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.
Monday, July 12, 2010
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.
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.
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.
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?
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.
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.
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.
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