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. 

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. 

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. 

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

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.

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? 

Perfection

Does anyone else think their husband sings really annoying songs? 

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. 

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.  

 Yep, it's no wonder that our doctor and nurses get such a kick out of us every time we come to town.  We surely don't want to disappoint!