Hey, Beck!

Beck, I know you read my blog, because all the cool cats read it. I think you should come over and hang out for a couple days. You need a break from the hustle and bustle of fame, and your busy career. No one will know who you are out here in rural Oklahoma. You'd be hard pressed to find a citizen of my county under the age of seventy. Their world is still shaking from the crazy sound of that John Denver kid. Bruce Springsteen could bite them on the ass and they would press charges. Everyone would just think you were some hippie passing through.

Not sold? Here is a list of fun things we could do:

1. You can bring your kids and they can play with my kids. Your daughter and my oldest son are about the same age.
2. You and your family can pet baby goats, horses, and an old pregnant goat. You can also chase chickens and turkeys if you enjoy that kind of thing. My toddler seems to think it's a blast.
3. I can teach you some awesome new dance moves, and maybe you can teach me some of yours.
4. We can discuss why many Beck fans were not crazy about Midnite Vultures and why they are so WRONG.
5. I can make you a big homecooked meal. Are you a vegetarian? You look like a vegetarian. I'll make my famous vegetarian "badass burritos". If you're not a veggie, then you and my husband (he's a big carnivore) can grill steaks together.
6. We can invite your friends The Flaming Lips over for a bonfire. They live in Oklahoma too. (Bet ya'll didn't know the coolest band on the planet is from Oklahoma)
7. You can tune my guitar.
8. We can watch paternity tests on Maury.
9. I can help you with some new song lyrics. I came up with a hit called: "If You Throw it on the Floor, You Don't Get Any More" just last week. I'll offer my lyrical skills for free.
10. You can try to explain to me why Sonic Youth is sooo great. I just don't get it.

ummmmm........If that doesn't make you want to load up the fam and head to Oklahoma, then I don't know what will persuade you.


I even spent five minutes digging up a flattering picture of you on photobucket. See!

Dead Goat, New Goat, Red Goat, Blue Goat

One of our rescue goats, Selma, passed away almost two weeks ago. I was too sad to even mention it. She was an elderly girl, and it was a risk we took when we adopted her. She had scours (diarrhea) one morning and we called the vet, gave her electrolytes, kept an eye on her. By five o'clock she had gone to sleep in her little house. We didn't have enough time to save her. My natural instinct is to feel guilty, but I know in my heart of hearts that it was just her time to go. She didn't get loaded onto a slaughter truck, packed in filth with dozens of other goats. Her little goat soul transcended from a peaceful place to an even more peaceful place.

Jason took on the task of removing her remains, which I'm sure was an unpleasant process. I didn't want to see her void of life. I saw, by accident, her body loaded into a truck bed headed out the back gate. The pink collar, that I had lovingly chose for her, was no longer around her neck.

Goodbye, Selma. We loved you. I looked forward to seeing you, to pushing you out of the way so I could get in the gate. We didn't know you long, but you let us know you were a sweet girl who loved cookies and back scratches. You had a crush on my husband, but I can't blame you, he is a good guy. I hope you're happily eating grass in an infinite field of green.

This bites. I'm seriously considering starting another blog just for animal obituaries.
Who put the hex on us? No....seriously, who did it? Nothing else seems to make sense. How can so much bad luck come to our little farm?

We are going to get another goat from rescue, another doe to keep Patty company. She was being starved, thus was seized and placed in rescue. She is currently nursing a buck kid, so we get a bonus goat! We were supposed to get her today, but she has pink eye and we have to wait for it to clear up before we can collect her. Once again....why can't anything ever go smoothly?I swear that I have an ex-boyfriend somewhere that has taken up the practice of voodoo!

Blind by Age Two

Yes, that is my child sitting approximately 1.57 inches away from the television screen.

We have an ottoman on wheels that he rolls up to the t.v. and sits upon. He peeled himself away from the screen to smile for the camera.

Did they prove that sitting too close to the t.v. and loss of vision have no correlation? Is the verdict still out?

I don't guess it matters much, since he doesn't sit in one spot for more that twenty five seconds anyway. He lost interest in the t.v. and began jumping off the ottoman immediately after I took the picture. It's a good thing we have another kid, we'll be lucky if this one makes it to age twelve.

Michael or Miguel?

This is the driver to Barrett's little people dump truck. It said on the package that his name is Michael. Jason always calls him Manuel, because...well...because he doesn't look like a "Michael". I corrected Jason and told him that Miguel is actually Spanish for Michael.

I'm not sure that Miguel is actually hispanic. When I was taking this picture I was thinking he looks Native American......or is he Pakistani? Hmmmmm....the possibilities are endless. I have noticed that a lot of toys have this indefinite race thing going on. That's fine. It's politically correct...I guess. Some of us are on the extreme end of the skin color spectrum, because we are African American or Caucasian. I guess these middle of the road toys are supposed to make everyone happy.

I certainly want my kids to be accepting of everone (My two main parenting schticks is that I want them to be accepting and generous). So, no I don't want all of their toys to be lily white. I just think it's funny how the toy companies decided that this non-descript race would be offensive to none and appealing to all.

Oh...sorry the picture is so blurry. My camera didn't want to focus on Jorge...eh...Miguel...whatever his name is.

Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain

Genetics are a funny thing. Unexpected outcomes reveal themselves in the delivery room. An example of this is the fact that I have red hair and no one else in my family does. My mom is a raven haired beauty and my dad has dark blond hair. My grandmother, who had always wanted redheaded children, was pleasantly surprised when I was born.

Gunther has VERY blue eyes and they don't seem to be changing at all. This is odd, since I have brown eyes and Jason has hazel eyes. Yes! He is Jason's child. He looks just like Jason, but with red hair and blue eyes. One of Jason's friends asked me if the Schwan's man had blue eyes the other day. He was joking.....BUT let me say this: If I was giving the Schwan's man an extra "tip", wouldn't we at least be getting some free ice cream out of the deal? A frozen pizza perhaps?

I know that there is a chance that Gunther's eyes will still change, and that would be fine. I do love his steely-blue eyes (I also love Barrett's lovely mossy-brown eyes). Jason always sings "Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain" by Willie Nelson to him. I think it's the sweetest thing. The other day we were in the car and "Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain" came on. "Gunther! It's your song." Jason exclaimed as he cranked up the volume.

My mom mentioned that my Pop-pop had blue eyes. I like to think that Gunther's blue eyes are Pop-pop's genes surfacing. I loved my Pop-pop. He died when I was seven, but I have fond memories of him. I like being able to look at my son and think of him. I would like for my son to have his qualities, aside from appearance. I hope that the blue eyes are accompanied by Pop-pop's kindness, and his loving, accepting nature.

Mommy Blog Award

Jennifer ( http://bravingboyhood.blogspot.com/ ) who also has an October 08 kid, and is a mom to all boys has nominated me for a "Mom of the Year" blog award.

There are a few stipulations of the award:

Admit one thing you feel awful about involving being a mom. Get it off your shoulders. Once you've written it down, you are No Longer allowed to feel bad. It's over with, it's in the past. Remember, you're a good mom!

Barrett is in the beginning stages of the terrible two's (he is 21 months), and I am not handling it well. I bribe him with dum-dums on a daily basis. I'm not consistent with time-outs. I'm really just hoping that he will miraculously become a rational being by....umm....tomorrow.

Remind yourself you are a good mom, list seven things you love about your kids, you love doing with your kids, or that your kids love about you. These are the things to remind yourself everyday that you Rock!

1. I love how animated Barrett can be. We just make faces at one another and laugh for minutes straight.

2. I love that Gunther ALWAYS wakes up smiling and cooing. I have to check on him several times in the morning, because he never announces that he is awake. He just hangs out and looks around until I come get him.

3. I love dancing with Barrett. We both love music.

4. I love how Gunther "flirts" with me as Jason calls it. He smiles and makes eyes at me even if someone else is holding him.

5. Both boys love when I dance around and act silly, or make up stupid songs.

6. I love watching the boys interact. Barrett gives Gunther kisses on the head, and shows him toys. Gunther just watches Barrett and laughs.

7. I love watching them both sleep, kissing them on the head, and breathing them in.

Send this to five other Mom's of the year that deserve credit for being great moms and remind them that they are the best moms they can be!! Remember to send them a note to let them know you've selected them, and add a link to the person who nominated you.

Nicole --- http://bissell-kids.blogspot.com/

Gentri -- http://whatarelittleboysmadeof.blogspot.com/

Nora -- http://thatnoragirl.blogspot.com/

Iluska -- http://becomingamama.blogspot.com/

Melissa -- http://austinandcharleigh.blogspot.com/

Kinda Wordless Wednesday

A bunch of my blogger friends do wordless Wednesdays. I can't keep my trap shut.

1. Dolly, Barrett's horse. She is such a sweet girl, and beautiful too.

2. I found this the other day when I was picking up Barrett's toys. It's his cow driving his front-end loader. I found it funny.

3.The "milk goat express"--It's an old horse trailer that Jason got a bargain on.

4. Louie, our only buck kid. He is a character.

5. All of the baby goats: Louie, Lily (white), Jeanette, and Evey (Jeanette and Evey are twins).

6. Lily! I'm trying to figure out how to get that darn ear tag off of my Nubian princess.

How to Send a Hard-drive to Heaven

Let us use it for a few weeks.

Jason's laptop went phlltttt this week. I called the Dell hotline and gave them the diagnostic code, expecting that they would tell me some magic formula to revive it. "Press ctrl-alt-7 and then pick it up and shake it, then press f5. It should restore all function." I was given no such remedy. Instead I was told that the hard drive was f*^$ed and that the only thing to do was replace the hard drive. No, she didn't say f#&*ed that would be unprofessional, but she wanted to say that, I could hear it in her voice.

We're trading the laptop in next week (It's Jason's company computer, so it's their problem). Until then....I may not post much...or at all. Don't cry, my faithful reader. Yes, I have one follower! I rock!

In other news...........
my goat collection grew today. We have four bitty baby goats. I'm going to try and find a way to get some pictures up, because they are darn cute! I have to bottle feed them three times a day. I'm finally finding a use for all those darn baby bottles that my booby-head kids refuse.

A Goat in a Sweater and Other Stuff

I am immensely grateful to the rescue organization that we adopted two goats from yesterday. The goats are absolute dolls! Having tame goats is like having two very friendly dogs that don't bark. The add on Craig's list said that they "would take all the love and cookies you could give". It was the truth. I am completely and utterly in love. They are older girls (five and seven), but they will finish out their years here with us. We are so happy to give them a loving home, especially since the alternative was a slaughter truck.

They were named Patty and Keeta, but we weren't fond of the name Keeta, so now they are Patty and Selma (just like Marge's sisters on "The Simpsons"). They are adapting to their new home and are working on their roommate relationship. As it stands right now Selma is trying to establish dominance over Patty, since Selma is older. Selma is being a bit of a b*&#@ to Patty, and won't let her in their little house. We are hoping the situation will iron itself out soon. I put a sweater on Patty this morning, since it was so windy and cold and her roommate was not sharing her room.

I'm really hoping some crime was committed at 7:30 this morning, so I will be interrogated.

Detective: "Where were you at seven thirty a.m. on April fifth?"

Me: "I was putting a sweater on my goat."

Detective: "Of course. There will be no further questioning."

[In the pictures Selma is eating "forbidden" sticks through a fence that is protecting a tree within their enclosure. Selma was not giving me any good shots, so I settled for that. Patty is sporting the sweater :-)]

IQ Test

I keep seeing these offers to take a free IQ test on yahoo. They always have a picture of Oprah, or Obama with their IQ underneath them, challenging you to beat their score. I took one of these goofy tests four-ish years ago and the results have plagued my relationship (now marriage) ever since. For the record, I don’t think these tests are very accurate. Anyway, my score was pretty high and when I was finished it gave me this goofy certificate to print out that said I officially had a high IQ. It looked legitimate when the ink hit paper; it said my name and plainly stated that I had a high IQ underneath. To be obnoxious, I decided to put it on the fridge.

Later that same day Jason and I had a spat about something or other. He told me “you just think you are sooo smart and you know everything.” I didn’t even respond, or mention the fact that I now had official documentation proving my genius. He had yet to notice the certificate on the fridge. I went to work (I was bartending at night), and hoped he would find that silly certificate.

He found it! He used the url at the top of the printout to go and take the same test. What was his score? A full thirty points less than my score! He printed out his test, and I later found it in a pile by the computer. He never mentioned the test to me. Later when I brought up the test he claimed that he “wasn’t trying” when he took it. Who takes an IQ test and doesn’t try?

Now every time Jason has the nerve to say “you think you are sooo smart”, I reply: “Well, actually…..” (I’m always interrupted there)
“I DON’T CARE ABOUT THAT STUPID IQ TEST! I told you I wasn’t trying.”

Jason is, in reality, a very smart man. He married me, didn’t he? He is much smarter than I am about a lot of things (Jeeps, livestock, wind direction, weapons, mythology, fast food, dog breeds……not multiplication tables, though). I just happen to be a better test taker. He has a wealth of knowledge about a lot of useful stuff…no, really. This doesn’t change the fact that I will ALWAYS use that test as leverage, mainly because it irritates him so much. Isn’t that what we are supposed to do to our mates? Irritate the bejesus out of them?
(Jason, I know you read this sometimes.I love you!)

A Fond Farewell to a Friend

.......or foe. I'm still not certain which you were, Antonio.

This is the last picture ever taken of Antonio, my ornery little rooster. He was moving too fast for my camera, hence the blurriness (maybe someone will buy me a better camera for mother's day.....nudge, nudge). He was at the threshold of the chicken house and he was threatening to attack me. Ahhh, memories.

I saw my "Antonio stick" laying in front of my chicken house yesterday. It was the stick I used to hold off his attacks until he realized who I was (the food and water lady). It made me incredibly sad that I no longer need it.

On mild fall evenings I would open the bedroom window. It would become apparent that my decision to leave the window open was a bad idea when a little, feathered someone would start incessantly crowing at four a.m. Laying there, I thought: "Dammmit, Antonio! The sun is not even thinking about rising for another two and a half hours." There were several times that he made so much noise at night, that I walked out to the chicken house, because I was certain that something was trying to murder the chickens. I would shine the flashlight in the hen house to illuminate a bunch of annoyed looking hens and turkeys (I swear that if poultry can look annoyed, they most certainly did). I'm honestly shocked that a turkey didn't just "take him out" because he was going crazy from sleep deprivation.

He didn't just crow at night, or in the morning. His crowing was pretty much an all day event. The silence now is a constant reminder of his absence. I never thought that I would mourn this hard over a chicken.

Antonio, I hope you are in that big chicken house in the sky making a terrible racket! I'll see you one day, and you will probably try to attack me. Then you'll realize..."Oh, it's the lady that always has food. She's pretty cool."