Clearing Out the Camera

Trucks and Dogs

The other morning Barrett and Jason were watching Barrett's decidedly favorite show, "Mickey Mouse Clubhouse". I was in the next room making breakfast, and overheard their conversation.
Barrett: Shoe! Shoe!
Jason: Uh...yes, Barrett, it's a rat in shoes.
Barrett likes to point out whatever he can name, and in this case it was Mickey's shoes. Jason, I might add, has a strong stance against what he calls "the cutefication of rodents".

A few minutes later Jason called out to me: "He really does like this show."
Me: I know he does. I was considering making it the theme to his party.
Jason: What? He likes trucks and dogs. Why do you have to bring Disney into this and make it expensive? Trucks and dogs.

Just out of curiosity, I did some digging around on party supply websites to see if there was in fact a "trucks and dogs" theme for any of their assorted craptastic party wares. NO. However, there are way weirder themes than that. I was hoping that I could find some outrageously priced cake plates, and cups with both trucks and dogs printed on them, solely for the purpose of irritating my husband. Alas....I found none.

In my search for dogs I found a bunch of stuff we these odd looking dogs with giant heads and small bodies. I am very disturbed by these images and most certainly do not want to serve cake on top of them.

Soooo, we are just sticking with a truck theme for Barrett's party.
I couldn't decide whether to go with construction trucks, firetrucks, or monster trucks. I have decided to combine them all. We'll have monster truck plates, bulldozer balloons, firetruck banners. The kid just like trucks, doesn't matter what kind. The adults that attend may think that I have stopped taking my crazy pills, but it's not their party, so I don't care.

Do They All Do That?

That was the question that I posed to my mother while we were both witnessing my toddler throw himself on the ground in a full-fledged tantrum. My mom thought for a second, and replied: "uh....yes. You all did." By "you all" she meant me and my two sisters. However, she did point out that my oldest sister, Claudia, was the best at flinging herself on the floor, and screaming in the grocery store. Thanks, Claudia, for setting a high standard that neither Mona or I could meet.

I guess it is something ingrained into the toddler psyche. Mama won't let you eat dog food? Fling yourself on the tile and wail like a banshee. That'll show that mean b*%#@.

It's actually a pretty effective means of getting one's way. I ignore Barrett's tantrums at home. If we are in public, and I feel one coming on, I will do whatever I can to stop it. Do you know how much random crap I have purchased in attempts to appease the kid? Fake flowers, two frisbees, toothbrushes that we didn't need (the kid has a toothbrush fetish), countless cheapo little toys. If I added up the tab, it would be enough for a vacation....or a down payment for a yacht. Whatever the price, it's worth it to not have to face the stares of strangers in Wal-Mart while Barrett screams "MAMAMAMAAAAAAAAAAAAA" and rips out his own hair.

I love having a fiery redheaded toddler boy. Good times.

A Dammit Farms Update

My loving nickname for my little acreage is "Dammit Farms". There are many "dammit" moments here, so it is fitting. Jason is in the process of building a new fence, and I have requested that he make us an archway that reads: "Dammit Farms". His response was that I better learn how to weld. No archway for us until I take some welding lessons...sigh.

Stuff that has happened lately:

• Somebody dumped a cat on us. He is a young male and he is all black. I have named him Leeroy, and I am now feeding him as well as our resident barn cat, Lulu.
• I am making progress with Lulu. She doesn't run from me anymore. I am hoping to create a relationship with her, so that I can snatch her up and take her to the vet to get spayed.
• A skunk got trapped under the hen house one night. Before we could do anything about it, he had freed himself. Before freeing himself he sprayed at least...oh..a DOZEN times. Now my poor birds are living in stench.
• All three of my turkeys are sitting on a mountain of chicken eggs in the back of the hen house. They are sitting on the eggs, since my hens are crappy moms and don't care to do so. Those eggs are never going to hatch. I need to find a time when they all leave, so I can remove all the yucky eggs.
• The kids, meaning the goat babies, are down to two bottle feedings a day. Hallelujah! I love the little things, but I'll be glad when this whole bottle thing is done. I know now why I breastfeed my human babies: it's not because it's what is best for them, or for bonding, or because I'm a selfless mother. Nope. I do it because washing bottles is a giant, sharp pain in the rear!
• We still have yet to get a friend for Patty. For now, I am spending as much time with her so that she doesn't feel like a forgotten little milk goat. She's my sweetie, and I truly enjoy just hanging with her.

Ahhhh....goat milk bottles in the morning.

The Wallpaper Game

We live in an old farmhouse, as I have mentioned before. We exist in a never-ending renovation project. For some reason, my husband decided to rip down the old wallpaper in a couple rooms, and see what was behind it. It has been a year...and we know what's behind the wallpaper (more wallpaper, and then ancient solid wood walls), however we still haven't put forth the effort to find a new covering for them. Apparently we need to spend more time knowing the history of our walls before we can move forward. Uh...yeah...I'll go with that. Every day, as I sit on the potty, or brush my teeth, I like to play the "wallpaper game". I like to look at the shredded layers of wallpaper and ponder: "What decade was that from? Hmmmm...the 40's. That one is definitely from the seventies. aye caramba!"

I've included some samples, so you too can play the game. It's a blast! I'll give you a hint: the top picture is actually exposed wood, not wallpaper. If you are really good, you can guess the age of our house by these walls. Another hint: I'm pretty sure that the type of tree from which the wood used to build our house is now extinct.

Watch Out, Ladies!

There is a new rooster in the hen house. His name is Marlon. Marlon is a name that I had on the top of my list each time we were naming the boys. Jason didn't like it because it means "big fish". I tried to explain to him that a Marlin is a big fish and Marlon is French for Merlin. They are totally different names....uh-duh!

Anyway, I wasn't going to give the name Marlon to just any creature. Marlon the rooster is totally deserving of his name. He came to us during a thunderstorm one night. My neighbor, his former owner, snatched him out of a tree where Marlon had nested that evening. We plunked him in the hen house. Marlon was low on the totem pole over at Sam and Kathy's place (our neighbors'). They have several roosters, so he had never "had" any hens as Sam put it. Imagine his delight to wake up as the sole male among many hens. Ohhh...he "has" hens now. My girls are a laying like crazy!

Although I miss Antonio, Marlon is a lot nicer to my hens. Antonio was known to rip feathers out of their butts during the love making process. Marlon gets the job done without any injury. Antonio would just chow down at feeding time. Marlon watches over the hens while they eat and then he will eat once they are done. Marlon is a gentle Romeo, and an expert at strutting. Welcome home, Marlon!

Craft of the Year

I'm not really a crafty sort. I don't sew or scrapbook, crochet or knit. I do, however, have a creative eye and an excess of diaper boxes. Those things don't just collapse down and disappear. I'm always trying to find a home for them. I didn't realize what a luxury trash/recycling service was until I moved to ruralia.

After drinking about a six cups of coffee to combat my chronic fatigue, I started taking on random projects. I constructed a fort for Barrett out of diaper boxes, random boxes from Sam's Club, and packing tape. It is gorgeous, no?



It lasted for about an hour. Barrett realized that climbing on top of it was way more fun than playing in it. Of course.

Bawoughhhhhhh

I went to Petsmart with the kids and my mom yesterday. I had to buy overpriced (forty eight flippin dollars and ninety nine freakin cents a bag!) dog food for my overweight (well...Dan is the only overweight one), ungrateful couch-hounds. My mom had to buy cat food, because she is the crazy cat lady. tee-hee. (I love you, mom)

They were about to have an obedience class, so there were a lot of people milling about the store with their puppies in tow. Barrett was very happy about this. Every time he saw a dog he would he would joyfully start howling at them. "Bawoughhhhh" evey time he saw a dog. He was very amused with himself and I was....well I was a bit embarrassed. I tried to distract him by taking him to see the cats for adoption.
"See Barrett, it's a cat." I said as I pointed to a tabby cat curled in her bed.
"caat" he responded. Then he looked up to a husky coming down the aisle. "BA---WOOOOOO"

I got out of there as fast as I could. I'm sure my mom was very proud of her howling grandson. She showed her pride by acting like she wasn't associated with us in any way.

Thanks, Danny Boy, for teaching Barrett your language. I'm sooo happy to have a bilingual son.

What's Tomorrow?

A. Tuesday
B. A Mexican holiday that Mexicans don't even really celebrate, but Americans use as an excuse to drink Coronas and eat nachos.
C. JULES'S BIRTHDAY!!!
D. All of the above.

The correct answer is D, but you will also receive full credit if you chose C.

My baby girl turns eight tomorrow. May fifth is her functioning birthday, since she was a pound hound. We adopted her on March 5th, 2002, and they said she was ten months old. That would make May 5th her birthday....I guess. Anyway, the old bitch (I can call her a bitch because she is!) is turning eight, and I can't believe it.

Jules (or Gools, as Barrett calls her) came to us because we decided to go "look" at animals at the pound one day. Jason and I weren't even living together at the time. We had no serious intention of adopting a dog. Then...we saw her! She was so sad looking, just laying in her little cage. Jason put his hand down to sniff, she came up, checked him out, realized he didn't have any food, and laid back down. Jason spoke to one of the workers at the pound about wanting a dog that he could put in the truck with him and take anywhere. We were young and mobile at the time. Jason was taking an hour+ drive every weekend to see me in Richmond. The pound employee suggested "the female coonhound". They took her out of the cage for us to visit with her in another room. Her demeanor changed the second she left that little cage. She jumped on my lap and began nipping at the strings on my sweatshirt. She was a happy dog in an unhappy place. I knew once we took her out of that cage that I never wanted her to go back in.

Jason and I left the shelter to "think" before we made any hasty decisions. We never even left the parking lot. He wanted her, and I wanted her even more, so there was nothing to discuss. We took her home that day, after paying her bail. I still thank Jason for paying the fifty dollars to get my baby out of puppy jail. They almost didn't let us take her that day, because she was evidence in an animal cruelty case. She and her litter mates had been starved by whatever moron owned her, and the moron was facing charges. I'm glad.

She was sooo skinny when we first got her. I was embarrassed to walk her. I wanted to wear a t-shirt with "I didn't do this to her. I just adopted her." emblazoned on it. Anyway, she hasn't missed a meal since. She is a healthy beauty today.

We still refer to Jules as our "first born", since she was the first acquisition to our family. There were times that I'm sure that Jason and I would have broken up, but we didn't because neither of us wanted to lose Jules. Thank you, Jules.



Happy Birthday, Jules. We love you and wish that you share many, many more birthdays with us.

A Dose of Adorable

I have nothing to say today. I know, it's shocking. I'll let Gunther and his rubber duck do the talking.