a dollar a week when that day comes. I just hope they don't break us.

Now here's a question-when do I tell them paints only like twenty bucks?

Thursday, July 29, 2010

the truth about redheads

"This hair comes with a temper- I will cut you." This is a quote from Betty White on her new show. I saw the commercial and literally had tears rolling. Why? You guessed it she had dyed her hair red. Being the wife, mother, and daughter-in-law to red heads, I truly believe someone with a red head connection wrote this line. (If I'm not alive after this you know why)

Don't get me wrong I love each and every one of my redheads-ones standing over my shoulder as I type. But I cursed myself the first time I was pregnant and said please don't give me a redhead. God must have been very amused at my request. He didn't give me a redhead, he gave me THREE. What is that old saying something like: He answers all prayers-just not always the answer you expect. Somehow everytime I read Erma Bombeck's story of God choosing moms, I believe he looks down on me grins big at the chaos he sees-then announces give her another.

But then I muse its not my fault-its my mothers! She's the one who kept saying "I want a little girl that looks just like Tammy". She thought red hair and hazel eyes were just so pretty. Ha jokes on her! She got three handfuls and one docile angel. (The angel of course acts like me)

Tammy, my mother-in-law, however knew better. She kept saying pray for a brunette. I want a granddaughter with your beautiful eyes. No one mentioned that my brown eyes might come with dark auburn hair. Enter Bella! She has my personality with the redhead temper. (Pray for me)

Now I'm sure there are some of you out there without a redhead connection. So let me explain you see redheads are charming, too charming. They're normally the ones talking the other childern into "flying" off the garage. And you think aww...they're just so adorable. Right up until you are about to take that leap off and look down-and think NOPE! That's when you feel the push from behind. Followed by sweet laughter, like chloroform sweet.

This is a redhead in a nutshell. Which is why I married Honeybear he was so cute and handsome. But he also had that little bit of a dangerous boy darkside (what seventeen year old wouldn't like that mixture). Now think about having five redheads on that roof with you. I quit looking-I just started jumping.

Wednesday, July 28, 2010

the end of a classic

Today ended the end of an era here on the homestead. Ozzie is no more- unless you count leftovers. While one of our favorite chickens he became two big for anything-besides dinner. So today I tip my hat to the end of Ozzie and Henriette.

He's lucky he made it this long really. He was one of thirty-six meat chickens that were only to live eight weeks. He made it to five months of age. We planned on breeding them to our other chickens for meatier dual purpose birds. Right up until it became obvious he would squash any female he tried to mate.

So we have Henriette left. Hopefully she can accomadate our hopeful breeding purposes. Not that she's even laid an egg as of yet. But neither have any of the other free loaders. We check the pig pen everyday in hopes of an egg. (I blame the piglets lax nesting insticts) no seriously chickens don't lay until six months of age-no matter what breed. And considering the owl only left late bloomers we might be waiting for roos to lay. (For all you city folk hens lay, roosters fry.)

But speaking of the different sexes I tried my hand at the ancient art of day old chick feather sexing. (This is where you look at the wing feathers coming in under the fluff and see how they're growing. Long uneven feathers-hen shorter even feathers-future dinner) And I believe we have seven hens , two roos, and one if. The if being if it lays and egg its a hen if it crows its a fritter.

Anyone want to weigh in on whether I'm right or not?
Now vegetarians LOOK AWAY.

Tuesday, July 27, 2010

a farmily

My girlfriend referred to us as a farmily. I liked it so much (it was on a blog) I thought I would define it. Seeing as how the world loves labels. And this has got to be one of the most fitting one I've seen or heard.

First sign your a farmily-you have more kids than seems normal. Although a farmily normal is different than the worlds by far. These childern also are not the normal type of childern. They have chores and they aren't -pick your clothes up. Their chores means they get up and see to the needs of animals. Animals that aren't for petting only. They would rather eat an ear of corn than a can of any other veggie. And they know where their food comes from. (Yes even eggs in a store come from a chicken bottom)

Second sign your a farmily-your meat doesn't come from a store usually. Yes there's a few months of the year when we buy store bought. (Can't exactly eat Bambi when they got babies right?) But the rest of the year we eat venison, chicken (home grown), fish, and small game. Oh and rabbits we breed every once in a while. Madison hates store bought beef, she says it taste weird.(no I don't tell her its store bought she just won't eat it after she tastes it*shrug*)

Third sign your a farmily- your garden is more than flowers. And a favorite salad bar for the rabbits that we try to thin out. (And Diesel tries to help thin) We can spagetti sauce and I make an amazing salsa. Our kids never hesitate to grab from the garden a ripe cherry tomatoe or two. (We didn't know for a week that we had ripe tomatoes.) They love to eat watermelon in the chicken pen and spit seeds to the chickens. (And sneak clumps to the piglets when we aren't looking.)

Fourth sign your a farmily-you have odd pets. Yes we have the creepy crawlies. And two many dogs. (Not a typo. I mean two *rolls eyes*) The odd balls are the chickens, geese, turkey, and pigs. The childern were absolutely devastated when the owl killed all of their feathered friends.

So reading this how do you compare to our farmily?

Sunday, July 25, 2010

happenings at the waltons

Another day here on the homestead, another story no one would believe was true. Today Scout the piglet finally accomplished something he's been attempting for a week-escape. Did you know that pigs are smarter than dogs? True I swear. The other day while on the phone with my girlfriend, Ro, Scout and Droopy were attempting to root under the fence. I pulled the phone from my ear and shouted their names and told them to come. They ran to their gate, and sat when I hollered for them to knock it off. Even from where I was they were giving me this reproachful look. I can't even get Gypsy Rose to stop something that quickly. So there's one example of their intelligence. I know we sure didn't train them. (Unless them running for the bucket of food counts.)

Anyways enough of my eww shiny moment back to the escape. So the kids are outside done with chores. When in comes Bella and Madison, both extremely excited. All I can hear through the gabber is Bella's excited exclamation of "tout" over and over. Two year old talk for Scout, but I'm hearing out. And thinking the chicks are escaping again. I go running in fear one of our hard earned fuzzies is hurt or missing.

Halfway to the barn I stop and wait for Bella who is hollering insistently for mommy to wait. Which is when the boys meet me and point to where the dogs are laying in a heap. They tell me he's over there, and I'm thinking I'm gonna skin me some dogs like Cruella De Ville for a coat. Thinking they crunching on some chicken nuggets.

I start hollering their names "Princess, Diesel, Zu-" and stop. Cause as they all lift their heads I see their new buddy. "Scout" I say in astonishment. He gets up and lopes to me, like its an everyday occurence for him. He gets to me and starts nibbling my feet.

I decide to test his canine like devotion. And walk to the gate of his pen-he follows! I open the gate tell him to get in, he gives me this disgusted look-and WALKS IN. I give him a little chin rub and he turns his back saunters over to his pool and plops down. His back to me the whole time.

Worse attitude than Gypsy Rose when you dare to give her potato. So now I'm left wondering if we have a Babe or Wilbur on our hands. We keep saying he's bacon but if he doesn't start growing soon this could be bad. I've already got four spoiled furbabies I really don't need one that eats like a pig.

Saturday, July 24, 2010

mysteries of motherhood

A few moments ago ,as I cleaned up from supper, I saw the back burners in my stove were as dirty as the front. No biggie right? I haven't used but one front burner, so how did this happen. No its not that I haven't wiped the stove down in a while. That happens after every meal after the dishes. Is there some cooking I'm doing I'm not aware of? Doubtful. So just another mystery of motherhood in my short experience I have accumilated. A list of the last eight years and I thought i'd share them.

The first mystery of motherhood is one that has to do with becoming a mother itself. How does having an eight pound baby (oh yeah all but one of the four were over eight pounds) make you gain forty pounds? I mean seriously. And then you deliver a gorgeous eight pound baby plus all the extras (you know what I mean mommies out there) and you lose-five pounds tops. Can anyone else explain why the math we learned in first grade argues this isn't possible?!

Then of course the classic: what is spit up made of that it eats away clothing? Or how does a baby manage to stain anything you put them in for the first couple of months? (Aren't we glad when the diapers quit exploding!) Now look-we have all these mysteries and we aren't even experienced at the motherhood game.

As the years progress new mysteries come to light. Where does the sock's mate go? Do they run away from their stuffy relationship with a fabric softner sheet? Does the washer have a stomache hidden in its mechanical workings? Or is the dryer trying to tell you they're over worked and under appreciated? Do we need to just throw in a shirt we were about to donate and turn our backs? Maybe not this could be consider a sacrfice. If it thinks we're trying to communicate it could get more demanding.

Here's a mystery that boggles me. Why is that complete strangers want to come up and touch your childern? Babies, toddlers, childern if they think your childs cute they want to touch. Why?! Yes my child is adorable the next huggies baby. DON'T TOUCH. They're not a scratch and sniff. I don't know where you've been. Or what or who you've been in contact with. (No I'm not up tight I have a preemie and a child with weak immune system) I have people get rude over a sign on my daughters carrier that said don't touch. (Her picu unit gave it to us when she was released after an rsv infection) Point being hands off someone else baby. (This includes pregnant bellies too)

How about the mystery of the truth in childern. How is it the baby of the family is always responsible for rascally behavior. It could be the potato chips on the top shelf-Bella did it. I don't know what they're seeing I'm seeing a six foot shelf and a two foot toddler. Once again my first grade math lessons disproven. Who ate all the pudding? Bella did! (Granted she has a chocolate ring around her mouth-but so do the other three)

These are just a few of my mysteries. I'm sure in the next eightteen years I'll accumilate more. So what are some of yours?

Friday, July 23, 2010

the fuzzies have arrived

As of Wednesday the fuzzies have started breaking out of their shells. The childern were in awe of the experience. And promptly following their hatching were named Madison,Degan, Martin, and Chickie. And now there are six more that are called by the same names cause the childern can't tell them apart.

Following their drying out we tried to put them in the barn. Notice I use tried. Our brooding box is a wire rabbit cage (a brooding box is where you put chicks to keep them warm till they feather out) apparently our other chicks bought from the farm store were bigger. When I went to check them before bed I started counting heads: one, two, three, four, five, six? Six? Where's the other four?

Right about then I realize I'm standing in a vacant barn bordered by trees and fields, in total darkness -and something is rustling in the hay. Now granted I'm a transplanted country girl (and the transplant is in world famous medical journals as the most sucessful transplant ever-right behind the pig heart) but my first thought was RUN! At least till I heard the chirping. So I freeze cause I'm thinking okay a snakes eating our chick or something. (None of the dozens of other chicks put in there ever got loose) so I shine the light down expecting the worse. And here come all four missing fuzzies so now we have had the Great Fuzzies Escape.

So far the ten are all we have out of nineteen. One poor little thing hatched but was very disabled and didn't get all the way out of the shell. Which is better than me not knowing what to do with it till Honeybear was there. Other than that we're just sitting and waiting on the others to hatch.

Tuesday, July 20, 2010

recording artists

I am thinking of recording a cd. Mom's Greatest Hits. It'll be a cd that could save millions of dollars a year in doctor visits. Thousands of woman will no longer suffer from strained vocal cords. Just one button and sit back with a glass of tea and let the cd do your repetitive nagging.

Think of the titles of the singles! Section one will be for inside play time."If I told you once I've told you twice" stopping that annoying question asked fifty times in a row. "Stop hitting your sibling" you could let them play and never worry about the bickering again. "If no ones bleeding I don't need to hear it" will make tattletaling a thing of the past.

Section two would have to be for the lecture classics. "What were you thinking" this could take over after your voice has weakened from an overly long rant. "I don't care what everyone elses mother said" for those whose childern choice in friends can be questionable. "Did you think we wouldn't find out-really" to guilt any suspicious parents childern into confession. And my parents all time favorite "I'm not angry-just dissapointed" (
like they ever really mean that one right?)

Section three would have to be a primer of guilt. A hour long tract to make your childern see how much they truly owe their parents. Playing often guarantees to make your child so guilt ridden they will never forget another birthday or mother's day again.

The final section will be classic everyday sayings. Oldies such as; Act your age, and Grow up. Or if you play with matches you'll wet the bed (never used this one personally, but I've heard it was popular in the sixties). Classics like ; little pitchers have big ears and childern are to be seen and not heard. And lastly my three personal favorites; lay down with dogs and you'll get up with fleas, Why me, God? and of course Where did I fail?

What do you think billboard top 20 material or what?

Sunday, July 18, 2010

a pause...then a contest

There has been a very long pause do to an unfortunate accident that has struck our household. Gypsy Rose, my faithful and loving pug companion, was hit by a car. My hope is they didn't know-seeing as how they didn't stop. Luckily for her she just broke her pelvis in a couple of places, and her ball off her femur. I have been spending a lot of time at the vets, since he refuses to release her. (He's a little odd-hates people, overly protective of animals) That being said -I'm losing my patience with the man. He is getting a little long in the teeth and senile, this will be the last time I take Gypsy Rose to him. This morning he said she couldn't come home cause she wasn't eating well. So I did what anyone would do - I said give me some food and see if she eats. They bring me...catfood. Ummm...I know some dogs will eat cat food -not Gypsy Rose. She's a tad bit, how do I put this, spoiled. I have nothing to with that-Honeybear's fault entirely! (If you believe that I have some ocean front property to sell ya.)

Anywho, that has taken up considerable energy so please forgive my lax blogging. As always interesting things have happened around here. We're one day from lockdown with the incubation-and I have developed carpal tunnel from turning the little buggers. I candled them about five days ago-looks like maybe one dud. Seeing as how I am by no means a professional I didn't throw it out. I'm praying that none explode (pressure builds in a rotten one until they literally explode-can you say EWWWWWW) I will upload photos of any fuzzy bottoms that hatch. Keep all fingers and toes crossed for us.

The last piece of news is: I'm HOLDING A RAFFLE! You're already entered if your a follower. I will hold it on the first, and a picture of the prize is on my facebook fan page. Just follow the above facebook badge.

Thursday, July 15, 2010

getting old gracefully

Yesterday was my birthday-number twenty-six. For some odd reason for the last couple of years people want to tease me about getting old. I am not (as of yet) one to fall into hysterics at the thought of another year added. (Although this could be because I have to think about my actual age to answer the question-how old are you) I have heard of women breaking down into hysterics and mourning their youth at the thought of being a quarter of a century old. (A odd way of thinking at twenty-five or even thirty-five to me) If you're wondering how I could be so nonchalant about the aging process let me tell you how I spent my birthday. Cause let me tell you you're only as young as you feel!

It started off innocent enough-really I swear! We were going to bbq with some friends. We moved it up the day before to avoid the extreme heat. Which happened to be on the homeschooling moms meeting night. Kay my girlfriend decided she would come get me and leave her boys here with Honeybear to swim and play. No big deal right? Wrong! Because I forgot our other friend Nes was wanting to ride with us. In my defense we were late and as soon as my bottom hit the seat Kay put the pedal to the metal. (Or at least her version of it) So we make it all the way to Holden only to be a block and a half from the cafe-and Nes calls. She's very upset cause we didn't wait and she's not sure she knows her way around. (There are two roads from my house both lead to Holden). So we pull over and ask Nes where she's at-she doesn't know. We try to get details only to figure out she's on one of the two roads-suprising right.
So we wait-five minutes later the Hippy Mobile is behind us. And we drive the block and a half to the cafe. Twenty minutes late.

Now there's about six of us moms in this group, but last night there was only; Kay,Nes,Chris, and myself. So three fourths of us were twenty minutes late. Oops. We ordered some food and sat and chatted for our couple of hours. Soon it was time to depart for even more festivities. I ride with Nes-God forbid she get lost. But it was a great start to the night.

We all arrive safely at the house-will wonders never cease? We find Honeybear has been very busy preparing a scrumptious meal for me. Grilled shrimp (what a splurge but oh so heavenly)along with beef kabobs and a homemade seafood stirfry. Let me tell you -if there's one thing my man can do, its cook on the grill. Even the stirfry was made on the grill! It was a wonderful time with my friends and family. And a great way to spend my birthday-but it isn't over yet.

While the men sit outside, us women go in to escape the swarm of bugs trying to eat us all alive. We enjoy a few more hours of girl time. Eventually Kay decides she must leave. Its 12:30 and the boys' music lessons start at nine the next morning. Which is what Nes and I have patiently been waiting for all night.

As they drive away around the corner we swing into action. Honeybear the muscle of this operation lugs in the porcelain portal, as I get my painting supplies out. Its decided at first to put their names on the lid of the tank. But as I start to put paint to porcelain when someone has a lightbulb moment. Let's put vavcancy on it! I go about my artistic endeavor. As I finish the lid. Its decided I should paint a scene on the toilet. Notice here that the its that decided thid doesn't include me. For the next two hours or so I mix and paint -and am told no no it needs to be different. So I throw my paintbrushes at Honeybear and Nes and tell them its all theirs to fix and finish. (Hey its a little after four a.m. and its my birthday I get to be a little testy.

Both decide that my work is fine(smart move don't ya think) So they load it into the Hippy Mobile, and they drive the few miles to Kay and Floyd's house. Where the pretty painted porcelain throne is placed in the middle of their front yard for everyones viewing pleasure. At which time the two culprits take the time to snap a few pictures of their deed before a hasty retreat.

See how giving I am? Its my birthday and I'm giving someone else a present. Aren't you happy to be my friend?

Monday, July 12, 2010

second verse same as the first

Today I thought I'd talk about my boys. Martin, whose seven, and Degan, whose four and a half. There are some general statements that fit both boys. Such as; they're all boy, way to smart for their own good, and they'll be the reason for my gray hairs.
Other than these few statements they are as different as day and night.

We shall start with Martin. There are very few outward signs I had anything to do with him. I'm fond of saying he looks like my father and Honeybear had a kid. While I have the dark complexion of Indian blood, my father has a dark Irish complexion that Martin inherited. Everything about them is brown with a red tint. Now coloring aside he has features of his Daddy and his Pappaw. But will be taller than either one, I have no doubt.

Martin does have one quality that is definetly inherited from me-his artistic ability. He goes through a drawing pad about every two months. They are filled cover to cover with some of the most colorful and imaginative stories and landscapes. The only thing he has as much enthusiasm for is the outdoors.

Anything to do with hunting, camping, fishing, or tracking. He goes on forages to the creek with his sidekick and loyal companion Diesel. I never worry since I can see the field from the porch and Diesel is an ardent opossum, rabbit, and mole killer.

The most amazing things come out of his mouth to. I think my favorite is "I can hear ice cream being scooped from three miles away". The most embarrassing would have to be when he walked up to a rather large woman and asked when the baby was coming out her tummy. Even with me telling him to hush and trying to apologize he would not be deterred, adamantly continueing that everytime my belly got big a baby was added. He was four. And somehow that scene has yet to ease itself from my memory.

Now there's Degan. Oh my little Degan-the very image of a cherub, the heart of a devil. I swear he's like the grinch. When he starts thinking of rascally things to do two of his blond curls curve upwards into horns. He is a minature version of Honeybear in every way. As of yet no specific hobby has presented for him. He does everything with no particular favorite-unless you count destruction.

He is particularly proud of his scar, a cresent that lays on its back. It runs across the bridge of his nose, an untimely accident caused by mopping. When asked who gave it to him his standard reply is "I won it" (shades of John Wayne movies he loves) And his favorite saying is "I'm a man" in as deep a voice as he can muster. He truly believes he resembles Pops, his granddad. He proudly proclaims to be a hillbilly.

These are my boys, they make life fun. Any requests for stories can easily be filled by these twos experiences I'm sure.

Sunday, July 11, 2010

characters in this story-part 1

Mama in her infinite wisdom suggested I do a post on the different personalities co-habiting in this house. Somehow knowing them makes my stories funnier. *Shrug* I find knowing them just makes me have a headache.

We will start with Honeybear, the head of the house. Honeybear was raised totally different than me, which somehow works for us. (Opposites attract, I guess) He's about three years my senior physically. Mentally- he's about five when he's sick. I think all men regress to this state when ill though. (Why is it moms can have pneumonia and still manage to function?) He's an avid fisher and hunter (one buck head in the freezer and one on the wall)- when not working his heinie off. When the buck head that hangs was mounted he insisted it be hung over my end of the sofa. Why- if it hung over him he couldn't see it as well.

Look up hillbilly in the dictionary you'll see a picture of him and his stepdad. Some hear hillbilly and think Jeff Foxworthy-NO! There's a big difference between hillbilly and redneck. The biggest being I.Q. according to Honeybear and Pops. They also agree that hillbillies have a sense of pride about their heritage (normally linked to an ancestor who fought in the civil war). And hillbillies also don't go to family reunions searching for a date. Hillbillies do simple living ,not because they have to, but cause they want to. They call themselves homebodies, I call them hermits. And according to Pops rednecks buy the moonshine while hillbillies produce it. Pops might not biologically have produced Honeybear, but they're as alike as two peas in a pod.

Some people who see Honeybear for the first time are taken aback by his gruff appearance. He's only about 5'9" but somehow seems larger. He's not fat by any means, but he is VERY solid. His head his normally shaved and tends to have a ballcap suntan line (even in our wedding photos). His eyes are piercing and he has the thickest, longest eyelashes that would make any woman jealous. He is blunt and yet people seem to gravitate to him anyways. No matter where he works or what he does he ends up being the boss. But ,being the hillbilly he is, chooses to have only a couple of very close friends. (Personally I thinks its just an excuse to be a hermit.)

This is my Honeybear I adore. Oh I almost forgot. He was given the nickname Honeybear by my Daddy. When he showed up on prom night in his tux. He sat holding my corsage with his hands in front (he looked rather uncomfortable honestly he didn't even wear a tux at our wedding)and that's when Daddy said he looked like a honeybear bottle. It stuck, I have called him that everyday since.

Friday, July 9, 2010

real men

Let me start by saying one thing-I love, adore, and idolize John Wayne. Talk about real men, he was THE man. I believe I was the only teenage girl of my generation that had a framed photo of him hanging on their wall. And probably the only John Wayne fan that absolutely loathed the Cowboys. Who in their right mind wants to watch the Duke die? But I digress.

Last night we rented the new Alice in Wonderland. The kids really enjoyed the movie, they adore Johnny Depp. (Proof they're mine) The only thing was Madison pointing out that Alice's intended fiance was well...a sissy. What then ensued was one of Honeybear's classic promises. He has the girls make promises that he swears are legally binding. So far he's got promises of : no dating till thirty, never pierce their tongues, and he gets to approve all boyfriends. Any takers on whether or not the girls at sixteen will agree that these are binding promises?

The new promise however is that they won't bring home any sissies. To which Madison asked why anyone would want to hang around a sissy. Then she told Honeybear "I want to marry you daddy." Which I have to say was cute, right up until she decided Daddy was to old. That's when she decided she'd rather marry the boy from Spiderwick, he knows about fairies.

All was quiet until we put in McLintock. (John and Patrick Wayne! *sigh*) Which is where the talk of real men started. Somewhere along the way the boys and Honeybear decided that the men that intended to marry the girls must pass a man test first. Thirteen tasks to be exact.

So far they've only come up with six, but hey they have 25 years to figure out the other seven. The six tasks so far are as follows: 1) roll down a steep hill in a tractor tire (to show he can be talked into anything)
2) take apart a gun and put it back together-blindfolded (to show he can accidently shoot his big toe*wink wink Daddy)
3) cut down a tree and make it into kindling-with an ax (who knows why, maybe to show he can keep her warm)
4) catch a chicken that's loose in the yard (cause Rocky was quite a man)
5) drive in five t posts with a sledge hammer (to show he isn't smart enough to use a post hole driver)
6) kill something, skin it, and smoke it (won't fit in around here if he doesn't know how)

Now is it me or does there seem to be a quality of...ego in all these tasks. If Martin, 7, had his way all tasks would be done blindfolded. With this gauntlet set before any guys coming to court I fear I may never get to plan a wedding. Although Bella will probably order some stout farm boy to meet her at the altar. She's not one for waiting for others to do what she wants.

Thursday, July 8, 2010

fact or fiction

Today while talking with Mama it was brought to my attention that some people question whether all I write is true to life. I assure all those reading (few they may be) that I write the gospel truth. I mean come on-most of you have met my brood. Do you really doubt they would do anything mentioned? If you do-thank you! I try to hide their heathen ways. At least some one believes their angelic public presentation. It brings a tear to my eye to know my deception has been sucessful-holy terrors at home, angels in public.

That being clarified-let's talk about some more of the adventures of the Waltons. A nickname given to us by our much loved creole, backwood, hillbilly father-in-law. Which always makes me giggle. If your familiar with the Waltons you remember the goodnight scene at the end of each episode. (As for all you others out there in cyber land: the Waltons had lots of kids-to this day I can't ever pinpoint how many. So we'll say six and leave it at that. Don't forget Mama and Papa as well as a set of grandparents all under one roof! At the close of every episode there was a shot of the exterior of the house, as disembodied voices said goodnight. Goodnight Mama-Goodnight Jim Bob-Goodnight Gran. Well you get the jist of it.) Somehow even with less childern it takes longer than on tv.

I long for that simple life decades ago really. So I strive to live in that fashion, and raise my brood in the carefree ways of then. Which is why so many things of amusement happen here. I believe childern should be raised as well-childern. Don't worry there are no soap boxes here, just expressing why I believe my life to be so full of entertainment.

For example: just two days ago my childern designed a new game-dress the pigs. They took bandanas and tutus out to the pig pen. Where they tried to catch Scout and Droopy (our three month old piglets). Imagine if you will four childern holding out clothes waving in the wind. Arms out stretched one calling "Here piggie piggie." Another on all fours snorting at them. Can you see the look of terror on a small pigs face? Do you hear a high pitched squealing? The squealling is actually Bella in her excitement. When this failed with utter misery, they changed the game-to chicken dress up. This was unfortanetly(for the chickens) a much easier game. In the moment of utter hilarity I forgot to take pictures.

The only downfall, aside from the missed photos, was in the hysteria of trying to recatch the big meat chickens (Ozzie and Henrriet) to relieve them of their burdens-the chicken gate was left open. The chase then went through the garden, which is directly beside the chicken pen. Sadly we suffered the loss of several stocks of corn and one broken cherry tomatoe plant. That's alright though there's plenty left.

Now there's a new rule: no dressing up animals that live outside. We really should have expanded on this however. Cause not even an hour later Buck Blaster (the guinea pig) came into the living room dressed for a ballet recital. When asked why they had a boy in a dress we received two answers. One made sense-his short arms wouldn't go through the sleeves of the other outfits. The second flushed my husband's face the same color as his beard-daddy wears them sometimes. (Just to relieve all those with frightened looks on their faces-he did it twice for Relay for Life. And made one ugly woman at that. But he did win first prize)

Now you ask me is this fact or fiction? And my answer will be-you can't make this stuff up.

Sunday, July 4, 2010

boys or girls

Yesterday Daddy (yes, I'm 25 and I call him that still) told me I sounded like a hillbilly Erma Bombeck! For those who don't know who Erma Bombeck is, I'm shocked! Hahaha-Not really, some would wonder how I would know who she is, since she was popular before I was even a thought. She is the original blogger, if you will. Her book Motherhood the Second Oldest Profession, is full of short antedotes of everyday life. Now you can see why I was just tickled pink, who wouldn't be?

And it made me think of one of my favorite sections: who's harder to raise, boys or girls? Since I have both I'll answer this honestly. Its...puppies. Now your probably thinking: Sheena, PUPPIES? Well of course puppies. Can you put a diaper on a puppy? (Well you can, but in my family you'd be laughed out the door.) What about when you leave a puppy alone for 10 minutes, only to come back and have to pick the trash can and its contents up. Now I know when I throw something away the first time, I'm not planning on seeing it again. That all being said, I would suggest sleeping with a football, praying, or eating a lot of red meat-if your pregnant or thinking of getting pregnant.

Boys are like living in the tropics-daily hurricanes. But you live in the tropics, you KNOW there's going to be hurricanes! For example: yesterday I hear "Push" and some clattering coming from the boys room. So naturally I holler down the hall, "Boys, what are you doing?" As I reach their door Martin,7, is pulling Degan,4.5, through the window. And right behind him with his head and front paws sticking through is their bully, Diesel. Apparently they were trying to teach Diesel to climb in and out for easier potty breaks.

Now on the other hand are girls, they're more like Missouri weather. You never know what it'll be like, you just know its going to be extreme. And a prime example is this: as I walked back down the hall back to the living room, I realized the girls were very quiet. So I peek in their half closed door. They were playing ever so nicely- with markers! Oh yes and the board cleaner. Apparently they thought walls were able to do dry erase too. Oh and skin and dolls and oh yes clothes! Now Madison, almost 6, saw me and was shocked into downcast eyes and a look of penance. Bella,2, on the other hand was laughing as she turned and caught sight of me. She instantly dissolved into tears. Don't tell me they didn't know better, their faces said it all. Their explanation: we didn't know it wouldn't come off. (Cause the first couple you tried to erase wasn't a clue) All I have to say is bride of chucky has nothing on the "make-up" they put on their girls! Thank goodness for magic erasers.

It'll be like this their entire lives. Think about it, at age 16 a boy wrecks his truck, what does he tell his father? Oh man dad you should have been there, I took that corner and started to flip it was awesome. A girl on the other hand will bat her eyes squeeze out some tears and go daddy you do believe that silly car just lost control? I wasn't doing anything wrong at all. Bat, bat, few sniffles. (To my mom & dad :I really did just over correct Daddy. Bat,bat it had nothing to do with changing the radio. Besides Mama needed a new car.)

So now tell me what you think? Which is easier: boys or girls?

Friday, July 2, 2010

all in a hillbilly farmers day

Whew! What a day. So many things packed into so much time. Let's start at the beginning-the crack of dawn. The rooster crows, then gurgles. What the hades, right? More like where's Gypsy Rose. My nine pound pug took down our four to five year old rooster twice her size! And not just a little feather pulling take down- a crockpot take down! R.I.P. Rooster Cogburn.

Rooster is one of our many odd ball animals. Our first endeavor at the animal auction. We bought him as a good broody hen. Ha! (all those out there in city dwellings, broody hen means a hen that will hatch out her eggs. And just in case. eggs ,you know the kind you buy in the store and eat, do turn into chickens like the drumsticks you buy) only to get him under some light and see he was -----well a he. So much for broody! But he was our first and he had quite the personality.
Much to Honeybear's dismay his favorite roost was the workbench. Much to the kids' delight he would come sit on your lap and eat out of your hand. And much to everyones amusement he didn't run he hopped. As well as being obviously blind considering how often he tried to make chicks with the piglets. You will be missed-you were delish!

We started incubating 19 eggs this morning hoping to replenish our stock that nasty owl ate. (Now talk about uncomfortable I know I look like I could cover that many but boy are they bumpy.) Just kidding. You think being pregnant with kids is difficult-try incubation. Pregnancy is N O T H I N G compared to incubation. You got to: check the temp, turn them, mist them, turn them,talk to them, turn them,knit them little sweaters to keep them warm. Did I mention turn them. And still might not get any chicks out of this since its our first time. So everyone cross fingers and toes and hope 27 days from now we are on lockdown. No I'm not going to prison, it means the last 3 days you leave them alone.

Then Honeybear decided the pigs needed an inground pool. Why you ask? So they didn't wallow a hole themselves! What kind of logic is that!? But can you argue with somebody whose bedtime is when your waking up? So we spend the next 45 minutes digging, covering, and filling the PIGS pool. All of this was before nine o'clock this morning.

And finally came school time! First day of 2nd, 1st, and Kindergarten! Nothing crazy there studied place values in math. Boring except we used the wall mirrors for dry erase boards. Watched Night at the Museum and looked up the Panama Canal and traced it on the globe. Worked on a pictograph and for art made Easter Island Heads.

Thursday, July 1, 2010

hillbilly honeymoonin'

Sorry about the lull, sick babies and our anniversary. Our eighth anniversary was Tuesday, we dropped the kids off with the in-laws for the night to celebrate. As always we discussed that day eight years ago. If there was a way- we would have given each other back years ago. Unfortanetly, Honeybear paid an extra dollar for our marriage license since I was only seventeen. My dad tells him no refunds. And whenever I try to give him back, his mom says- it took twenty years to get rid of him I don't want him back.

As the night progressed, I thought back to our honeymoon. Or at least our version of a honeymoon. As we left mom and dad's we couldn't decide what to do first, we were just so excited. Then we get to our little trailer. We forgot that half the wedding party was next door at his grandmother's. And it was race night at the track, a whole half a block away. So much for romantic. We decided to make the best of it- right up until our best friends showed up to celebrate.

So what else could we do-we go to the races. Nothing says romantic like a bunch of rednecks drunk and screaming at drivers. After about two hours we decided to call it a night. When we got back Honeybear's great grandpa was waiting with a case of beer and a six pack of winecoolers. I guess no one informed him I didn't drink. While I might not drink- our best friends did. They were so drunk they fell out of the house! Finally we were alone. With our twin size matress. Oh the bliss.

The next day we did what anyone does on their honeymoon...we went to bass pro. On the way we got lost but no worries. Eddie and Christina (our best friends) were in the backseat helping us find the way. Well, we finally get there and they close in an hour. We used that hour to do something we really needed to do....go to the bathroom.

So since we were all the way down there, we went with a one of a kind experience. Lamberts,(a nice little restraunt outside of Sprinfeild, Mo. Home of the flying rolls) a two hour wait to have people throw rolls at you. I didn't catch mine, -of course I wasn't looking. The food was great, although the constant ducking can be dangerous. I almost got a face full of potatoes.

This year was its own adventure-it usually is. Somehow, as I sat sank to my knees in mud at the riverbank, all I could think was this isn't so bad. No ones drunk and we're alone.

If your wondering why I was sunk to my knees, we were catfishing. Hillbilly honeymooning at its best.