It's a.......

Yep. It's another boy for me. I'm so excited for Barrett to have a little brother to beat up. Everyone, say a prayer for me. Two boys that close = trouble.
Oh, and the baby is looking great and healthy too.

Baby Pool Stud

It got hot early this year, so Barrett and I have been spending a lot of time in the pool. Thanks to a certain little cousin for the hand-me-down swim trunks. Oh...and that guy in the pic isn't my husband...he's the pool boy.

Farm Living

We are moved into the new house. Well, the house isn't new, but it's new to us. We moved into an old farmhouse, and we're not certain how old it is. We do know that the octogenarian farmer down the road says it has been there as a long as he can remember. We also know that boulders hold up two corners of the house. So.....it's really old. It's a work in progress. I describe it as a little "Green Acres", which irritates my husband, but it is the truth. You know how Lisa Douglas would open her closet and be outside? It's not that bad, but we do have some "rustic" exposed wood walls.



I am the proud owner of 14 chickens (we had 15, but one died), and 12 guineas. We got them all as babies. The chickens are getting big, and it seems that we may have a disproportionate number of roosters. This is bad because we wanted a bunch of laying hens, and also because roosters don't always get along. I'm going to start an amateur cock-fighting league for some extra cash.



I'm hoping that the guineas put a dent in the trillions of ticks on our property. They are cute little docile things right now. They let me pick them up and cuddle them. They'll look like martian chickens when they get big. (see pic)



Dan has Spent the past three weeks engaged in World War III with a groundhog, which has resulted in numerous massive hole in the yard. When he's not digging, he's laying in the grass, panting, waiting for the groundhog to emerge. He has a lot less time for other mischief since he has found this new obsession. He comes in at night filthy and tired, not wanting to get in the trash or steal food from the baby's high chair. I'm willing to accept the potentially ankle-breaking craters in exchange for the complacent canine.

I'm Not Dead!!

I'll be back online soon. I miss everyone from bbc soo much. I'll be back to blogging about nothing soon.

Falling Off the Grid

Today I called the satellite company to tell them that we are moving, and we need our service transferred. "Mam, What's your new address?" I tried to explain to her that our house is in a really rural area and that our address is not "normal". Our address actually reads something like on E. 1290 rd. between 1370 rd. and 1380 rd.....not anything like 4253 Maple st..

"Mam, I need your address in order to transfer your service!" The woman was irritable.

"I know that this is frustrating for you, because it is frustrating for me. That is our address! I know that someone from your company has been there before because there is a satellite on the house." It took some time for her to believe that the crazy series of streets and numbers I was giving her was a location.

This is the beginning of falling off of the grid. We have to put in an application to even receive mail. Yes...we are isolated! There are nice things about being isolated, though. On Sunday we did some work on the house, and I sat and nursed Barrett on the porch without even worrying that a car might pass. I watched as four red-tailed hawks spent the evening diving into the neighboring fields. I could see so far that I saw a storm brew on the horizon and then dance around us. It is very lovely there, and so quiet. The coyotes howl at night, which is eerie and beautiful at once. I'm actually looking forward to our isolation. Dan can howl his head off twenty four hours a day for weeks straight and it won't bother a soul, except me.

*That picture is the google-earth image of our house. You can see that the barn (the structure to the rear) is actually much larger than our house. There are also some little chicken houses and such, which I am going to fill with laying hens!

Oh..and I have to mention that the biggest bobcat ever (I could prove that this is true if only I could convince him to step on a scale, which is unlikely) regularly pisses in our garage. We saw him leaving the premises as we pulled up on Sunday morning. Jason is convinced that the bobcat is part mountain lion, which I seriously doubt. That mofo is huge, though.

Our bobcat would eat this bobcat for a snack.

Nausea, Oh Nausea....Rock On!!

Beck released a song called "Nausea"while I was in the early stages of my first pregnancy. It was my theme song for a few weeks. Lately that same song has been spinning through my head. I hate the first trimester. I hate it. I don't feel like doing anything. Every small task is suddenly some huge feat. Every night I try to convince my husband to bring dinner home, so I don't have to cook. All I feel like eating is buttered noodles or French toast, which I'm certain my husband doesn't want to eat. I'm tempted to cook a meal of just what I feel like eating, so that he'll give in to my pleas to bring home a pizza. Perhaps a meal consisting of cheese-toast and raw carrots will convince him that driving fifteen miles out of his way to pick up dinner is worth the effort. I typically love to cook, but I am currently grossed out by everything in my kitchen. When I get hungry, I sit and think of different foods until the thought of something doesn't make me feel like vomiting. Spaghetti? blcch. Nachos? eww. Yogurt? no way. Rice? maybe. Eventually I come up with something resembling a meal. Usually the meal is pretty abstract, so I have to make "normal" food for my husband. This means that I have to make two meals and spend even more time in the place I hate most right now, which is the kitchen.

This is what I have to say to my husband:
Jason,
I'm carrying your little leech of a baby, and her invasion of my body is making me ill. I'm tired all of the time, I have no motivation, and I think most everything under the sun is disgusting. Please help me out!! Get me a dang grilled cheese from Sonic and you can get whatever your heart desires (probably some massive burger with an excessive amount of accouterments such as chili and/or bacon). I promise I'll be normal again in a couple weeks, and the sight of raw macaroni won't send me into a case of the woozies, and I will cook normal (if not delicious) food again.
Love,
Your adoring wife who is carrying your second gorgeous baby

Barrett is 9 Months Old

My little monkey is nine months old today. We didn't do much to celebrate. He crawled around looking for choking hazards. We went for a brief walk, since it was pretty nice out today. He fought valiantly against his naps, and then finally gave in. It was an average day.

I did wonder what I guess every parent wonders as their children reach milestones. How did you get so big so fast?
A year ago he was just a flutter in my tummy. Now he's pulling himself up on the couch and stealing the remote control. Where does time go?

Since I am the last human on earth that doesn't have a digital camera, I'll have to wait to get some pictures developed on disk to show the wild monkey.

My Mom's BFF

For those that aren't big into politics, the gentleman next to my mother is not my father, but Justice Scalia. Yes, Supreme Court Justice Antonin Scalia, famous for being the ultra-conservative justice appointed by Reagan.

I think this picture is pretty funny, because in mother's words she is "a staunch democrat". Don't ever run for office, Mom. This picture will haunt you.

In reality she says that Scalia is a pretty nice guy. She has known him for some time, because she works as a receptionist at the country club he frequents. An unlikely friendship has brewed between them, although I doubt that they talk politics. I know my mother and I suspect that she wouldn't hide her liberalism for anyone.

Next week I'll post a pic of my dad with Keith Richards.

Barrett's BFF

It is not a secret that that there is a wild animal that lives in my house. Every time a leaf blows by he howls so loud that the windows vibrate (I'm not exaggerating). He is known for swallowing entire items whole, such as socks, votive candles, Ziploc bags and small toys. He is also known for passing these various items and leaving them in the yard completely intact. He bombards house guests, and he steals toys from his sister (his canine sister). He is obsessed with food. He "surfs" on the kitchen counter and helps himself to whatever he desires, even if we are standing right there. I'm aware that we are responsible for his lack of manners, since we are not known to be the most consistent of dog trainers. My husband and I like to watch "The Dog Whisperer", feel empowered for a couple hours and then go back to letting our dogs run the show. Dan, the wild beast, does not exactly have an easy-going nature which makes things worse. He is extremely intelligent and high energy, so it is not ever easy to convince him to do anything (see Tornado Drill post). His father is a championed bear hunter by the name of Virginia Junkyard Dog, and I believe that Dan inherited his father's intelligence and energy. Dan does not hunt, so his intellect and energy is used to outwit us and howl at neighborhood cats.

It was no surprise that every single soul that visited our house while I was pregnant with Barrett said: "What are you going to do when the baby gets here?"It was as if these people didn't think that we realized that having both an infant and a hundred pound, noisy klutz in the house may be a problem. "We'll work it out" was always our response. In reality we didn't know how having both a baby and the world's craziest hound was going to work. We did know that Dan is a member of the family and there was going to have to be a solution. We weren't going to make him "an outside dog" as some suggested, nor were we going to give him up. Although Dan is noisy and obnoxious, he is a lover, a gentle giant. He had always let Jason's nieces and nephew fling themselves at him, and pet him in their awkward way. He showed an amazing ability to tone down his play when in the presence of Jason's three year-old niece. So, I wasn't totally discouraged.

When we finally brought Barrett home, Dan hardly noticed at first. He was overwhelmed to see me, since I had been gone for three days. Dan showed immense concern over the bandages on my tummy from my c-section. He tried to "clean" my wound for me, which was sweet. He is a good pack member. Then he was introduced to Barrett. Introduced meaning we let Dan smell the baby, who was snug in his car seat. I was not prepared for what happened next. Dan followed that baby every where. He would lay by Barrett's bassinet and peak at him every time he stirred. If Barrett was in his swing, Dan was laying at the foot of the swing. If we took the baby out and returned home, Dan would have to be able to see the baby before he would agree to go outside or do anything else. This behavior has continued pretty consistently for nine months now. Barrett is Dan's baby.

Dan's love is not unrequited. Barrett returns Dan's affections. Barrett smooched Dan before he ever thought of kissing us. Joy washes over Barrett when he catches a glimpse of Dan, and he releases a high-pitched squeal. They really are buddies. Dan's howling does wake Barrett up from time to time, but it's only a small inconvenience. Barrett often just realizes that it's only Dan and goes back to sleep. To everyone that questioned how having Dan would "work", I say that blind faith in Dan's good nature has payed off for our little family.

Double Stroller Nightmare

I remember watching a family with seven kids file into the restaurant that I worked at while I was in college. The parents looked young, maybe thirty. My friend Nicole and I stood at the end of the bar gawking at them.

"Can you imagine?" Nicole said.

"No" I replied.

We watched as the hosts struggled with two high chairs, a booster and an endless pile of crayons. We both sighed in relief at the fact that we were bar tending that night, and therefore didn't have to take the "Chuck E. Cheese table", which is what we all lovingly called any table with more than three kids. "Who's gonna wear the rat costume today?"

"It's my goal in life to never own a double stroller." Those were my infamous words.

I have to find a new goal in life, since I am in the market for a double stroller. My son is not quite nine months old and I am pregnant. I'm not going to go into the details, but it is a "surprise". I figure the positive is that if I'm nursing and pregnant that my calorie intake can be somewhere in the hundred thousands. Okay, that's an exaggeration, but I figure anything with some nutritional content is game. Other positives? Hmmmmm.

• I can bathe both the little monkeys together, as soon as the baby can sit up.
• I have plenty of baby equipment.
• They'll be able to occupy one another, since they are so close in age.
  
  
  Negatives.....
• let just say I am ready to fax my application into "Supernanny". If you haven't seen that show, every episode features a family with too many children under the age of six.
• My sister's friend mentioned that I will be in "diaper hell". I know she is right.
• Overall I'm in danger of losing my mind.
  
  
  Despite my worry regarding the situation, I am excited. I realize that a lot of people try very hard to get pregnant and never succeed. I've been lucky enough to just stumble into a pregnancy. A week ago this baby was not even a thought, but now she is a burgeoning presence. My heart is filled with hope for her, with love. Two years ago Barrett was not even a thought either, but now he is my little redheaded sidekick. He gives big open-mouthed kisses and tries to follow me everywhere. I want, more than anything, to be a good mommy to them both.

Tandem

or side by side? I've got a few months to decide.

My Dad is a Celebrity

My sister e-mailed this to me. My Dad is one the coolest people on the planet.

http://www.oldtowncrier.com/behind-bars

My New Husband

So, those of you that regularly read this blog may have noticed that I removed the "My Husband the Political Analyst" post. I have also removed all pictures of my former husband. I guess he is a member of the witness protection program, or he has some psychotic ex-girlfriend. I think it is possible that he sensed the sarcasm in the "My Husband the Political Analyst" post. In any case, he is bitter and he wanted me to take his pictures down. So, I have obliged him. I figure I have two options: act like I'm single, or find a faux husband. I chose to find a new husband.

His name is Hans and he is an artist.

Tornado Drill

A couple weeks ago the first tornadoes of the season came through Oklahoma. I hadn't "drilled" for a tornado since I was pregnant. A "drill" just means convincing my two stubborn hounds to go down the steep, wooden steps to the cellar. For some reason I had forgotten that there is no convincing them to go down those steps, it must be done with force. I could just leave them, I suppose, but I don't want to live if both my dogs blow away. I had been kind of preoccupied with the whole "baby thing" and hadn't put much thought to tornadoes in the past several months.

Two Sundays ago, while my husband was out on a call, there was a tornado four miles from my house. On the news they showed this giant red whirling thing right next to my little town, so.......I panicked and chaos ensued. I grabbed the baby, then the phone and a lighter(which I didn't need because there is one in the shelter) and proceeded to turn in circles. I tried coaxing the dogs into the cellar with peanut butter and crackers, but they wouldn't fall for it. I shoved Jules down the steps and she looked at me like I was trying to murder her. Dan took off and I had to chase him around the house, but he was terrified after seeing me push the other dog down the steps. I tried to physically pull him down, but with the baby still in my hands it was not going to happen. Time was going by and the longer it took, the more I was endangering my child, so I had to leave Dan and go to the shelter. Dan sat at the top of the cellar steps the entire time we had to stay (about fifteen minutes) howling. The baby kept trying to touch the moldy cellar walls and Jules just ate crackers the whole time, since I felt like I needed to make up for shoving her down the steps.I sat there and waited for the destruction to happen, but it didn't and my husband called to say that we could come up.

After that experience I have realized that I need to be more prepared if this happens again. We do keep supplies in the storm shelter, and I thought I had a general plan, but it turns out we need more than that. According to the experts we need to wear bicycle helmets!! Yes, so not only will I run around like an idiot, but I'll look stupid while doing it. My mom is moving to Oklahoma, so I think I should buy her a helmet for Mother's Day. I have a vision of her in a helmet, running through the house calling the cats. "Sally....Earl!! Willy....Perry!! Come on!! There's a storm" (Yes, four cats. She is borderline crazy-cat lady).

R.I.P. Dan's Balls

Dan got the clip, which was long overdue, two weeks ago. Now he just has a sad little coin purse that dangles between his legs. He went to the vet weighing one hundred pounds and came home weighing ninety-five. He hasn't changed a bit, other than the loss of anatomy. The same wild beast that went to the vet came back every bit as wild, which is fine. I had gone round and round with my husband over the subject of neutering Dan for some time. Finally Jason caved, because he knew I was right the entire time. To celebrate I've written Dan's balls a haiku poem:

Frijoles, or beans
swelled to great furry apples
then came the harvest




Danny Boy when his apples were just beans

Baby Mop

I saw this ridiculous thing on "Ellen" in her crazy inventions segment. I don't think it's so crazy. If I could figure out where I could order one, then I would do it. [Barrett, you've been lounging around, sucking ninny, playing and sleeping for eight and a half months now. This won't cut it in the real world. It's time that you became more productive.]

Barret is boycotting his high chair and his exersaucer. He demands to be on the floor where he can get into things. I put down a blanket and some toys on the kitchen floor so that he could be occupied while I did some tidying in the kitchen. He, of course, scooted his little butt off of the blanket and proceeded to draw in some flour that had spilled on the floor. I put him back on the blanket. I turn around and not ten seconds later I here a "ehhhhh....ehhhhhh". He is stuck under a kitchen chair. So, I pick him up and decide that our kitchen adventure is over. Barrett's socks and pants are disgusting, coated in crumbs, and dog hair, and yuck. I'm certain that department of human services would have taken him from me if anyone saw him at that moment. So, I thoroughly cleaned my kitchen floor yesterday, which was not an easy task. To my defense, we have old hard-wood floors that tend to disguise dirt and I just didn't realize it was that bad.

So, after an afternoon of vacuuming, scrubbing and mopping I have decided that this baby mop isn't such a bad idea. Not only will Barrett help maintain the cleanliness of my home, but he will "learn a sense of responsibility" as the package says. I wonder if they make one with the mop on the butt? He is a better scooter than crawler.

I've Been Tagged

So, my sister tagged me. To my babycenter friends: it was another babycenter mom that started this mess (May 05), so I am spreading the love.

Here it goes..........

10 years ago:

I was sixteen and a sophomore in high school. I was preparing to go to Panama City, Florida with my two best friends, and one of my friend's mom. It was an epic spring-break trip. We managed to evade our supervision as much as possible. We drove my friend's mom's tan van to the beach every day and told college boys that we were 18 and our names were Candy, Barbie and Kiki (I was Kiki). I'm actually proud of how smart we were, considering. We never separated and never went anywhere questionable, like hotel rooms. I got really sunburnt and we gave each other bad highlights. That sums it up.

Oh, and I had to read Hamlet while we were there.


5 things on my to-do list today:


1. Trim the dogs' nails. (They have been severely neglected)

2.Make an appointment for Barrett's 9mo. checkup. (He turns on the 26th)

3.Clean the Kitchen Floor (This will likely take a couple hours)

4.Start making a grocery list

5.Pack at least 3 boxes (we are moving)


Things I would do if I were suddenly a billionaire:

• Buy an amazing beach house (Probably in the Outer Banks on one of the more remote islands like Pea island, so the husband can surf) and let my family and friends use it whenever they wished.
• Pay off all of my family's debts and give them enough money so that never have to worry.
• Start my own coonhound rescue.
• Buy a lot of land in remote areas. Keep it as an investment for my kids.
• Adopt a child out of foster care
• I would go to concerts whenever I felt like it. Radiohead is playing in Stockholm...sounds fun. I will go.

3 of my bad habits:

1.Leaving food out. (I get busy and forget. I made homemade pita bread this week and ruined it all, because I forgot to wrap it up.)

2.Cussing at the dog. (I really shouldn't let him frustrate me. He's only an animal)

3.I "flop" on furniture. My mother used to scold me for this, now my husband scolds me for the same reason. It's a real problem... I guess.

Jobs I've had:

1. Lifeguard



2. Swim instructor



3. Waitress at an Irish pub



4. Waitress/Bartender at California Pizza Kitchen (while I was in college)



5. Tutor/counselor at the VCU writing center



6. Waitress at an Italian restaurant



7. Substitute teacher ( for only a couple weeks, since we moved immediately after I was hired)



8. Housewife/mom

5 thing people don't know about me:

1. I watch "The Newlywed Game" every morning
2. I snore loudly (well, my husband knows this)
3. I hate shaving.
4. I dance around my house like a moron on a regular basis.
5. I have an irrational fear of my cellar.

So, I am goin to tag: http://my3beautifulroses.blogspot.com/ , http://whatarelittleboysmadeof.blogspot.com/ , AND http://bissell-kids.blogspot.com/

If you have been tagged, it is because I find you interesting, not because I want to annoy you.

Tradio Radio

Tradio is the best reason to live in rural Oklahoma. For those poor souls who have never heard of tradio, I will explain. Tradio is an hour long radio program where people call in and either describe something that they are looking for, or something they are trying to sell or trade. Most people call in looking for, or trading/selling mundane items such as tractors, televisions, and automobiles. Sounds boring, I know, but it's not.

I live for Tuesday mornings, because that is when the Woodward edition of tradio is on. I don't know what is going on in Woodward, or why it is different than most Western Oklahoma towns that have tradio editions. I do know that the Woodward callers are the best!!!

This is, verbatim, what one caller said this morning:
"Yeah. I'm looking to sell a 1984 Ford, Bronco. It runs, but has a door missing. Or, I will trade it for a small car, but the car doesn't have to run. Oh, and also I'm looking for a chihuahua."

The next caller is an elderly woman:
"I just called to tell you that you are doing a wonderful job."
The announcer hesitantly says: "Well, Thank you."

Just when I'm certain that the crazy train has taken off, a woman, who speaks incredibly slow, comes on.
"Yes. [long pause] I am looking for a number four. [longer pause] That goes on the wall.....on the wall of your house. ......on the outside. Mine fell, or somebody stole it. So, if anyone has a number four you can call me at ###-###. And to the person that stole that number four, I am going to find you."

In the middle of this woman's drawn out rant my phone begins to ring. It's my husband on the phone: "Are you listening to tradio?" He is calling to confirm that he is not hallucinating.


Disclaimer: If anyone that reads this is either from Woodward, Oklahoma or has friends that live there, then I am sorry. I'm sure that there are some nice, normal people that live in Woodward.

Daytime Commercials

It's not that I sit in front of the television all day long, but as a stay-at-home mom the t.v. is part of my work environment. I watch bits and pieces most of the day, but never really have time to watch a whole show. Television is the soundtrack to my daily life. Lately I have realized that the commercials make a shift between the morning news and the evening news. In the early morning and the evening there are commercials for automobiles, credit cards, coffee, cell-phone service, chewing gum, makeup, things that people with money and jobs might consider purchasing. Ads on during the day are completely different and mostly include: personal injury lawyers, diapers, technical colleges, cleaning products, and the occasional toilet paper ad.


Two types of people are home during this mid-day slump (according to the commercials): one type is the wholesome mother, and the other is a complete loser who flunked out of community college and is now permanently affixed to his mother's couch. Sometimes I forget which type I am and I think "Wow, I could become a medical assistant in just five weeks!", or "Could I really still sue that person who rear-ended me three years ago?" I think that I have trouble identifying with my "type" because I have never worn khaki pants, which are apparently the uniform of moms (I was sure that it was pajamas). Also, my house looks nothing like these commercial sets. I love how paper towel ads show the pristine female hand wiping up the one tiny spot of juice off of the otherwise immaculate kitchen counter. Come on!! Show me an unmanicured, dish-pan hand wiping a real counter with coffee stains and crusted flour on it. I would buy those paper towels, because they speak to me and my life.

All in all the commercials directed to me (the wholesome mother... I guess) are not nearly as interesting as the ones directed to those that suck at life. We are not questioning our career, or hoping to win a large sum of money via a shady lawsuit. We are merely trying to decide if we prefer huggies, or pampers. (I'm a huggies mom because they send me coupons and they don't leak.) We want to find ways to make our sheets fresher, our floor shinier, our dishes less streaky. At first thought the role of the American housewife as depicted by advertising companies is depressing. I don't choose to see it as such. I make the purchasing decisions for two adults, a baby and two dogs, which makes me powerful. This is why pampers, palmolive, clorox, pledge, gerber and others spend eight hours a day trying to butter me up (minus a few interruptions by scumbag lawyers and actual programming). The advertisers that prey on me know that I may not earn the income, but I spend the income and then hide the bank statement.