Twas the night before Christmas,
and all through the house,
not a creature was stirring,
not even a Kenyon, or a mouse.
and all through the house,
not a creature was stirring,
not even a Kenyon, or a mouse.
Tuesday, December 24, 2013
Saturday, December 21, 2013
Ice, ice baby
Someone is teething, fussy and just generally hates life (and his mother) right now.
What is a girl to do?!
I did what any sane person would do. I played the last card in my deck and loaded up this baby in the jogging stroller, walked on ice in the sleeting rain the 50 yards to great grandma Curry's house and gave him to her.
Now as I sit in the den with my feet propped up, magazine on my lap and typing on the phone in my hand I can hear the two of them in the other room reading books together and playing patty cake.
Life is good...
Thursday, December 19, 2013
What a Bawl Baby
The first 25+ years of my life I did pretty well with not showing any emotion, or at least ones that made me seem soft.
Thank you, pregnancy, birth, nursing and subsequent raging hormones.
I now cry at the drop of a hat, and to make matters worse, I do it IN FRONT OF PEOPLE. Yesterday I might as well have hooked up to an IV first thing in the morning. I cried so much all day long that I was severely dehydrated by the middle of the afternoon. In my defense, though, it's not entirely my fault. There are simply too many good people in the world that decided to show themselves yesterday. (Odd thing to complain about, right?)
Example #1
I dropped Kenyon off at his daycare first thing yesterday morning. Megan handed me a small Christmas gift and a handmade ornament. Literally, handmade. It was an ornament with my baby's handprint in the center.
Good thing Megan is used to seeing people crying and babbling incoherently, although they are usually less than three feet tall and weigh 40 pounds or less. My bad.
Example #2
I decided to watch a video on my lunch hour of a soldier returning from Afghanistan and surprising his son during his football game. Enough said.
Example #3
Someone suggested I read the "Letters to Santa" section of the weekly newspaper. I should have known better. I couldn't have cried more even if I'd stared at a basket full of puppies. It was bad.
In these letters the area kids asked that homeless people get homes, kids with cancer get cured, grandmas not get sick anymore and everyone gets to spend Christmas with their families. I tear up again just thinking about it.
The only saving grace that kept me from totally losing my mind and running up to random strangers and hugging them the rest of the day was one little boy's brutally honest opening line in his letter:
Thank you, pregnancy, birth, nursing and subsequent raging hormones.
I now cry at the drop of a hat, and to make matters worse, I do it IN FRONT OF PEOPLE. Yesterday I might as well have hooked up to an IV first thing in the morning. I cried so much all day long that I was severely dehydrated by the middle of the afternoon. In my defense, though, it's not entirely my fault. There are simply too many good people in the world that decided to show themselves yesterday. (Odd thing to complain about, right?)
Example #1
I dropped Kenyon off at his daycare first thing yesterday morning. Megan handed me a small Christmas gift and a handmade ornament. Literally, handmade. It was an ornament with my baby's handprint in the center.
Good thing Megan is used to seeing people crying and babbling incoherently, although they are usually less than three feet tall and weigh 40 pounds or less. My bad.
Example #2
I decided to watch a video on my lunch hour of a soldier returning from Afghanistan and surprising his son during his football game. Enough said.
Example #3
Someone suggested I read the "Letters to Santa" section of the weekly newspaper. I should have known better. I couldn't have cried more even if I'd stared at a basket full of puppies. It was bad.
In these letters the area kids asked that homeless people get homes, kids with cancer get cured, grandmas not get sick anymore and everyone gets to spend Christmas with their families. I tear up again just thinking about it.
The only saving grace that kept me from totally losing my mind and running up to random strangers and hugging them the rest of the day was one little boy's brutally honest opening line in his letter:
Dear Santa,
I have been bad this year but...
Sunday, December 15, 2013
Monday, December 9, 2013
Thursday, November 14, 2013
Friday, November 8, 2013
Early 'maturing'
I've had folks tell me that Kenyon is quite advanced for his age based on the way he sits, holds his head up, tracks things with his eyes, etc. I used to say that perhaps he was early maturing; however, I feel that 'mature' is probably not the most appropriate choice of words.
He was being incredibly cute this morning after I fed him and was coo-ing up a storm. We had a nice little conversation... until the end.
"Do you love your mommy?"
Coo and smile.
"Do you love your daddy?"
Coo and smile.
"Are you gonna grow up and cowboy?"
Coo and smile.
"Do you wish you could eat steak?"
Coo and smile.
"Are you always going to do what Mommy says?"
Hysterical laughter.
And then I decided it was nap time.
He was being incredibly cute this morning after I fed him and was coo-ing up a storm. We had a nice little conversation... until the end.
"Do you love your mommy?"
Coo and smile.
"Do you love your daddy?"
Coo and smile.
"Are you gonna grow up and cowboy?"
Coo and smile.
"Do you wish you could eat steak?"
Coo and smile.
"Are you always going to do what Mommy says?"
Hysterical laughter.
And then I decided it was nap time.
Saturday, November 2, 2013
Mountains, Molehills and Hot Tamales
NPR had a piece this week on everything Halloween: candy, Satan, trick-or-treating and the new craze "Trunk-or-Treat". I was not aware of trunk-or-treating until this year. Apparently folks now park in one central location, decorate the trunk of their car and hand out candy this way.
Not only do we hand out massive amounts of high calorie, high sugar content foods, but now we've also taken away the exercise component of the night. Genius. But I digress.
NPR interviewed a pastor about his feelings regarding the Satanic nature of this holiday and why he and his church sponsored a trunk-or-treat event in their parking lot. I loved his response.
"Ehhhh, kids dress up, we all make fun of Satan, we eat lots of candy, everyone goes home happy."
Perfect. Absolutely perfect. Making light of a holiday that is, in my view, fairly nonsensical. If only he had added in a bit about spending next to nothing on a costume. If he had added that tidbit I probably would have jumped through the radio and hugged him.
I had high hopes of escaping the day without having to participate (except in eating candy. Duh.). However, my friend Ashley is always taking care of me. She provided me with two onsies for the week and a chili pepper costume for Kenyon. If not for her, Kenyon would have had something to hang over my head for the rest of his life.
"You mean you didn't even do anything for my first Halloween?" he could say with tear filled eyes.
Don't worry though, I'm sure we'll have many more times in his life to show him how apathetic his parents are to many common cultural events. For example, sports. But that's a whole 'nother story.
Sorry, way off base. What is this post about again? Oh yes, my child dressed in a ridiculous costume, looking ridiculously cute. Which, really, let's be honest. He's ridiculously cute every day. Hottie tamale costume or not.
Not only do we hand out massive amounts of high calorie, high sugar content foods, but now we've also taken away the exercise component of the night. Genius. But I digress.
NPR interviewed a pastor about his feelings regarding the Satanic nature of this holiday and why he and his church sponsored a trunk-or-treat event in their parking lot. I loved his response.
"Ehhhh, kids dress up, we all make fun of Satan, we eat lots of candy, everyone goes home happy."
Perfect. Absolutely perfect. Making light of a holiday that is, in my view, fairly nonsensical. If only he had added in a bit about spending next to nothing on a costume. If he had added that tidbit I probably would have jumped through the radio and hugged him.
I had high hopes of escaping the day without having to participate (except in eating candy. Duh.). However, my friend Ashley is always taking care of me. She provided me with two onsies for the week and a chili pepper costume for Kenyon. If not for her, Kenyon would have had something to hang over my head for the rest of his life.
"You mean you didn't even do anything for my first Halloween?" he could say with tear filled eyes.
Don't worry though, I'm sure we'll have many more times in his life to show him how apathetic his parents are to many common cultural events. For example, sports. But that's a whole 'nother story.
Sorry, way off base. What is this post about again? Oh yes, my child dressed in a ridiculous costume, looking ridiculously cute. Which, really, let's be honest. He's ridiculously cute every day. Hottie tamale costume or not.
 | |
| The highlight of Halloween every year - having Granma C. bust out the crazy purple hair. Notice Kenyon is less than thrilled with life at this point. I think the hat/chili pepper stem may have been the straw that broke the camel's back for him. |
 |
| A rare smile for the evening. Notice Granma C. even accessorized her crazy Halloween hair with crazy, loud socks. We get wild in our neck of the woods. |
 |
| If I pretend to be asleep, can we be done with these ridiculous charades? |
Thursday, October 31, 2013
Wednesday, October 9, 2013
Create your own "fun"
Let me preface this entire story by stating that sometimes the crafts on Pinterest are full of crap.
Knowing that, this story can go nowhere but downhill, right?
Kenyon and I attempted to decorate a ceramic plate with the words "Trick or Treat, Smell My Feet." That part was not difficult. We did run into some slight problems; however, in trying to cover his feet in orange paint and make footprints on the plate. (This craft was going to be super cute. Dare I say, adorable.)
Wesley walked into the house that night to find his son covered in orange acrylic paint from the waist down, his wife covered in orange paint from the waist up, spots of orange around the utility room for good measure, and one lowly smudge on a ceramic plate that looked like anything but a footprint.
We have yet to finish this 'fun' project. I haven't yet gathered enough courage knowing what kind of certain disaster awaits me. It has also made me seriously wonder if it is worth it to attempt a similar craft at Christmas time.... Mistle'toes'. Get it, get it? Makers me giggle every time. Giggle until I notice there is still orange paint stuck in my son's toenails. Then I want to cry.
Monday, September 30, 2013
These are a few of his favorite things
Things we excel at:
Eating. I mean EATing. The doctor said 'record breaking' when recording his weight gain last week.
Burping. Actually, it's more like belching.
Tooting. Actually, it's more like farting. There is nothing dainty about this child. He can already put grown men to shame with body noises.
Snuggling with his mom.
Stretching after naps.
Fighting for air when being smothered with kisses by yours truly.
He loves being outside, loud noises and really rough roads. This may explain why a wheel fell off my pickup last week.
I am biased, but he's perfect. And gorgeous. Perfectly gorgeous. After 25+ years I am content with handing over the crown of most beautiful baby to Kenyon. Actually, my little sis probably had that title (chubby cheeks, blonde curls), but nonetheless, she's been stripped of her title.
Friday, September 13, 2013
Monday, August 5, 2013
Silver lining
Friday was a crappy day. No, horrible. No, even that's not enough. It was downright shee-tay. Top ten worst of all time, no joke. Just one thing after another after another.
Hopefully you get the picture and I need not elaborate further. God has a funny way of helping out on shee-tay days like Friday, though.
I had a check sitting on the corner of my desk at the J-O-B, waiting patiently on a mother to come pick it up.
She finally came into the office, rather clueless of what she was doing there. I sat her down in my office and she proceeded to tell me that the strangest thing had just happened.
Her daughter had sold a steer at the fair a few days earlier and it didn't bring very much premium money. Several hundred dollars less than any other calf at the sale, in fact. While at the feed store not 30 minutes prior to entering my office, the feed store owner had given the lady and her daughter a check for $200. Premium money he had 'forgotten' to spend that night at the sale. My heart started to warm.
I handed her the check that was sitting on the corner of my desk. I explained to her how the beef judge at the fair had donated his judging fee back and wanted it to be given to a deserving kid. The daughter, a young girl with long, white-blonde hair kept dancing around her mom's chair. "Mom, can you believe it?! We're like RICH now!"
The mom kept staring off into space, shaking her head. Partly because she couldn't believe it, and partly because if she looked anywhere but up the tears in her eyes would start to spill over.
Even though I really had nothing to do with that family's good fortune, I was merely the bearer of great news, it did my heart good to get to be a part of the process. I'm sure that judge had no idea how many folks he was truly touching when he did such a good deed. I'm sure the feed store owner had no idea that he was absolutely melting my heart either.
This is my heartfelt thank you to them and encouragement to everyone to 'pass it on', 'pay it forward', or whatever your phrase of choice may be. Go do something good and see if you can inadvertently turn someone's day around.
Hopefully you get the picture and I need not elaborate further. God has a funny way of helping out on shee-tay days like Friday, though.
I had a check sitting on the corner of my desk at the J-O-B, waiting patiently on a mother to come pick it up.
She finally came into the office, rather clueless of what she was doing there. I sat her down in my office and she proceeded to tell me that the strangest thing had just happened.
Her daughter had sold a steer at the fair a few days earlier and it didn't bring very much premium money. Several hundred dollars less than any other calf at the sale, in fact. While at the feed store not 30 minutes prior to entering my office, the feed store owner had given the lady and her daughter a check for $200. Premium money he had 'forgotten' to spend that night at the sale. My heart started to warm.
I handed her the check that was sitting on the corner of my desk. I explained to her how the beef judge at the fair had donated his judging fee back and wanted it to be given to a deserving kid. The daughter, a young girl with long, white-blonde hair kept dancing around her mom's chair. "Mom, can you believe it?! We're like RICH now!"
The mom kept staring off into space, shaking her head. Partly because she couldn't believe it, and partly because if she looked anywhere but up the tears in her eyes would start to spill over.
Even though I really had nothing to do with that family's good fortune, I was merely the bearer of great news, it did my heart good to get to be a part of the process. I'm sure that judge had no idea how many folks he was truly touching when he did such a good deed. I'm sure the feed store owner had no idea that he was absolutely melting my heart either.
This is my heartfelt thank you to them and encouragement to everyone to 'pass it on', 'pay it forward', or whatever your phrase of choice may be. Go do something good and see if you can inadvertently turn someone's day around.
Friday, August 2, 2013
Quote
Benjamin Franklin once said, "Nothing is certain except death and taxes."
I would like to amend this quote.
"Nothing is certain except death and taxes, and the fact that every time you have planted pretty flowers around your mailbox, someone will back into it with a trailer during shipping season."
Not as pretty as the original version, but every bit as true.
I would like to amend this quote.
"Nothing is certain except death and taxes, and the fact that every time you have planted pretty flowers around your mailbox, someone will back into it with a trailer during shipping season."
Thursday, July 25, 2013
Geez Louize
I wish I could tell you that most of my conversations were made up. I really do. It would probably give you a bit more faith in the human race and it would make me look like I could perhaps be more intelligent than a three-toed sloth. Perhaps. But this is not the case.
Below is a text message conversation involving my mother and sisters. I try to text them all after each baby doc appointment so they are in the loop with what's going on.
Me: Things are fine, blah, blah, blah, etc., etc., etc.
Mom: I was just thinking about your robe. You need to take one to the hospital with you. Be sure to remove the bullets from the pockets before you go. It's like the airport... no sense of humor!
Me: Seriously? That sucks.
Karalina: And THAT is what has made this pregnancy so entertaining for the rest of us!
I hope that this pregnancy has brightened your days as much as it has my family's. Even if it is at my expense.
Below is a text message conversation involving my mother and sisters. I try to text them all after each baby doc appointment so they are in the loop with what's going on.
Me: Things are fine, blah, blah, blah, etc., etc., etc.
Mom: I was just thinking about your robe. You need to take one to the hospital with you. Be sure to remove the bullets from the pockets before you go. It's like the airport... no sense of humor!
Me: Seriously? That sucks.
Karalina: And THAT is what has made this pregnancy so entertaining for the rest of us!
I hope that this pregnancy has brightened your days as much as it has my family's. Even if it is at my expense.
Wednesday, July 24, 2013
Maternity photos
Some people have fancy maternity photos, some people don't.
 |
| Any day now... |
We would be in the latter category.
Wednesday, July 17, 2013
Pot, Meet Kettle
I love to watch Extreme Couponing. You know, the show where one mom goes dumpster diving for coupon inserts, one hits up her neighbors for extra fliers, and one steals them from a homeless man's makeshift pillow. (Okay, so I made that last one up.)
I first tuned into the show hoping to gain some valuable insight and tips into the world of couponing. Not so much, but by then I was addicted to watching the show anyway and laughing.
C'mon, some of these folks have serious problems. Like taking up an entire bedroom with their 1,000 bottle stockpile of shampoo that they paid 10 cents for. Total. Or insuring the contents of their garage which includes 10,000 tubes of toothpaste and 600 boxes of cereal and 40 tins of cat food for a feline that they don't even own.
I get such a good laugh out of lounging in my recliner, feet propped up, some sort of feedstuff balanced on the belly-shelf and making fun of these folks that have a serious problem. I mean, serious.
At the end of the 30 minute program I waddle into our utility room and take a quick inventory of our goods. I'll give you a brief overview.
Toothpaste: 8-10 boxes
Deodorant: 12-15 sticks
Toothbrushes: 4-6
Razors: Um, well, lets just say there are enough for Wesley and I to shave every day with a new razor for approximately 6 months. No joke.
I take this inventory to keep myself in check and make sure I'm not turning into one of these crazies too quickly. Too quickly being the operative phrase.
Sometimes I catch myself when I'm clipping coupons and I cringe as I pass a good one by. I have temporarily banned myself from purchasing anymore razors, no matter how good of a deal I can get on them. Well, banned myself until we get down to a two month supply, and then the madness can begin again!
Sometimes I wonder how the crazies on Extreme Couponing got their start, and if I should be worried. Or more appropriately, how worried Wesley should be.
I first tuned into the show hoping to gain some valuable insight and tips into the world of couponing. Not so much, but by then I was addicted to watching the show anyway and laughing.
C'mon, some of these folks have serious problems. Like taking up an entire bedroom with their 1,000 bottle stockpile of shampoo that they paid 10 cents for. Total. Or insuring the contents of their garage which includes 10,000 tubes of toothpaste and 600 boxes of cereal and 40 tins of cat food for a feline that they don't even own.
I get such a good laugh out of lounging in my recliner, feet propped up, some sort of feedstuff balanced on the belly-shelf and making fun of these folks that have a serious problem. I mean, serious.
At the end of the 30 minute program I waddle into our utility room and take a quick inventory of our goods. I'll give you a brief overview.
Toothpaste: 8-10 boxes
Deodorant: 12-15 sticks
Toothbrushes: 4-6
Razors: Um, well, lets just say there are enough for Wesley and I to shave every day with a new razor for approximately 6 months. No joke.
I take this inventory to keep myself in check and make sure I'm not turning into one of these crazies too quickly. Too quickly being the operative phrase.
Sometimes I catch myself when I'm clipping coupons and I cringe as I pass a good one by. I have temporarily banned myself from purchasing anymore razors, no matter how good of a deal I can get on them. Well, banned myself until we get down to a two month supply, and then the madness can begin again!
Sometimes I wonder how the crazies on Extreme Couponing got their start, and if I should be worried. Or more appropriately, how worried Wesley should be.
Monday, July 8, 2013
Quick Math
My husband is like a human calculator. This comes in really handy sometimes. Say, like when you're trying to figure up the cost of a calf that weighs 423 pounds and brought $1.35/lb at the sale barn. In the time that it takes you to punch that into a calculator he would have already figured it up and be waiting impatiently for you to confirm his answer. This is also handy when trying to figure out chemical spray amounts, rate of gain on weaning calves, miles to the gallon, etc., but not so handy when talking about your wife.
Example:
Last night we were enjoying the peace and quiet of the evening when the wheels began to spin in W's mind and he shared his thoughts with me.
"You weigh ____ pounds. This kids will be roughly 8 pounds. That's only 4% of your body weight. Now take a cow. She weighs 1200 pounds and she'll have an 80 pound calf. That's 6.6, or nearly 7%, of her body weight. I really don't understand why you're complaining."
If I could have mooooooooo-ved, (yes that's right. Corny cow joke.) out of my rocking chair I would have attempted to maul him with throw pillows. Safe bet, we'll have no more mental math that involves me any time soon.
Example:
Last night we were enjoying the peace and quiet of the evening when the wheels began to spin in W's mind and he shared his thoughts with me.
"You weigh ____ pounds. This kids will be roughly 8 pounds. That's only 4% of your body weight. Now take a cow. She weighs 1200 pounds and she'll have an 80 pound calf. That's 6.6, or nearly 7%, of her body weight. I really don't understand why you're complaining."
If I could have mooooooooo-ved, (yes that's right. Corny cow joke.) out of my rocking chair I would have attempted to maul him with throw pillows. Safe bet, we'll have no more mental math that involves me any time soon.
Friday, July 5, 2013
Stop the presses!
I met a vehicle on the drive home last night.
Why, do you ask, is this news?
Reason #768 why I love my life.
Why, do you ask, is this news?
 | ||
| This is why. |
Reason #768 why I love my life.
Thursday, June 27, 2013
Benefits to not being 'a hugger'
Don't get me wrong, not all hugs are bad. I'm guessing that chances are I'll probably smother this new baby will hugs and kisses. However, regarding the general public, I really appreciate my personal space..... and then some.
And then there are times that I'm sure the general public does not want to hug me.
Example? Last Sunday, Wesley came in the house to see if I could help him for 20 minutes, max. (That should have been my first clue.)
Then he told me that I should put on some old, cruddy shoes (clue number two!).
As time really holds no significant value to my husband, we spent the next "20 minutes" processing and doctoring cattle, feeding cattle in two pastures and scouting a neighbor's corn field for rootworm damage. (Actual time? Nearly 2 hours.)
This left me roughly 13 minutes to get ready for church. I love mornings like that. Spit bath, mascara, chapstick and whatever I could find in the closet to wear.
As I sat in my pew at church I was very glad that our pastor never encouraged everyone to get up and exchange fellowship with one another that morning. Not just for my benefit, and the fact that I'm not 'a hugger', but also for all the poor little old ladies who probably would have hugged me, wrinkled their nose in simultaneous surprise and disappointment and then managed to squeak out an awkward smile as they quickly shuffled back to their original pews far away from me.
Moral of the story? If you ever come in close for a hug, don't say I didn't warn you.
And then there are times that I'm sure the general public does not want to hug me.
Example? Last Sunday, Wesley came in the house to see if I could help him for 20 minutes, max. (That should have been my first clue.)
Then he told me that I should put on some old, cruddy shoes (clue number two!).
As time really holds no significant value to my husband, we spent the next "20 minutes" processing and doctoring cattle, feeding cattle in two pastures and scouting a neighbor's corn field for rootworm damage. (Actual time? Nearly 2 hours.)
This left me roughly 13 minutes to get ready for church. I love mornings like that. Spit bath, mascara, chapstick and whatever I could find in the closet to wear.
As I sat in my pew at church I was very glad that our pastor never encouraged everyone to get up and exchange fellowship with one another that morning. Not just for my benefit, and the fact that I'm not 'a hugger', but also for all the poor little old ladies who probably would have hugged me, wrinkled their nose in simultaneous surprise and disappointment and then managed to squeak out an awkward smile as they quickly shuffled back to their original pews far away from me.
Moral of the story? If you ever come in close for a hug, don't say I didn't warn you.
Tuesday, June 25, 2013
Really?
Behold, a phrase I thought I could save until a few years into motherhood. I never thought I would have to bust it out on my dearly beloved husband.
Don't ask about the events that led up to my statement. Just don't.
"No, honey, you may not vacuum the top of the oven. Ever."
Don't ask about the events that led up to my statement. Just don't.
"No, honey, you may not vacuum the top of the oven. Ever."
Wednesday, June 12, 2013
Baby Accessories
I know I've said this before, but let me reiterate. Pregnancy brain is no myth, my friends, no myth at all.
At this point, a snail could keep up with things faster than me. A goldfish, with an average attention span of 3 seconds, can grasp things faster than me. It's getting really bad.
A very nice lady was quizzing me the other day about baby accessories that I already had or might possibly still need.
"Swing, bathtub, bouncer, car seat, playpen, high chair... I think we're about covered." I told her this with such confidence
"What about a shower?" she quizzed me.
"WHAT?! We need a shower? Why in the world do we need a baby bathtub then? This is the first time I've heard about this! Why isn't this in any of the 47 books I've read? It's not in any of the blogs, it's not on pinterest, this is awful!" In four words she managed to cut me to the quick. I was instantly convinced that I was going to fail at motherhood because I didn't have one vital accessory.
"Um, I meant a baby shower. I think you'll be alright with just having a baby bathtub."
Please pray for me and my poor, poor brain. We're only in first gear and still on overload.
At this point, a snail could keep up with things faster than me. A goldfish, with an average attention span of 3 seconds, can grasp things faster than me. It's getting really bad.
A very nice lady was quizzing me the other day about baby accessories that I already had or might possibly still need.
"Swing, bathtub, bouncer, car seat, playpen, high chair... I think we're about covered." I told her this with such confidence
"What about a shower?" she quizzed me.
"WHAT?! We need a shower? Why in the world do we need a baby bathtub then? This is the first time I've heard about this! Why isn't this in any of the 47 books I've read? It's not in any of the blogs, it's not on pinterest, this is awful!" In four words she managed to cut me to the quick. I was instantly convinced that I was going to fail at motherhood because I didn't have one vital accessory.
"Um, I meant a baby shower. I think you'll be alright with just having a baby bathtub."
Please pray for me and my poor, poor brain. We're only in first gear and still on overload.
Monday, June 10, 2013
Like Father, Like Fetus
I wake up often at night, most of the time due to someone pushing on my bladder. (Sorry, TMI, I know, but it is an integral part of the story.)
I awoke Saturday night for the umpteenth time and I grumbled to myself because it felt like someone was stretching out in every possible direction in my uterus. One of those big, super-long, feel-good stretches. I was less than amused.
I then glanced over to look at Wesley sleeping peacefully in bed. He was taking up 80% of the bed in one of those big, super-long, feel-good sleeping sprawls.
And they wonder why I woke up grumpy on Sunday morning.
I awoke Saturday night for the umpteenth time and I grumbled to myself because it felt like someone was stretching out in every possible direction in my uterus. One of those big, super-long, feel-good stretches. I was less than amused.
I then glanced over to look at Wesley sleeping peacefully in bed. He was taking up 80% of the bed in one of those big, super-long, feel-good sleeping sprawls.
And they wonder why I woke up grumpy on Sunday morning.
Tuesday, June 4, 2013
I Win
Do you ever have those days when you stick it to 'the man'? You perform some act that is so genius that you're sure everyone should step back in awe and wonder at your actions while they watch you gleefully do a happy dance?
Yep, I had one of those days.
I stuck it to 'the man'. Because I make homemade laundry soap. Mwahahahaha. (evil scientist laugh)
For kicks, I even write the date on the lid of the tub when I make a batch. The last time I made a batch of laundry soap was January 13, 2012. That would be one and a half years ago, folks. Take that, man. It costs me roughly $15 to make a batch, and I even purchase these items at our local grocery store where it costs me a bit more. I can stomach paying full price for items when I only have to purchase them every 18 months.
I am a bit disappointed in myself, because I'm pretty sure I could have lasted at least another 2 months with the mixture I had left. However, Wesley reminded me that in two months my priorities were probably going to change drastically and perhaps I should prepare in advance. Point well taken, honey.
If you would like to see a copy of the recipe that I use, please click on the link below.
http://beingcreativetokeepmysanity.blogspot.com/2010/11/homemade-laundry-soap.html#comments
One note - when it mentions grating the three bars of soap with a cheese grater, don't. I used a small food processor and it cut my time in half, plus created a finer product that I like more.
Now, go forth, save some money and stick it to the man.
Yep, I had one of those days.
I stuck it to 'the man'. Because I make homemade laundry soap. Mwahahahaha. (evil scientist laugh)
For kicks, I even write the date on the lid of the tub when I make a batch. The last time I made a batch of laundry soap was January 13, 2012. That would be one and a half years ago, folks. Take that, man. It costs me roughly $15 to make a batch, and I even purchase these items at our local grocery store where it costs me a bit more. I can stomach paying full price for items when I only have to purchase them every 18 months.
I am a bit disappointed in myself, because I'm pretty sure I could have lasted at least another 2 months with the mixture I had left. However, Wesley reminded me that in two months my priorities were probably going to change drastically and perhaps I should prepare in advance. Point well taken, honey.
If you would like to see a copy of the recipe that I use, please click on the link below.
http://beingcreativetokeepmysanity.blogspot.com/2010/11/homemade-laundry-soap.html#comments
One note - when it mentions grating the three bars of soap with a cheese grater, don't. I used a small food processor and it cut my time in half, plus created a finer product that I like more.
Now, go forth, save some money and stick it to the man.
Wednesday, May 29, 2013
This could be a problem...
It is now a fact: The growing size of my belly is inversely proportional to the filter on my mouth.
Example #1:
Man: How's the baby doing? Still kicking lots?
Me: I hope so. It's either that or I'm really gassy this morning.
Example #2:
Woman: So, have you found out what you're having yet? Boy or girl?
Me: Nope, we're not finding out.
Woman: Well, I guess that'll be okay.... (REALLY?! Who says crap like that?)
Me: Well, dear, you're damn right that'll be okay because that's WHAT WE'RE DOING.
*awkward silence....*
Example #1:
Man: How's the baby doing? Still kicking lots?
Me: I hope so. It's either that or I'm really gassy this morning.
Example #2:
Woman: So, have you found out what you're having yet? Boy or girl?
Me: Nope, we're not finding out.
Woman: Well, I guess that'll be okay.... (REALLY?! Who says crap like that?)
Me: Well, dear, you're damn right that'll be okay because that's WHAT WE'RE DOING.
*awkward silence....*
Monday, May 20, 2013
Words of Wisdom
Things to never say to your pregnant wife:
-How do you keep your belly from burning on the stove?
-You look like the blower on a silage cutter the way you shovel chips into your mouth.
-Definitely not gaunt. Definitely.
-So, what did you eat for dinner today? (Waits for my answer.) Was that morning dinner, dinner dinner, or mid-afternoon dinner?
**I must put this disclaimer in. Wesley says a million nice things to me every day. These are just the funny ones that I can actually remember for short periods of time. He is NOT a mean person, just hilarious! (And yes, I laugh at this stuff too.)
-How do you keep your belly from burning on the stove?
-You look like the blower on a silage cutter the way you shovel chips into your mouth.
-Definitely not gaunt. Definitely.
-So, what did you eat for dinner today? (Waits for my answer.) Was that morning dinner, dinner dinner, or mid-afternoon dinner?
**I must put this disclaimer in. Wesley says a million nice things to me every day. These are just the funny ones that I can actually remember for short periods of time. He is NOT a mean person, just hilarious! (And yes, I laugh at this stuff too.)
Thursday, May 16, 2013
Bad to the Bone
I always knew our girls were badasses, but I never realized how much till the other night.
I was sitting at home one evening, working away diligently on the computer. It was a nice evening and the windows were open. Suddenly, I heard the girls barking up a storm. They never bark unless there is a coyote around.
I dutifully grabbed a handfull of bullets out of the box sitting on my desk (doesn't everyone keep them there handy), grabbed the gun sitting next to the desk and ran outside.
On the north side of our house, just 10 yards in to the pasture were two coyotes bunched up together. They looked like they were trying to crawl on top of one another to keep away from the two blue heelers that were circling them.
What?!
That's right, Loopie and Laurie were patiently circling the two coyotes from about 10 feet away. Their teeth were bared, neck hair standing straight up into mowhawks. Yup, badasses.
I finally got them called off the coyotes and took a couple of pot shots at the coyotes as they ran for their lives back to their dens by the water shed. Needless to say, the girls got extra dog biscuits that night and we haven't heard the coyotes get very close to the house these past few nights.
Laurie asked if she could start putting a 'victory tally' on the side of her doghouse like Snoopy when he was the Flying Ace. It's under consideration.
I was sitting at home one evening, working away diligently on the computer. It was a nice evening and the windows were open. Suddenly, I heard the girls barking up a storm. They never bark unless there is a coyote around.
I dutifully grabbed a handfull of bullets out of the box sitting on my desk (doesn't everyone keep them there handy), grabbed the gun sitting next to the desk and ran outside.
On the north side of our house, just 10 yards in to the pasture were two coyotes bunched up together. They looked like they were trying to crawl on top of one another to keep away from the two blue heelers that were circling them.
What?!
That's right, Loopie and Laurie were patiently circling the two coyotes from about 10 feet away. Their teeth were bared, neck hair standing straight up into mowhawks. Yup, badasses.
I finally got them called off the coyotes and took a couple of pot shots at the coyotes as they ran for their lives back to their dens by the water shed. Needless to say, the girls got extra dog biscuits that night and we haven't heard the coyotes get very close to the house these past few nights.
Laurie asked if she could start putting a 'victory tally' on the side of her doghouse like Snoopy when he was the Flying Ace. It's under consideration.
Monday, May 13, 2013
Projects
A few weeks ago, Wesley heard the term "nesting" and has been using it incessantly ever since. Before becoming preggo he just called me crazy with all my projects. Apparently now that I am in my delicate state we have to use a more appropriate term.
"Nesting" it is.
I ordered a kit over the internet a few weeks ago. You know, the mailman delivers several boxes that contain thousands of pieces of wood with incoherent instructions and little pictures to tell you the 427 steps to follow. You get to build, stain and finish the bookcase according to your desires. Technically, I think you're supposed to follow the directions until the end, but I figure after the main part is built, you can take some creative license with the rest of the project.
I ordered two bookshelves and one cabinet to house the television for our living room. This is one of my many attempts to create more storage in a teeny-tiny house.
We have brown walls in our house, and I knew the bookcases would also be brown after staining them. To add a bit of 'pop' (how's that for a technical decorating term?) to the bookshelves I, along with my trusty sidekick, sister E.A., added a tin backsplash type thing. (I'm sure you can follow that last sentence, right? Clear as mud.)
See? Now it makes total sense with the picture, right? We went to the kitchen section of our friendly neighborhood hardware store (i.e. drove 1 1/2 hours to find a store big enough to carry this item) and found these plastic sheets of faux tin. They came in rectangles that were three squares x four squares. We could trim off excess sections with an exact-o knife. We laid out the pieces on the thin plywood backing that came in our kit for our dry run to make sure everything was kosher and then spread caulking/adhesive over the back of the 'tin' and front of the plywood and smooshed them together. We laid them out flat on some sawhorses and let them dry overnight.
Whala! Genius, we know. Actually, not to brag, but I'm pretty proud of how well E.A. and I's 'hey, this works in my head, let's give it a go' project went. And to answer a common question, yes, there really is texture to those little plastic, tin-looking squares. They have raises and grooves just like a normal tin tile would. Again, pretty proud of us. Sorry, I'll stop gloating in a minute......
I try to work on assembling bits and pieces of these bookshelves and cabinet every evening when I don't have a meeting or other obligation. It is more time consuming than I was originally anticipating, but I am still quite glad that this is the route we chose to go. And by 'we' I mean me. Wesley agreed to whatever would make me shut up the quickest. Apparently in this 'nesting' phase I seem to drive him up the wall with incessant questions about his opinion on all these projects. Whoopsidaisies. I'll try to add more pictures soon.
"Nesting" it is.
I ordered a kit over the internet a few weeks ago. You know, the mailman delivers several boxes that contain thousands of pieces of wood with incoherent instructions and little pictures to tell you the 427 steps to follow. You get to build, stain and finish the bookcase according to your desires. Technically, I think you're supposed to follow the directions until the end, but I figure after the main part is built, you can take some creative license with the rest of the project.
I ordered two bookshelves and one cabinet to house the television for our living room. This is one of my many attempts to create more storage in a teeny-tiny house.
We have brown walls in our house, and I knew the bookcases would also be brown after staining them. To add a bit of 'pop' (how's that for a technical decorating term?) to the bookshelves I, along with my trusty sidekick, sister E.A., added a tin backsplash type thing. (I'm sure you can follow that last sentence, right? Clear as mud.)
Whala! Genius, we know. Actually, not to brag, but I'm pretty proud of how well E.A. and I's 'hey, this works in my head, let's give it a go' project went. And to answer a common question, yes, there really is texture to those little plastic, tin-looking squares. They have raises and grooves just like a normal tin tile would. Again, pretty proud of us. Sorry, I'll stop gloating in a minute......
I try to work on assembling bits and pieces of these bookshelves and cabinet every evening when I don't have a meeting or other obligation. It is more time consuming than I was originally anticipating, but I am still quite glad that this is the route we chose to go. And by 'we' I mean me. Wesley agreed to whatever would make me shut up the quickest. Apparently in this 'nesting' phase I seem to drive him up the wall with incessant questions about his opinion on all these projects. Whoopsidaisies. I'll try to add more pictures soon.
Tuesday, May 7, 2013
Attitudy-Judy
Let's all cross our fingers and hope that I'm not harboring and gestating some sort of diva-licious, hormone-raging, attitudy-Judy type fetus.
Loopie and Laurie already have these traits down to a T.
Let me explain. Last week we got a shipment of seed corn delivered to the shop connected to our house. The shop where Loop and Laurie have been sleeping all winter. Let me also tell you that seed corn this year cost us more than this first-born child. No joke.
We didn't want the girls to be tempted and accidentally tear into one of the bags when they were horsing around, so that night we decided it was time to move to their "summer quarters" and sleep in the dog house in their outdoor pen that night.
It may or may not have gotten down to almost freezing that night. And.... it may or may not have rained like the dickens all night long. (Oh, please, folks. Their doghouse is HUGE and was filled with nice, warm hay for them to burrow in.)
Wesley let the girls out of their pen the next morning and they were less than thrilled with the world.
When I came home from work that night Wesley gave me an earful on the cold shoulder that Laurie had given him all morning in the feed pickup.
She sat in the passenger seat with her back to him, staring a hole though the passenger window. He tried several times to make small talk with her, all to no avail. She never even turned her head to look at him. She was mad and she wanted him to know it.
That night I said an extra special little prayer. "Dear God, please don't let our children be as moody as our dogs. Amen."
Loopie and Laurie already have these traits down to a T.
Let me explain. Last week we got a shipment of seed corn delivered to the shop connected to our house. The shop where Loop and Laurie have been sleeping all winter. Let me also tell you that seed corn this year cost us more than this first-born child. No joke.
We didn't want the girls to be tempted and accidentally tear into one of the bags when they were horsing around, so that night we decided it was time to move to their "summer quarters" and sleep in the dog house in their outdoor pen that night.
It may or may not have gotten down to almost freezing that night. And.... it may or may not have rained like the dickens all night long. (Oh, please, folks. Their doghouse is HUGE and was filled with nice, warm hay for them to burrow in.)
Wesley let the girls out of their pen the next morning and they were less than thrilled with the world.
When I came home from work that night Wesley gave me an earful on the cold shoulder that Laurie had given him all morning in the feed pickup.
She sat in the passenger seat with her back to him, staring a hole though the passenger window. He tried several times to make small talk with her, all to no avail. She never even turned her head to look at him. She was mad and she wanted him to know it.
That night I said an extra special little prayer. "Dear God, please don't let our children be as moody as our dogs. Amen."
Wednesday, April 24, 2013
Peace offering
I have written before about the girls providing a 'peace offering' after doing something that they know is wrong.
Example: Moving Wesley's work boots from their place near the back door in the shop to somewhere out in the yard. Big no-no.
Laurie knew that she had screwed up the other morning and obviously tried her hardest to make it up to Wesley.
This has got to be one of the biggest, best peace offerings in the history of mankind.
That's right, she dug through the dead pile until she found the longest legbone possible. The poor dear was so proud of herself.
And Wesley forgave her.
The End.
Example: Moving Wesley's work boots from their place near the back door in the shop to somewhere out in the yard. Big no-no.
Laurie knew that she had screwed up the other morning and obviously tried her hardest to make it up to Wesley.
This has got to be one of the biggest, best peace offerings in the history of mankind.
And Wesley forgave her.
The End.
Friday, April 19, 2013
Birthday woes
For Wesley's birthday a few weeks ago we decided to drive to Wichita with some friends and eat supper. The prospect of going to a big town excited me - I could run errands! During the week leading up to our Friday night escapade I worked diligently on my "town list." There was nothing ridiculous, frivolous or outlandish that I was needing, but the list was fairly lengthy.
Yes, this was my idea of excitement on a Friday night. Eating at the Olive Garden and shopping for work jeans for Wesley, plus a little yarn to feed my crocheting addiction, plus a whole host of other to-do's that I won't bore you with.
We all decided to meet at our house. Actually, "we" didn't decide on anything. Our buddy Cody insisted that we meet at our house that afternoon which meant that there was considerable backtracking for him and his wife, Ashley. This caused major grumbling on my part about the ridiculous nature of his entire gender and the fact that I can't believe it is mostly men that run the world and this is why the world is running into the ground. You know, typical grumbles.
I dutifully made sure that Wesley and I were showered and ready at the appropriate time, patiently ready and waiting with my shopping list and purse in hand.
About that time I watched as a white stretch limousine slowly crawled down our dirt road, pulled into our rock driveway and parked next to a pile of the girls' chew-toy bones.
Hmm.
I'll admit, part of me was incredibly elated, and the other part of me debated on whether or not I should give up on my dreams of running any errands that evening. This was more of a struggle than I should probably admit, but I ended up placing the list back on our fridge and lamenting to myself that I could live another week without yarn. ....Sigh....
So, to tie up loose ends on this story.... Cody has a friend that owns a limo. The one that we took out that night, in fact. Duh. No one, not even Cody's wife Ashley knew what was going on, so Cody wanted to surprise all of us and see the look on our faces when the limo pulled into our drive. It was pretty awesome, I'll admit.
No errand-running occurred that night, much to my chagrin, but I did get over it.
As we were slowly crawling down our dirt road in the limo, trying not to get a flat on our way to the highway, Wesley noticed three semi-loads of cattle heading towards our house to unload. We had the limo pull over to the side of the road and Wesley stepped out into the middle of the road so the trucks would actually stop and talk to us so Wesley could tell them where to unload. We were pretty sure they wouldn't stop and chit chat to folks in a limo like they usually do when we are in a feed pickup. The truck drivers had a good laugh at our highly unusual ride.
Yes, this was my idea of excitement on a Friday night. Eating at the Olive Garden and shopping for work jeans for Wesley, plus a little yarn to feed my crocheting addiction, plus a whole host of other to-do's that I won't bore you with.
We all decided to meet at our house. Actually, "we" didn't decide on anything. Our buddy Cody insisted that we meet at our house that afternoon which meant that there was considerable backtracking for him and his wife, Ashley. This caused major grumbling on my part about the ridiculous nature of his entire gender and the fact that I can't believe it is mostly men that run the world and this is why the world is running into the ground. You know, typical grumbles.
I dutifully made sure that Wesley and I were showered and ready at the appropriate time, patiently ready and waiting with my shopping list and purse in hand.
About that time I watched as a white stretch limousine slowly crawled down our dirt road, pulled into our rock driveway and parked next to a pile of the girls' chew-toy bones.
Hmm.
I'll admit, part of me was incredibly elated, and the other part of me debated on whether or not I should give up on my dreams of running any errands that evening. This was more of a struggle than I should probably admit, but I ended up placing the list back on our fridge and lamenting to myself that I could live another week without yarn. ....Sigh....
So, to tie up loose ends on this story.... Cody has a friend that owns a limo. The one that we took out that night, in fact. Duh. No one, not even Cody's wife Ashley knew what was going on, so Cody wanted to surprise all of us and see the look on our faces when the limo pulled into our drive. It was pretty awesome, I'll admit.
No errand-running occurred that night, much to my chagrin, but I did get over it.
As we were slowly crawling down our dirt road in the limo, trying not to get a flat on our way to the highway, Wesley noticed three semi-loads of cattle heading towards our house to unload. We had the limo pull over to the side of the road and Wesley stepped out into the middle of the road so the trucks would actually stop and talk to us so Wesley could tell them where to unload. We were pretty sure they wouldn't stop and chit chat to folks in a limo like they usually do when we are in a feed pickup. The truck drivers had a good laugh at our highly unusual ride.
Sunday, April 14, 2013
Kitchen DIY
Do you have a friend that is expecting (besides me)? Do you feel like acting like you're being really helpful but you also want to squeeze a joke in there somewhere too? Fear not my friends, I have the solution for you. True, I did this one to myself, but I can't wait till I know someone that gets preggo and I will totally do this to them.
This pregnancy has been less than idyllic for me. I am not one that floats around with some sort of ethereal glow about me. I have the energy of a sloth. I puke lots. My back hurts. And my poor husband gets to put up with this every day.
It is well known that W does NOT perform projects inside the house. Actually, that's being generous. W does not perform projects within a 50 yard radius of our house. This is my territory. In my preggo brain genius-ness the other day, I decided the next time I had energy I was going to install new kitchen cabinet hardware and child safety locks on all the cabinet doors. You read that right, child safety locks for a kid weighs approximately 1 1/2 pounds and is 8-9 inches long, and is currently still housed in my womb. Because, ya know, I'm in "the family way."
So the next time you need a giggle, find a friend that is preggers. Offer to be really helpful and install child safety locks on all their cabinet doors. While you're at it, place a hidden camera somewhere. Or, don't even hide it. With your friend's preggo brain she probably won't even notice it setting on top of the microwave in plain sight. Grab a bowl of popcorn and laugh hysterically every time she walks to any lower cabinet and automatically jerks on the handle. Watch as she jerks again, just for good measure and then grimaces because she installed child safety locks almost four months before the kid hits the ground, another six months before the kid starts to crawl, and another 1-2 months before they even think of opening a cabinet. So, just to recap the math, that's approximately 1 year early folks. I really can't wait for someone to tell me they're expecting now. I can't wait to spread the joy.
This pregnancy has been less than idyllic for me. I am not one that floats around with some sort of ethereal glow about me. I have the energy of a sloth. I puke lots. My back hurts. And my poor husband gets to put up with this every day.
It is well known that W does NOT perform projects inside the house. Actually, that's being generous. W does not perform projects within a 50 yard radius of our house. This is my territory. In my preggo brain genius-ness the other day, I decided the next time I had energy I was going to install new kitchen cabinet hardware and child safety locks on all the cabinet doors. You read that right, child safety locks for a kid weighs approximately 1 1/2 pounds and is 8-9 inches long, and is currently still housed in my womb. Because, ya know, I'm in "the family way."
So the next time you need a giggle, find a friend that is preggers. Offer to be really helpful and install child safety locks on all their cabinet doors. While you're at it, place a hidden camera somewhere. Or, don't even hide it. With your friend's preggo brain she probably won't even notice it setting on top of the microwave in plain sight. Grab a bowl of popcorn and laugh hysterically every time she walks to any lower cabinet and automatically jerks on the handle. Watch as she jerks again, just for good measure and then grimaces because she installed child safety locks almost four months before the kid hits the ground, another six months before the kid starts to crawl, and another 1-2 months before they even think of opening a cabinet. So, just to recap the math, that's approximately 1 year early folks. I really can't wait for someone to tell me they're expecting now. I can't wait to spread the joy.
Saturday, April 13, 2013
Lovey Dovey
There are many days when I would probably kill my husband if it weren't for the fact that I'm pregnant. I'm the one with the preggo brain, so I should be the one with a free pass to say whatever I want, right? Instead, I'm finding that Wesley says the darndest things these days. I usually know what he means, it's just that there are probably a hundred ways that he could say it more tactfully.
Example:
Every morning I get out of bed, puke, and then re-enter the room to show W my belly and we can see if there was any growth over the previous 24 hours. This morning was no different. I walked into the room and heard, "Side profile!" So I took my obligatory stance alongside the wall like a prisoner lines up for a mug shot and showed him my belly. (I don't think prisoners do that part though.)
I looked at Wesley and quite seriously said, "I don't think I grew any. I'm feeling pretty gaunt this morning."
To which my beloved replied, "Trust me, you do not look gaunt this morning. Not even close."
I know what he meant, but it doesn't mean that I didn't scan the room for a blunt object to beat him with either.
Example:
Every morning I get out of bed, puke, and then re-enter the room to show W my belly and we can see if there was any growth over the previous 24 hours. This morning was no different. I walked into the room and heard, "Side profile!" So I took my obligatory stance alongside the wall like a prisoner lines up for a mug shot and showed him my belly. (I don't think prisoners do that part though.)
I looked at Wesley and quite seriously said, "I don't think I grew any. I'm feeling pretty gaunt this morning."
To which my beloved replied, "Trust me, you do not look gaunt this morning. Not even close."
I know what he meant, but it doesn't mean that I didn't scan the room for a blunt object to beat him with either.
Friday, April 5, 2013
Please, sir. I want some more.
As I walked down the road last evening, whistling along to myself, carrying a cup o' sugar, it occurred to me that this might be a touch odd.
Well, maybe not odd, but more like nostalgic Americana that everyone knows about but no one actually ever does. You know, the whole "borrow a cup of sugar from your neighbor" thing. Most folks will probably go with odd, but I'm sticking with the whole Americana vibe.
I was in the middle of baking cookies for Wesley's birthday and realized that I didn't have any brown sugar. Thank goodness for the grocery store just down the road known as Grandma Curry's. The woman lives by herself and never fails to have a completely stocked fridge ready and waiting to feed an army of 50 at any time.
As I was walking down the road, carrying my cup o' brown sugar, I also was thankful for another thing. Daily, for one reason or another, I am very glad that hardly anyone ever drives down our road.
Well, maybe not odd, but more like nostalgic Americana that everyone knows about but no one actually ever does. You know, the whole "borrow a cup of sugar from your neighbor" thing. Most folks will probably go with odd, but I'm sticking with the whole Americana vibe.
I was in the middle of baking cookies for Wesley's birthday and realized that I didn't have any brown sugar. Thank goodness for the grocery store just down the road known as Grandma Curry's. The woman lives by herself and never fails to have a completely stocked fridge ready and waiting to feed an army of 50 at any time.
As I was walking down the road, carrying my cup o' brown sugar, I also was thankful for another thing. Daily, for one reason or another, I am very glad that hardly anyone ever drives down our road.
Thursday, April 4, 2013
Oh the horror!
Can you imagine how embarrasing it would be to realize that you forgot to change out of your chore shoes after feeding the bucket calf and now you're destined to spend the rest of your day at work in a less than perfectly coordinated ensemble?
Side note: I'm not sure I've ever worn a perfectly coordinated ensemble, but that's not the point. Today could have been the day!
Number of people that I'm guessing will recognize/care about my fashion faux pas: 0.
Ah, the life of a rancher's wife. A free pass to smell like manure all day, even in the office.
Side note: I'm not sure I've ever worn a perfectly coordinated ensemble, but that's not the point. Today could have been the day!
Number of people that I'm guessing will recognize/care about my fashion faux pas: 0.
Ah, the life of a rancher's wife. A free pass to smell like manure all day, even in the office.
Wednesday, March 27, 2013
You can take the girl out of the country...
I'll admit, I probably take a bit too much pleasure from making fun of town-clowns. You know, those folks that think milk magically appears in plastic, gallon jugs and that meat grows in some sort of garden in pretty little freezer-wrapped packages. I do love to help those that want to learn more about our way of life, it's those that can't manage to take their cell phone from their ear long enough to listen to me that really drive me bonkers.
But I digress.
A friend sent me an email this morning about raising chickens. Not that anything in the article was revolutionary; rather, it was a picture contained within the article that struck the biggest cord with me. There was a photo of a man holding both brown and white eggs in his hand. And there, folks, is where the problem lies.
Did you know that chickens can lay WHITE eggs?!?
Bear with me, I was surprised too. I've recovered since this startling revelation and gone on to lead a semi-normal life these past few years.
My freshman year of college I attended a small ag JuCo where a bunch of farm kids had gathered from across the country and tried our best to raise cane in a large town. A fellow freshman girl was going home one weekend and promised to bring back several dozen eggs from her family's chickens. Fresh eggs? Woohoo! Man, we sure knew how to live it up back then.
The eggs that Lydia brought back that Monday weren't right though. Not right at all. They were white, not brown.
"Hey, uh, Lydia, why did you dye your eggs white? That is the stupidest thing I've ever seen. You're not selling them to a grocery store, so why did you waste all that time?"
"Did you not know that chickens can have white eggs, Anna?"
I recovered oh so smoothly.
"Of course I knew that, doesn't everybody? I was just teasing. Geesh. Take a joke." But deep down inside, my world had just been shattered. White eggs? Geesh, indeed.
Consider this my good deed of the day. I am informing you that some breeds of chickens do indeed lay white eggs so that you, too, don't suffer like I almost did. Now go compose yourself and try to carry on the rest of your day.
But I digress.
A friend sent me an email this morning about raising chickens. Not that anything in the article was revolutionary; rather, it was a picture contained within the article that struck the biggest cord with me. There was a photo of a man holding both brown and white eggs in his hand. And there, folks, is where the problem lies.
Did you know that chickens can lay WHITE eggs?!?
Bear with me, I was surprised too. I've recovered since this startling revelation and gone on to lead a semi-normal life these past few years.
My freshman year of college I attended a small ag JuCo where a bunch of farm kids had gathered from across the country and tried our best to raise cane in a large town. A fellow freshman girl was going home one weekend and promised to bring back several dozen eggs from her family's chickens. Fresh eggs? Woohoo! Man, we sure knew how to live it up back then.
The eggs that Lydia brought back that Monday weren't right though. Not right at all. They were white, not brown.
"Hey, uh, Lydia, why did you dye your eggs white? That is the stupidest thing I've ever seen. You're not selling them to a grocery store, so why did you waste all that time?"
"Did you not know that chickens can have white eggs, Anna?"
I recovered oh so smoothly.
"Of course I knew that, doesn't everybody? I was just teasing. Geesh. Take a joke." But deep down inside, my world had just been shattered. White eggs? Geesh, indeed.
Consider this my good deed of the day. I am informing you that some breeds of chickens do indeed lay white eggs so that you, too, don't suffer like I almost did. Now go compose yourself and try to carry on the rest of your day.
Tuesday, March 26, 2013
The Art of Cussing
Every morning when I wake up, I turn off the alarm on my phone and then take five minutes to read some of the morning's headlines on my phone. It began as an attempt to lay very still for a period of time in hopes that this would quell any morning nausea; however, this was a load of crap in my case. But the habit has still stuck these past few months.
One of this morning's headlines that I found particularly interesting was an article lamenting that modern society has lost the "art of swearing." It was an ode to the good ol' days when folks knew how to make your mouth drop, your cheeks burn, and get your butt in gear, all in one foul swoop. The author mentioned that today's society merely drops four letter words with no real thought to the force that these words could carry if used in the proper context.
While I agree with the author on many of the points made lamenting the decline of modern society, I must disagree with the generalization that everyone has forgotten this 'lost art'.
Perhaps I should have titled this post, "Ode to My Daddy." Consider this an early Father's Day present. No thanks needed.
One of this morning's headlines that I found particularly interesting was an article lamenting that modern society has lost the "art of swearing." It was an ode to the good ol' days when folks knew how to make your mouth drop, your cheeks burn, and get your butt in gear, all in one foul swoop. The author mentioned that today's society merely drops four letter words with no real thought to the force that these words could carry if used in the proper context.
While I agree with the author on many of the points made lamenting the decline of modern society, I must disagree with the generalization that everyone has forgotten this 'lost art'.
Perhaps I should have titled this post, "Ode to My Daddy." Consider this an early Father's Day present. No thanks needed.
Friday, March 22, 2013
O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?
Bear with me, this is a Friday and my thoughts are scattered and fleeting at best.
Fact #1:
My birthday is coming up in April. Normally, Wesley and I do not get each other presents.
Fact #2:
I spent hundreds of hours building up our yard a few years ago by cleaning out lots and pens that are in the general vicinity of our house. My routine was... one tiny little scoop of dirt out of the cattle pen and in the skid steer, drive 150 yards down the road, dump the tiny little scoop of dirt on the yard. Repeat, repeat, repeat. Hundreds of times, I kid you not.
Fact #3:
My husband gets great pleasure from driving me up the wall. We don't get many channels on the television, so I like to think that this is his primary source of entertainment.
Fact #4:
Wesley walked in the house yesterday - smiling. I should have known something was up. He said that he got me a birthday present (really? a month and a half early?). I started to smell a rat. He said that he felt so bad after watching me spend weeks on the skid steer hauling one bucket load at a time of dirt that he finally broke down and bought me a dump truck. In a blinding fit of rage, I scanned the house quickly for available projectiles to throw at him.
No flowers, cards or ballads. No sir, that's not our style. Instead, we resort to teasing and dump trucks. This is my version of Romeo.
Start praying for the baby now.
Fact #1:
My birthday is coming up in April. Normally, Wesley and I do not get each other presents.
Fact #2:
I spent hundreds of hours building up our yard a few years ago by cleaning out lots and pens that are in the general vicinity of our house. My routine was... one tiny little scoop of dirt out of the cattle pen and in the skid steer, drive 150 yards down the road, dump the tiny little scoop of dirt on the yard. Repeat, repeat, repeat. Hundreds of times, I kid you not.
Fact #3:
My husband gets great pleasure from driving me up the wall. We don't get many channels on the television, so I like to think that this is his primary source of entertainment.
Fact #4:
Wesley walked in the house yesterday - smiling. I should have known something was up. He said that he got me a birthday present (really? a month and a half early?). I started to smell a rat. He said that he felt so bad after watching me spend weeks on the skid steer hauling one bucket load at a time of dirt that he finally broke down and bought me a dump truck. In a blinding fit of rage, I scanned the house quickly for available projectiles to throw at him.
No flowers, cards or ballads. No sir, that's not our style. Instead, we resort to teasing and dump trucks. This is my version of Romeo.
Start praying for the baby now.
Monday, March 18, 2013
Beef: It's Whats for Dinner
You know what makes any crappy day better?
That's right: beef.
After my string of terrible, awful, horrible, no-good, very bad days, I knew that there were few things in life that would make me feel better. Fewer still things that I could safely do that are recommended by the Surgeon General during pregnancy. (No illicit drug use, folks, c'mon.)
We had the most tender, delectable, home raised beef tenderloin that man has ever known. I'll post the recipe on here. I found it on foodnetwork.com and would highly recommend it to anyone. I'm thinking of renaming it something much better. Something like "Bad Day Beef."
Here goes. Enjoy.
http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/dzintra-dzenis/moms-mushroom-beef-tenderloin-recipe/index.html
Beef:
That's right: beef.
After my string of terrible, awful, horrible, no-good, very bad days, I knew that there were few things in life that would make me feel better. Fewer still things that I could safely do that are recommended by the Surgeon General during pregnancy. (No illicit drug use, folks, c'mon.)
We had the most tender, delectable, home raised beef tenderloin that man has ever known. I'll post the recipe on here. I found it on foodnetwork.com and would highly recommend it to anyone. I'm thinking of renaming it something much better. Something like "Bad Day Beef."
Here goes. Enjoy.
http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/dzintra-dzenis/moms-mushroom-beef-tenderloin-recipe/index.html
Ingredients
Beef:
1 beef tenderloin, about 2 pounds
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
3 tablespoons grapeseed oil
Mushroom Gravy:
2 pounds mixed mushrooms, roughly chopped
1 (1-pound) package applewood smoked bacon, chopped
1 large onion, diced
1 pint heavy cream or half-and-half
1 bunch fresh Italian flat-leaf parsley, chopped
Directions
Preheat the oven to 375 degrees F.
Season the beef tenderloin roast generously with salt and pepper.
Heat 1 tablespoon grapeseed oil in a large skillet over high heat. Add the beef to the skillet and cook, turning occasionally until the beef is brown on all sides, about 5 minutes. Transfer the beef to a baking sheet. Roast in the oven until a thermometer inserted into the center of the beef registers 120 degrees F for medium-rare, about 35 minutes. Transfer the beef to a cutting board and let rest 10 minutes.
In a large skillet, heat 2 tablespoons grapeseed oil over medium-high heat. Add the mushrooms and saute until browned and lightly crisp.
In a separate skillet, over high temperature, brown the chopped bacon until crisp. Remove the bacon from the skillet and set aside. Pour out most of the bacon fat, reserving some in the pan. In the same pan, heat the bacon fat over medium-low heat. Add the onions and cook the onions until soft and cooked through, about 8 minutes.
In a large saucepan, combine the cooked mushrooms, bacon, onions, and cream, and bring to a simmer over medium heat. Simmer for 15 minutes, or until the cream thickens. Stir in the chopped parsley (reserving some for garnish), and season with salt, and pepper, to taste.
Thinly slice the beef tenderloin and transfer to a warmed serving platter. Pour the warm mushroom gravy over top and garnish with chopped parsley.
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
3 tablespoons grapeseed oil
Mushroom Gravy:
2 pounds mixed mushrooms, roughly chopped
1 (1-pound) package applewood smoked bacon, chopped
1 large onion, diced
1 pint heavy cream or half-and-half
1 bunch fresh Italian flat-leaf parsley, chopped
Directions
Preheat the oven to 375 degrees F.
Season the beef tenderloin roast generously with salt and pepper.
Heat 1 tablespoon grapeseed oil in a large skillet over high heat. Add the beef to the skillet and cook, turning occasionally until the beef is brown on all sides, about 5 minutes. Transfer the beef to a baking sheet. Roast in the oven until a thermometer inserted into the center of the beef registers 120 degrees F for medium-rare, about 35 minutes. Transfer the beef to a cutting board and let rest 10 minutes.
In a large skillet, heat 2 tablespoons grapeseed oil over medium-high heat. Add the mushrooms and saute until browned and lightly crisp.
In a separate skillet, over high temperature, brown the chopped bacon until crisp. Remove the bacon from the skillet and set aside. Pour out most of the bacon fat, reserving some in the pan. In the same pan, heat the bacon fat over medium-low heat. Add the onions and cook the onions until soft and cooked through, about 8 minutes.
In a large saucepan, combine the cooked mushrooms, bacon, onions, and cream, and bring to a simmer over medium heat. Simmer for 15 minutes, or until the cream thickens. Stir in the chopped parsley (reserving some for garnish), and season with salt, and pepper, to taste.
Thinly slice the beef tenderloin and transfer to a warmed serving platter. Pour the warm mushroom gravy over top and garnish with chopped parsley.
Thursday, March 14, 2013
Wondering....
Here's my disclaimer: Do not flip out on this post. I repeat, do not flip out.
I don't want to hear throngs of people on 20/20 someday soon saying, "I saw warning signs, blah, blah, blah..." Nothing like that.
I just know that sometimes getting things off your chest feels good, and I often feel refreshed after airing my feelings and stories on here.
Question:
How many horrible, awful, no-good, very bad days can one person have in a row before things turn around?
There is a limit, a thresh hold on all this, right?
I don't want to hear throngs of people on 20/20 someday soon saying, "I saw warning signs, blah, blah, blah..." Nothing like that.
I just know that sometimes getting things off your chest feels good, and I often feel refreshed after airing my feelings and stories on here.
Question:
How many horrible, awful, no-good, very bad days can one person have in a row before things turn around?
There is a limit, a thresh hold on all this, right?
Tuesday, March 5, 2013
Perfection
Does anyone else think their husband sings really annoying songs?
Does the aforementioned husband constantly hum and sing the words to:
Does the aforementioned husband constantly hum and sing the words to:
"Lord, it's hard to be humble,
When you're perfect in every way."
Please tell me I'm not the only one with this problem.
Friday, March 1, 2013
Homo sapiens are odd
I think our baby doctor and our nurses like us, if for no other reason than we provide them with comedic relief and plenty of fodder for the upcoming week once we leave their office.
- I doubt that the good doctor and nurses have to correct most folks for starting every question with, "In humans...." Turns out, most folks only ever deal with humans. For two ranch kids with degrees in agriculture (its a masters in FARM ANIMAL REPRODUCTION for crying out loud), obviously one might infer that humans are not our forte, our main topic of discussion around the dinner table.
- Most folks are not as blunt as W is. The nurse walked in our exam room last week and stated that I had lost another two pounds since my last appointment. My beloved's sarcastic reply? "Well, you sure can't tell it by looking at her." And please don't get your feathers ruffled over that last comment. I was absolutely certain that I had gained a TON of weight too by the way I felt and the fact that my clothes no longer fit me. I agreed with Wesley wholeheartedly on that last one. The nurse busted out laughing.
- Wesley asked if we got some sort of a prize for being out of high school, married, working and having insurance. Nurse A said she'd look into it, Nurse B said I was past my child-rearing prime and I was the oldest person she'd pulled blood on by 10 years that day. (That would put everyone else at 16 and below.... fyi.)
- Everyone realizes how uber cheap I am and gets a great laugh out of watching me add up the cost of every appointment in my head. Yes, I am terribly grateful for our wonderful insurance, but I still can't stop myself. I feel like a Visa credit card commercial is constantly repeating itself in my head during every appointment. Sonogram: $250. Urine sample: $50. This child: very expensive.
- Someone (I'll give you three guesses) has started to tease me incessantly about my frugal nature and made the poetic comparison that I am tighter than a bull's butt during fly season. Yep, let that one stick with you the rest of the day.
Tuesday, February 26, 2013
I'm jonesin' like a crack head
With a title like that, how can this story be anything but riveting, right? I am coming to the realization that I may indeed have a problem.
I have been crocheting on a ridiculously large baby blanket for a friend during all my spare time - listening to the governor speak at a conference last week, meetings, and of course... every evening when I sit down. Oh yes, and on all these delightful snow days we've been getting. Today being one of them.
Last night I was crocheting and Wesley came over to be a pain and tickle my feet. In the ensuing battle and me slumping down in the recliner in an attempt to kick him in the face (don't judge, I didn't have any weapons close by) I managed to lose my only crochet needle in the depths of the black hole that is the recliner. After attempting to retrieve it for 30+ minutes and then sulking for the next 12 hours, Wesley pointed out that I may have an addiction to crocheting and I may have to look into other indoor hobbies.
Instead, I am thinking about driving the 60 miles in semi-blizzard conditions to the nearest craft shop in order to satisfy my cravings instead. And yes, I realize this is not healthy. And yes, this is the last time I will ever lose my last crochet needle again!
I am not taking responsibility for the low quality of this post. If I had a crochet needle in my hand I wouldn't have been forced to type anything at all!
I have been crocheting on a ridiculously large baby blanket for a friend during all my spare time - listening to the governor speak at a conference last week, meetings, and of course... every evening when I sit down. Oh yes, and on all these delightful snow days we've been getting. Today being one of them.
Last night I was crocheting and Wesley came over to be a pain and tickle my feet. In the ensuing battle and me slumping down in the recliner in an attempt to kick him in the face (don't judge, I didn't have any weapons close by) I managed to lose my only crochet needle in the depths of the black hole that is the recliner. After attempting to retrieve it for 30+ minutes and then sulking for the next 12 hours, Wesley pointed out that I may have an addiction to crocheting and I may have to look into other indoor hobbies.
Instead, I am thinking about driving the 60 miles in semi-blizzard conditions to the nearest craft shop in order to satisfy my cravings instead. And yes, I realize this is not healthy. And yes, this is the last time I will ever lose my last crochet needle again!
I am not taking responsibility for the low quality of this post. If I had a crochet needle in my hand I wouldn't have been forced to type anything at all!
Thursday, February 14, 2013
Kiss of Death
I thought with this being Valentine's Day and all, we'd stick with the lovey-dovey theme, right? Sounds rather apropos to me. Actually, I don't know that I'd file this story under 'lovey-dovey', but it does involve a kiss. That's enough of a connection to justify it as a Valentine's Day story in my book.
I went home to Mom and Dad's last weekend and it was great. We went to church Sunday morning a bit early as Mom was singing in the choir. It was a fairly nice morning so Dad and I elected to stand outside next to the pickup while he finished his coffee. It gave me a chance to watch as folks pulled in the parking lot and recognize lots of familiar faces.
I especially took notice when a large sedan pulled in and a tiny, ball-of-fire older woman stepped out. As she exited her vehicle she took the time to do a 360 sweep of the entire parking lot and scan for potential victims. I mean, she took time to scan for people to wave at. She spotted me standing 30 yards away and, deciding I was too distant a target, settled on waving so hard I thought she might dislocate her shoulder. Escape #1 of mine was a complete success.
During the church service Mom, Dad and I sat in a pew towards the back of the church, far from the center aisle. Thankfully, a nice couple came in and sat in the pew with us, effectively blocking a clear path from me to the center aisle. (Cue evil scientist laugh. My plan is working, mwahahahaha!)
At the end of church we are dismissed from the front of the church to the back. Probably as an incentive for more people to sit closer to the front, but my family never bought into that. We were patiently sitting and waiting for our turn to be dismissed when the tiny, ball-of-fire Marge* and her husband stood up and prepared to leave from their pew several rows in front of us.
I leaned over and whispered to my dad, "Watch this. She can't get to me. Mwahahahaha." As Marge made her way towards our pew she spotted me - avictim child she hadn't seen in quite a while. We watched as she frantically scanned the area and saw that I was effectively boxed in by people, meaning she was also effectively boxed out from accessing me. We settled on a friendly wave and smile. Escape #2 of mine was a complete success.
After church we made our way to the hallway and I got the chance to see several folks I hadn't seen in quite a while. It was fun, and the fact that I have a fetus the size of an orange this week made me more of a commodity as folks came up to see my ever expanding midsection. Most of Mom and Dad's friends already knew our news so the element of surprise wasn't there, which did not hurt my feelings in the least.
We were almost ready to leave when our friend Marge strolled up. I gave her a hug and listened to the standard, "Oh my goodness Sweetheart, you're looking so good these days, I can't believe you're growing up so quick...." I thought I was going to be safe.
And then it happened.
I was wearing a larger black jacket that day which helped to camouflage most of any sort of belly unless you knew one was supposed to be there. Marge gave me (what I thought was) one last little hug and said, "Oh, Sweetheart, your just so skinny! How do you stay so thin?!" (Totally blowing smoke up my skirt, by the way.)
My mom opened her big mouth with a twinkle of evil no mother should ever possess in her eyes. "Anna's belly is getting bigger. She's going to have a baby!"
"Oh, congratulations honey!" she shrieked as tiny little ball-of-fire Marge grew springs under her red pumps and that little 4'11" lady jumped up and planted a huge, fire engine red kiss of stay-forever lipstick on my 5'7" cheek. Escape #3 was not as successful.
And thus my mother sealed her destiny to end up in a crappy nursing home forever.
I went home to Mom and Dad's last weekend and it was great. We went to church Sunday morning a bit early as Mom was singing in the choir. It was a fairly nice morning so Dad and I elected to stand outside next to the pickup while he finished his coffee. It gave me a chance to watch as folks pulled in the parking lot and recognize lots of familiar faces.
I especially took notice when a large sedan pulled in and a tiny, ball-of-fire older woman stepped out. As she exited her vehicle she took the time to do a 360 sweep of the entire parking lot and scan for potential victims. I mean, she took time to scan for people to wave at. She spotted me standing 30 yards away and, deciding I was too distant a target, settled on waving so hard I thought she might dislocate her shoulder. Escape #1 of mine was a complete success.
During the church service Mom, Dad and I sat in a pew towards the back of the church, far from the center aisle. Thankfully, a nice couple came in and sat in the pew with us, effectively blocking a clear path from me to the center aisle. (Cue evil scientist laugh. My plan is working, mwahahahaha!)
At the end of church we are dismissed from the front of the church to the back. Probably as an incentive for more people to sit closer to the front, but my family never bought into that. We were patiently sitting and waiting for our turn to be dismissed when the tiny, ball-of-fire Marge* and her husband stood up and prepared to leave from their pew several rows in front of us.
I leaned over and whispered to my dad, "Watch this. She can't get to me. Mwahahahaha." As Marge made her way towards our pew she spotted me - a
After church we made our way to the hallway and I got the chance to see several folks I hadn't seen in quite a while. It was fun, and the fact that I have a fetus the size of an orange this week made me more of a commodity as folks came up to see my ever expanding midsection. Most of Mom and Dad's friends already knew our news so the element of surprise wasn't there, which did not hurt my feelings in the least.
We were almost ready to leave when our friend Marge strolled up. I gave her a hug and listened to the standard, "Oh my goodness Sweetheart, you're looking so good these days, I can't believe you're growing up so quick...." I thought I was going to be safe.
And then it happened.
I was wearing a larger black jacket that day which helped to camouflage most of any sort of belly unless you knew one was supposed to be there. Marge gave me (what I thought was) one last little hug and said, "Oh, Sweetheart, your just so skinny! How do you stay so thin?!" (Totally blowing smoke up my skirt, by the way.)
My mom opened her big mouth with a twinkle of evil no mother should ever possess in her eyes. "Anna's belly is getting bigger. She's going to have a baby!"
"Oh, congratulations honey!" she shrieked as tiny little ball-of-fire Marge grew springs under her red pumps and that little 4'11" lady jumped up and planted a huge, fire engine red kiss of stay-forever lipstick on my 5'7" cheek. Escape #3 was not as successful.
And thus my mother sealed her destiny to end up in a crappy nursing home forever.
Monday, February 11, 2013
Birthday Girl
Big day at our house today. Loopie is turning three. THREE. Where does the time go? (And yes, I realize that recognizing this event does qualify us as those dog people.)
When I realized this morning that it was her birthday, I started thinking back on how much our life has changed in these three years. It took me back to the time that Wesley and I almost got divorced. Yep, that's right, I can take any sentimental moment and crush it with a heavy dose of reality and assorted downers.
Think back to all those lovey-dovey high school and college relationships when the significant other could do no wrong and you only saw stars in your eyes when you lovingly and affectionately gazed at them.
Remember that story from a few months back when I said we were on the 'accelerated program' regarding brutal honesty in our relationship?
It was my last semester of college and I was coming home for spring break in late March. We had a late season blizzard come through that week when I was trying to drive back to Kansas and see my beloved, my do-no-wrong, say-no-wrong love of my life. Earlier that week I had also gotten the call that my puppy had finally reached the weaning age and was ready to be picked up that week. I thought about it long and hard (yeah, right) and decided that Wesley could wait. I needed to drive an extra two hours north in a blizzard and pick up this adorable little ball of blue heeler fur.
I called my do-no-wrong, say-no-wrong love of my life to let him know of my genius plans to pick up the pup before I came to see him. I remember his loving reply to me on the phone that day.
"If you are stupid enough to drive up there and pick up a damn dog you can just keep driving and don't bother stopping here again."
Not quite the reply that I was looking for.
After a crying and cussing fit I came to the realization that this only further solidified our relationship.... and put us on the accelerated program regarding total, brutal honesty in our relationship.
Monumental things happened that day. 1) Wesley became the first ever male to have the gumption, the gall, the cajones to speak to me like that and live. And, 2) Wesley became the first male that I ever really listened to, besides my Dad.
It ended up that I didn't get to pick up Loopie on that horrible spring break trip home and I didn't get to meet her for several more weeks. She was worth waiting for though. And Wesley and I went through with the whole wedding thing and didn't end up getting a divorce over a puppy and a blizzard.
And this is the part where you say to yourself "Awwww, such a sweet ending." See? I can let some sentimental moments stand uninterrupted.
Happy birthday, Loop.
When I realized this morning that it was her birthday, I started thinking back on how much our life has changed in these three years. It took me back to the time that Wesley and I almost got divorced. Yep, that's right, I can take any sentimental moment and crush it with a heavy dose of reality and assorted downers.
Think back to all those lovey-dovey high school and college relationships when the significant other could do no wrong and you only saw stars in your eyes when you lovingly and affectionately gazed at them.
Remember that story from a few months back when I said we were on the 'accelerated program' regarding brutal honesty in our relationship?
It was my last semester of college and I was coming home for spring break in late March. We had a late season blizzard come through that week when I was trying to drive back to Kansas and see my beloved, my do-no-wrong, say-no-wrong love of my life. Earlier that week I had also gotten the call that my puppy had finally reached the weaning age and was ready to be picked up that week. I thought about it long and hard (yeah, right) and decided that Wesley could wait. I needed to drive an extra two hours north in a blizzard and pick up this adorable little ball of blue heeler fur.
I called my do-no-wrong, say-no-wrong love of my life to let him know of my genius plans to pick up the pup before I came to see him. I remember his loving reply to me on the phone that day.
"If you are stupid enough to drive up there and pick up a damn dog you can just keep driving and don't bother stopping here again."
Not quite the reply that I was looking for.
After a crying and cussing fit I came to the realization that this only further solidified our relationship.... and put us on the accelerated program regarding total, brutal honesty in our relationship.
Monumental things happened that day. 1) Wesley became the first ever male to have the gumption, the gall, the cajones to speak to me like that and live. And, 2) Wesley became the first male that I ever really listened to, besides my Dad.
It ended up that I didn't get to pick up Loopie on that horrible spring break trip home and I didn't get to meet her for several more weeks. She was worth waiting for though. And Wesley and I went through with the whole wedding thing and didn't end up getting a divorce over a puppy and a blizzard.
And this is the part where you say to yourself "Awwww, such a sweet ending." See? I can let some sentimental moments stand uninterrupted.
Happy birthday, Loop.
Wednesday, January 30, 2013
Equal opportunity idiot
I not afraid to laugh at myself, and thankfully with this pregnancy the opportunities are more present than ever. Pregnancy brain is no myth, my friends. No myth at all.
True, I'm sure there are varying levels of stupidity and lots of it probably has something to do with your level (or lack of) intelligence to begin with.
The ladies I work with on a daily basis love the endless fodder of material that I provide to them for their humor and endless teasing pleasure.
Example #1: In my defense, I knew what I was saying was terribly wrong, but for the life of me I could not come up with the correct name. In many situations this isn't a problem. For instance, when dealing with live people on a face to face basis. I can cover with "buddy," "pal," and my favorite "hey, you!" When telling a story; however, this can't always work.
I don't even know why I was trying to tell a biblical story, but I was. I was very adamant in telling our office professional all about Noah taking a float trip down the Nile in his little reed basket. "You know, not Noah, but that one kid?"
She was so polite. "Um, do you mean Moses?"
"That's the one! Good job buddy!" Pam, her name is Pam.
Example #2: There is a baptist church in town, the Maple Street Baptist Church* (yes, I changed the name). They are quite small and I have never actually met someone who attends this church. Keep that one important fact in your mind - small, small, small.
A friend came in the office one day and we covered a plethora of topics during our short visit together. One of those topics was the Maple Street Baptist Church. Another one of those topics was about a trucking company that is the largest employer in Greenwood County.
My poor, feeble mind was apparently on overload and not able to process two distinct thoughts separately. My only contribution to the entire conversation was, "Wait - do you mean to tell me that Maple Street Baptist Church employs almost 90 people? What in the world do they do with all of them?"
My friend was ever so tactful in his reply. "What is wrong with you?"
Pregnancy brain. It's my excuse for the next several months. Get used to it. And get used to some really odd stories.
True, I'm sure there are varying levels of stupidity and lots of it probably has something to do with your level (or lack of) intelligence to begin with.
The ladies I work with on a daily basis love the endless fodder of material that I provide to them for their humor and endless teasing pleasure.
Example #1: In my defense, I knew what I was saying was terribly wrong, but for the life of me I could not come up with the correct name. In many situations this isn't a problem. For instance, when dealing with live people on a face to face basis. I can cover with "buddy," "pal," and my favorite "hey, you!" When telling a story; however, this can't always work.
I don't even know why I was trying to tell a biblical story, but I was. I was very adamant in telling our office professional all about Noah taking a float trip down the Nile in his little reed basket. "You know, not Noah, but that one kid?"
She was so polite. "Um, do you mean Moses?"
"That's the one! Good job buddy!" Pam, her name is Pam.
Example #2: There is a baptist church in town, the Maple Street Baptist Church* (yes, I changed the name). They are quite small and I have never actually met someone who attends this church. Keep that one important fact in your mind - small, small, small.
A friend came in the office one day and we covered a plethora of topics during our short visit together. One of those topics was the Maple Street Baptist Church. Another one of those topics was about a trucking company that is the largest employer in Greenwood County.
My poor, feeble mind was apparently on overload and not able to process two distinct thoughts separately. My only contribution to the entire conversation was, "Wait - do you mean to tell me that Maple Street Baptist Church employs almost 90 people? What in the world do they do with all of them?"
My friend was ever so tactful in his reply. "What is wrong with you?"
Pregnancy brain. It's my excuse for the next several months. Get used to it. And get used to some really odd stories.
Monday, January 21, 2013
Q & A
Prior to my last post, I realize I had been a bit laxidasical with my blogging duties. It's not that we hadn't done anything fun or exciting (yeah, right)... it's just that I didn't feel like starting every story with "right after I puked" and then winding things up with "it ended/everyone went home/Wes had to stop the pickup when I puked." Just not appealing to the masses. But that has been our life lately.
I'll go ahead a clear up a few questions that folks automatically throw out.
I'll go ahead a clear up a few questions that folks automatically throw out.
- When are you due? The beginning of August. The week after our county fair. The hottest time of the year. And no, we didn't take the time to check our calendars and figure all this out ahead of time.
- What are you having? A baby. I think it's nice that God has given us a gift. I was taught not to peek and ruin a surprise when you've been given a gift. We are not concerned about finding out his sex or buying her outfits, we just keep praying for a healthy one. Yet one more way that my husband and I are old fashioned fuddy-duddies.
- Where will you put the baby in your small house? We'll make it work folks. Let's put this all in perspective. Indians had babies all the time and they only had a papoose and a teepee. We can make this work for quite a while in our tiny little place.
- I haven't seen anything on Facebook yet! (deep breath) .....sigh....... I just can't get comfortable with posting my life on Facebook where everyone from high school can see exactly what's going on with us. I like to think of it like I'm leaving a little something for our 10 year class reunion. And relatively few folks outside of close friends and family know about this little blog (yep, I'm talking about you, lady that works on the floor above my sister) so I feel safe(er) in this environment.
Friday, January 18, 2013
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