Barrett is Two Today

I have heard that once you die, that you are able to re-live moments of your life. Barrett has brought me so many moments worth re-living.

• The first time I saw him through the blue sheet (I has a c-section). He looked directly at me with those slate blue eyes, like he had been waiting to meet me.
• Holding a nine day old sleeping Barrett, and wondering if there was any way I could be happier.
• Carrying a four month old Barrett in the Snugli on his first Halloween. He was dressed as a duck, and everyone smiled and pointed at him. He was the cutest duck ever.
• Watching him chase plastic eggs around on his first Easter. He never crawled, but would scoot really fast to catch them, then throw them and giggle.
• Watching a fourteen month old Barrett climb up and down a curb at a county fair. He had just mastered walking and he was thrilled with himself. He was wearing denim overalls and a yellow shirt, and yellow shoes. I watched as older couples walked by and smiled at him, remembering a child they had that was once small and now is not.
• The day Barrett handed me a bunch of plastic flowers at a junk store. He smiled at me as he did it. It was the first time that it ever dawned on me that this grand, indescribable love that I have for him is returned. He loves me too!
• The day he met his brother for the first time. He patted him on the head and smiled at him. He understood that he was his brother, and has shown nothing but love for him.
• The day that I yelled at Dan (one of our dogs) and I later found Barrett consoling a sulking Dan in my bedroom. He was kissing him and petting him.
• One evening, only a couple weeks ago, when I lifted Barrett to bring him inside after playing, and he was upset. He cried, but he gave in and his body fell limp in my arms. I put my face to the nape of his neck and inhaled. He smelled of grass and baby shampoo, a symbol of the crossroads from babyhood to boyhood.

Happy Birthday, Barrett. I'm so proud to be your mom.

It's Hot!

How do I know it's hot? My toddler, who would live outside if only we would let him, WANTED to come inside this morning. I brought him out and let him run around while I did my morning chores. Usually it's cool in the morning, even if it is going to be a scorcher later. Not today. It was sticky hot before my rooster even had an opportunity to crow at the sun. Bleccchhh. Barrett took me by the hand and led me to the door. When we came in, I gave him a drink and checked to make sure he didn't have a fever. He didn't have a fever, so I guess he just has more sense than I give him credit for.

Last night I decided to take the boys in the BIG baby pool after dinner. The water was about ninety degrees! Yucky. It was not refreshing at all. I would liken our swim to a warm bath with a few bugs floating in the tub. The outlook for next several days is not much better 100, 102, 100, 99. Dammit. I'll be in my underwear sitting in front of the fan for a while.
Shall we think cold thoughts? It can't hurt.

Date Night

I had a really great date on Saturday evening. He is about two feet tall with red hair, and blue eyes. He doesn't have a job, or a car, but he was a good date nonetheless.

Jason took Barrett for a ride in the Jeep to go get some parts for another one of his Jeeps. They were gone for about five hours and it was glorious! I haven't been away from Barrett that long since I delivered Gunther. I love the little guy, but it's difficult being responsible for two kids every hour of the day, every day non-stop. I was actually able to get some things done without being interrupted eighty times for various toddler complaints/needs/wants.

A difficult aspect of having more than one child is being able to give each child enough individual attention. I seriously don't understand how people like the Duggars are ever able to know each child as a single, unique person. As it stands right now, Gunther naps frequently and I am able to spend one-on-one time with Barrett on a regular basis. Gunther, however, gets shafted quite often. He is such an easy-going little guy and requires little of me. Barrett is a needy thing, and sucks up a lot of my attention. Part of it is the age, and part of it is a personality difference.

So....I was very pleased to have some quality time with my fat, little man. (No. not Jason, but Gunther). We ate dinner without me having to stop and tell Barrett "no" seventy times. We shared a cheese danish for dessert. We went for a swim in the little pool, and Gunther accompanied me on my evening chores. We read a book and nobody bogarted the book, or turned pages backwards. It was fun. Sometimes I feel like I am so busy and so wrapped up in this or that, that I forget to enjoy my kids for the unique little people they are.

A Skunk Story

In November a opossum broke into the hen house and killed a hen. So, we reinforced the suspected place of entry and set some live traps to catch any potential chicken assailants. We loaded the traps with cat food and waited. A couple days went by and nothing appeared in the traps. I had almost forgotten about the traps, until the morning we caught a skunk. The skunk is what we call a "non-target animal". The skunk just wanted some cat food, and was not our chicken murderer.

I called Jason. "We trapped a skunk! What should I do?"
Jason: "I'll take care of it when I get home."

The skunk spent the day in the cage. Have you ever seen a skunk close up? They have a sweet little face. I felt bad for the poor thing. I had no idea how to get her out without getting sprayed, though. When Jason came home he made it clear that by "take care of it" he meant shoot it. I would not let that happen. Jason insisted that I free the thing since I don't have a "real job" and it doesn't matter if I am stinky. Jason gave me a tutorial on how to unlatch the cage about fifteen times, but I still didn't get it.

I put on a raincoat. I don't know why, but that seemed the most appropriate thing to wear when doing a late night skunk rescue. The flashlight was out of batteries. Crap. I had to use a wind-up flashlight, which makes a loud noise every time you wind it. A waeee-waeeee-waeeee noise every thirty seconds is not good when you are trying to not startle an animal. I went out to the cage, and attempted to throw a sheet over the cage. I missed. The skunk sprayed because I scared her. Foul number one. I went back inside and told Jason that he had to do it. He went to get his gun, and I went back outside. I stared at the cage and talked to her for about twenty minutes, before I got the nerve to just unlatch the cage. I couldn't unlatch it, took too long, she sprayed again. Foul number two. I stood back again and thought long and hard about the trap tutorials Jason had given me and looked at the cage. I had to wedge a stick in the door once I got it open so she could get out. I leaned down, pulled back the door and shoved the stick in, and then ran.

I came inside. "I did it! I did it!"
Jason: "Oh my god, you stink! Take those clothes off."

I had been downwind of the spray, and was smelling pretty foul. I didn't care, though. My little skunk was free. She probably got run over the next day, but I like to think she is enjoying a long life in the wilderness.

Pitocin for Goats?

Patty still hasn't had her baby. I can feel movement on her left side, where the kid(s) are, so I believe her baby is fine. Patty is still mobile enough to bust into the chicken house and eat their feed. Her appetite for treats hasn't slowed at all. She hasn't been grazing as much, because she is hugely pregnant and it has been well over ninety degrees for the past few days. Any woman that has endured the late stages of pregnancy during summer can understand this.

Last night I had a dream that we were hosting some lavish party, because we have those all the time ;), and Patty cam into the middle of it and started having her baby. The guests were horrified, but I was excited.

My friend Nora, from That Nora Girl (it's on my blog roll.....I'm too lazy to make a link this morning), was the one to suggest that we get her some goat pitocin. I'm sure if I called one of the country vets out here, and asked them to induce my goat's labor that they would laugh at me.

Getting a "belly pic" of a goat is not that easy, but I tried.

Get Your Own Blog

This is my suggestion to my mother and my husband. They are both always putting in requests as to what I should write about.

My mother was disappointed that I didn't list her on the "seven things that I love" in my previous post. She was also disappointed that I didn't give her partial credit for the naming of "Dammit Farms". So, I'll set the record straight: I love my mother, and she was the driving creative force behind naming my acreage Dammit Farms. Happy? I'll even post a picture of my lovely mom for you all to view.

Jason thinks that a blog post titled "I am Mean to My Husband" is in order. Uh...take a deep breath. Hold it.....keep holding. Just wait for me to deliver that one. This is how mean I am to my husband: This morning I laid his clothes out for him, I made him ovaltine, and I nuked a piece of pizza for him. Geez, I am a wretched bitch.

Jason will get his "I am Mean to My Husband" post when he lets me post pictures of him. For those that are curious, he looks a lot like this:

Dear Faithful Readers,

If I stop blogging for more than a couple weeks, then call the cops, or Dateline, or something. It's probable that Jason has read this post and has snuffed me out. I'll give one of my friends my blog password, so that they can post my obituary.

Audrey

Awardy Thingy

One of my mommy blogger friends, Allison, has given me an award. Her blog, The Second Time Around, is one of my favorites to scope out. She has a an October 08 baby boy like me, and she also has a toddler girl (like me...except for the girl part).

Sooo....I'm supposed to list seven things I love, and give the award to seven other bloggers. I'm sure this will go real well, since the last time I gave out awards all of one person claimed it. Those who didn't know who they are, and I know that they are ungrateful turds. Just kidding! I don't want to lose half of my readership today.

1. I love dressing my kids in matching outfits. I figure they will both hate me one day any way, so why not give them ample reasons.

2. I love my goats. They follow me around like I am the messiah, and it makes me happy.

3. I love taking a nap, although it almost never happens anymore.

4. I love pina coladas, and getting caught in the rain.

5. I love frozen pizzas. I count on them for at least one dinner a week.

6. I love Gunther's fat little thighs.

7. I Love Barrett's wild man hair do.

I will not get burned again. Oh, no. This time I am giving the award out to seven DESERVING people. Here they are (in random order....or is it?)

Samantha of Nicko, Sam, and Parker

Rebecca of The Fun Has Just Begun

Jessica of Viva La Vida

Michelle of Let's Monkey Around

Melissa of Austin and Charleigh

Hayley of Welcome to the Mouse House

and last but not least my favorite new blogger: Liz of A Day in the Life of Savannah

Liz, I bet you didn't know that you'd get an award three days into blogging. haha!

Full Hands

This time last year it became apparent fom my appearance that I was pregnant. Even though I was only five months, I looked like I was eight months along. The same thing happened with my first pregnancy. Before I had my first ultrasound, my in laws had convinced me that I MUST be carrying twins. That was a cruel assumption. For some reason I just carry my babies waaayyy out front. Even my doctor was said "well...you haven't gained THAT much weight" as she looked at my belly with a puzzled look "your uterus just grows OUT". I was asked if I was carrying twins during both pregnancies, and I would smile and say "Nope. Just one big boy." What I really wanted to say: "Yes! I know. I'm a FRIGGIN WHALE!"

In additon to my "twins?" comments that I received, I also heard a lot of "You're going to have your hands full." This was a comment that people made for the sake of wanting to say something while they stared at the huge pregnant woman struggling with a baby/toddler. I couldn't disagree with this comment, as I knew my hands would be full. I viewed Gunther's intended birthday as D-day. I would never accomplish any task once he was born. It has turned out that it (having two kids under two) is not nearly as bad as I had expected. It does tend to take me a lot longer to complete a simple task, such as vacuuming the living room ( 1.5 meltdowns per child is the average in the time it takes me to do this). I don't bathe nearly as much as I would like, since somebody always starts screaming the second I put shampoo in my hair. My house is never really clean, but it turns out that people don't expect your house to be clean when you have two kids under two.

The little turds are totally worth all the hassle.


Oh...and looky! looky! Gunther can drink out of a cup now. Impressive for a 7 month old, no?

A Work of Art

We have a "mother in law room" attached to our detached garage. It's just a room where we keep our deep freeze. It's where we kept our chickens when they were hatchlings, and where we put our baby goats at night for the first few weeks.

We have recently moved the goats out of the room, but there are a bunch of flies in there. In the past few mornings, a couple purple martins have followed me in to catch flies. I left the door open, so they could naturally eliminate our flies. I left the door open all day yesterday. When I came home from a short trip into town with my mom, I noticed this nest above the door. Crap on a cracker! Why did they decide to build a nest in a place that they have limited access to?

To be fair, my husband had warned me to keep the door closed for this exact reason. Did I listen to him like I never do? nope. Jason, you were right. That was painful to type.

Anywho, the nest is quite an impressive work. They completed it in just a few hours. It's an intricate tangle of grass and hay sealed with dollops of mud. I'm really in awe, and just heartbroken that they can't utilize their major construction effort. I figure the least I could was share their work with the world...eh...I mean my four readers.

Little Shoes

My mother in law brought over a box of Jason's baby stuff last week. The box contains various baby clothes, some toys, papers and artwork from Jason's early years. I pulled out a little writing sample from 1987 and read it aloud. "If I were President I would fight for democracy and lower taxes, utility bills, and lower tolls on turnpikes."

"I didn't write that." Jason replied.

"You must have. It says your name at the bottom."

Jason just snarled at me.



That's totally like Jason to be concerned about the utility bill. I have no doubt that he wrote it.



Jason wasn't interested in the box at all. I am captivated by its contents. Despite the fact that Jason and I have been together for almost eight years, share two children, two dogs, a house, a bank account, various livestock, and a toilet, he is still an enigma to me. I was hoping that the box would contain a magic decoder ring of sorts that would make me fully understand this man whose life I chose to share. I have had no great revelations from the pile of papers and clothes. I have only been reminded that there is so much that I don't know. I am curious about the twenty one and a half years he lived before he met me. (Some days I am truly curious how he survived that long without me cooking for him and doing his laundry.)



Just when I think I have Jason figured out, he has to throw me a loop. He orders cherry vanilla Dr. peppers from the drive-thru convenience store for months, then WHAM! He has switched to cherry cokes. He IS a mystery.

I am slowly putting together the puzzle that is my husband. Here are a few pieces that came to me via the box:

• Twenty some years ago he was a little boy in blue tennis shoes, dragging around his Grover. (Grover was included in the box too. Grover has had a rough life.)


• He has always been a skinflint, hence the early concern about utility bills.


• He did know his times tables at one point. I found a test proving so. (Why is he always asking me to multiply random numbers off of the top of my head. "What's 43 times 6?")


• He has always been a good artist. No, really. He downplays his artistic abilities, but he is still pretty good.


• He was a darn good colorer.

While I'm on the topic of baby stuff.......What is up with those horrid stiff, white shoes that we all had as babies? (one that belonged to Jason is in the picture) My mother in law talked about how her babies "walked like Frankenstein" in them. What idiot of a child development expert decided it would be easiest to first walk without the ability to move one's ankle?

Another Baby is Coming!

It's a goat baby this time. I'm not pregnant. If I were the pregnant one, then I would just begin researching which mental institution would suit me best.
Me on the phone with the psych ward:
"Do you practice lobotomies? mmmmkay. How much Valium do have on the premises? .......Is that enough to just turn me into a happy vegetable?......... mmmmkay......Do you take blue cross blue shield? I'll call you in a few months. Thanks"

Patty's udders have dropped, which is a sign that she will deliver her kid very soon. Sooo...we are keeping a close eye on her, and I am scouring the internet with the hopes of picking up some milk-goat midwifery skills. This is just in time because my baby goats are getting too big to cuddle. Louie knocked me just below the eye with his horn yesterday. I was this __ close to being a total redneck emergency room patient. Have you ever seen the "Appalachian Emergency Room" skit on Saturday Night Live? That would have been me. Of course, I would have changed into a moo-moo and house shoes just for effect. "That little billy goat done reared up and got me in da eye."

When we deliver the kid, you bet I'll be blasting all the details here. Stay tuned.