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?

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.

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.

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?

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.

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?

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.