Monday, November 29, 2010

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 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?

Friday, November 26, 2010

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

Monday, November 22, 2010

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.

Saturday, November 20, 2010

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.

Thursday, November 18, 2010

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.

Tuesday, November 16, 2010

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 ( 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.

Monday, November 15, 2010

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.

Saturday, November 13, 2010

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?

Friday, November 12, 2010

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.

Wednesday, November 10, 2010

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.

Tuesday, November 9, 2010


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.

Monday, November 8, 2010

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 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?

Saturday, November 6, 2010

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?

Friday, November 5, 2010

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.

Thursday, November 4, 2010

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'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.

Wednesday, November 3, 2010

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.

Tuesday, November 2, 2010

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.