Sweet Little A$$hole

I was very cautious in picking the names of all three of my children, or so I thought. My husband and I bickered discussed for weeks when it came to naming each child.The name couldn't be too common, or too weird. The name couldn't easily be shortened into another name, or easily rhymed into a schoolyard taunt.We literally had over a hundred qualifying points for a name. Is it hard to spell? Has anyone had that name on any episode of "Intervention" or "Hoarders" ever? We out ruled the name Luke because a Luke lived in the dorms with Jason in 1998, and he was a "druggie weirdo". Now, I doubt Jason was exactly Mr. Sober at that time, so he must have REALLY been a druggie weirdo. Point being: we thought we had thoroughly discussed every option before choosing the names of our three boys.

In naming our third child, Axel James, we overlooked one important detail. We never asked his older brothers to SAY the name before we chose it. A few weeks ago, I overheard my husband telling my four year old to "stop saying that". "What did he say?" I asked. "Asshole" was my husband's answer. Then, it dawned on me: he's not saying "asshole", he's saying AXEL. Darnit. My children have been known to spit out an occasional curse word. I have no idea where they learned that shit. However, they were not cursing. They were talking to their baby brother. Jason and I tested this finding. "Gunther say 'Axel'" Jason requested of our four year old.
"asshole"
"Now say 'asshole'"
Gunther smirked and very quietly said "asshole".

It sounds exactly the same coming out of his little mouth. We did the same test with our five year old, and it yielded the same results. How did we not think of that!? We are working on teaching the boys to accentuate the "x" in Axel's name. "ACK-sil ....say it with me". Until they get it, here is my sweet little asshole.

I've Acquired a Duck

A friend of mine, who lives in town, asked me if I wanted a duck. I was not in the market for the duck, or any animal at all. I seemed her only real option, though. I think someone got it for her kids, but she didn't have room for it. The thing was getting bigger. I got an e-mail that began "hey, you like animals?". I had a hard time saying no.

The duck is in my chicken house, which is currently void of chickens. I feel bad because A.) He/she is alone, and B.) I don't have a pond or any body of water on my property. I have given him (I have no idea if it's really a him) a large plastic tub that was once a goat waterer for now. He seems happy to piddle around in that. I wonder what the odds are of my husband digging me a pond?

My four year old has claimed him as "his duck". We're calling him Harold for now. My five year old now wants me to get him a turkey, or a rooster, or a duck, or a goose, or maybe a rooster. No, wait, a turkey...a baby turkey who likes ducks. The five year old has changed his mind about what kind of bird he needs 600 times. It's funny, because we have not once conceded to obtaining any poultry. I have no idea where the Baby Turkeys Who are Fond Of Ducks-r- US is located. Google maps needs to get on that shit.

Back to Normal?

I dumped my store gig a month ago. It was just too much work for not enough money, so we got out. I knew a couple months into it that we should NOT buy the store, and I'm so glad that we didn't. I enjoyed my time there, but a loooong commitment seemed not a good plan. So, I basically got a crash course in business management, and made some friends along they way. My appreciation for stay at home momhood is at it's zenith. Playing hide and go seek with my four year old, and nursing my baby are the most important things that I have to do all day. I'm quite fine with that.

Our family has spent the last month readjusting to home life. I've been trying to catch up on eight months worth of cleaning and laundry, and figuring out what to do with an overstock of "5 hour energy" and ME pills. I know it sounds like a good time....er not. Anyway, we've had some recuperating to do, and we've done it. My plan is to pick this blog back up, along with my old life.

In related news: Gunther turned four recently, and we went on a mini vacation to celebrate his birthday and our family's emancipation from living in a convenience store. Four days in a one bedroom cabin with three kids and three dogs brought us all to the brink of insanity. We also had fun, though...I swear. I'll bore everyone with pictures now.

 

Oh, and I'll mention that I got Hughes Net installed at the house upon leaving the store. There aren't many choices here in ruralia. The choices we have are sub-par... to put it nicely. Anyway, it took me forty five minutes to upload those three pictures, so I'm stopping there. Don't cry.

My Wee Irish Punk

My husband gave my three year old a mohawk. Now every time that I look at him, I hear the Pogues. "Dirty old town..."

Interview with Some Hounds

In spite of my husband calling me crazy, I have scheduled a phone appointment with a pet communicator. This is something that I have wanted to do for some time, but didn't really have the money to throw at such a frivolity. Since I have gone back to work, and I spend ninety eight cents of every dollar on Gunther's snack tab, I decided it was time to put a few cents towards something for ME. I personally know people who have used this particular animal communicator, and have had really amazing results. I am quite positive it's not a scam, despite what my husband says. I guess the proof will come after I have had my actual appointment, so we'll see.

This particular communicator is able to talk to animals both living and dead. She requested a photo of each animal to whom I plan to "speak", as well as some basic information about them (sex, age). I know, I know....she could potentially infer a lot of info from these pictures and fool me into thinking she's communicating with my dogs. I'm not going to believe anything she says because she knows we live in the country, and we have a brown couch, mmmmkay? I have an ounce of skepticism, but I am open to the experience.

  I have four animals on my list: my three living dogs, as well as a dog who passed about six years ago, Clyde. I have a limited amount of time for my session, so I need to manage it efficiently. I am in the process of listing questions that I have for each animal, starting with the most important stuff, and working my way down. Jules, my eleven year old coonhound mutt is the star of my interview, because, well.....because she is the smartest, I've had her the longest, and I feel like I can harvest the most information from her. I would like to know if she has any pain, or any issues that I could help her with, since she is an older dog. She seems incredibly healthy, but I want to know that she feels healthy too. Also, I think Jules will be my key in telling me exactly what went on with the recent wave of death at the farm. She tends to stay outside and "guard" the premises at night, while my two male dogs are snoring in their own puddle of slobber. Her knowledge of what has happened in the past few months is much more complete than any other being on the farm... I'm pretty sure.

When it comes to my communication with my seven year old, obese bluetick coonhound, Dan, I don't expect any earth-shaking revelations. I mainly want him to tell me if he has any physical ailments, or pain that we could help him with, and if there are things we could do to make his life better. I feel like he acts out a lot, and it's due to boredom. I am going to politely ask that he refrain from eating garbage, and stealing food from the kitchen counter....well stealing food in general. I want to thank him for being so tolerant of my children, who like to use him as a jungle gym.

I really don't know what to expect from Kaiser, our ten month old English mastiff. I want to apologize for our long days of absence. I wouldn't have adopted him if I knew that I would go back to work, and he'd be left alone so often. He's such a social dog, and I feel bad that we aren't around to keep him company. I want him to know that I am striving to be home more. My request of Kaiser is that he stop trying to use my bedroom window as a door. He has broken a couple screens already. It was funny at first, but now not so much. Also, it'd be nice if he could refrain from moving shoes around. The boys have approximately eight shoes with missing mates, and I love spending fifteen minutes looking for my second flip flop just so I can take out the trash.

Clyde is last on my list. He's a bluetick coonhound that we lost very suddenly to bloat several years ago. I hope that the pet communicator can somehow converse with him, as she claims to be able to do. My only question for him is if he comes around us still. I think he does. Also, I just want him to know that I love him tons, and I think about him every day. I have his collar around his urn, and I cry every time I have to dust it. The specific jingle of those tags just makes me think of him. I'd be so happy if I could simply say "hi".

Naughty Boys

Sometimes I wonder. I really do wonder what goes through my three, and almost five year old's heads. The other day they threw their lunch into the fan. This crime occured while I was busy with customers at the store, and they were in their playroom. Opportunists. When I asked who did it, fingers pointed in oppposite directions. I'm guessing the three and a half year old started it, but it looked fun so my almost five year old joined in. The picture does no justice. I had actually started cleaning up when I took the picture. The noodle mess, however, was more than that little dirt devil could handle. Pretty sure I'll be finding dried up noodles stuck to the wall for months. I didn't kill them. I am pretty sure that I deserve some sort of parenting award for not even hitting them.

Prey

There has been something stalking our little farm. It's a stealth shadow that moves with a quick shift of muscles. We have only seen small glimpses of his/her retreat. A chicken or two went missing. No biggie. That is almost a daily event here. Opossums, Skunks, Coyotes, everything eats chickens. We knew something else was up when Jules, our aging hound mutt, was on alert all night. She wouldn't come in the house, staying at the west end of our property barking, howling, yelling at something. We thought she was going to have another all night standoff , when to our surprise she scratched on the door for us to let her in. Before anyone could get to the door she made this unearthly cry as if she'd been hurt. Jason opened the door to see her run under the house, and a large shadow move quickly toward the creek bed. Jules didn't come out from under the house all night, despite us calling for her, offering cookies, pleading for her to just come out. I was seriously afraid that she was really hurt, and would die under the house. Early the next morning I let our giant mastiff puppy out to go to the bathroom. The sun had barely come up, and I was a little worried for his safety...because, well, because he is a dumb puppy. I stood guard while he did his business. Jules sprinted toward the door, not even looking left or right. She didn't leave the house for over twenty four hours.

A day or two later my favorite goat, Sarah, went missing. Sarah had a habit of sliding out of any pen we put her in. She was little and spry, moved like a tiny wild deer. I had bottle fed her, since her mother didn't take to nursing her, so she was very close to me. She was always around me whenever I went outside. I searched every corner of our property, and the creek that boarders us...sure she had just gotten stuck somewhere. Not a single sign of her. Gone. If there was any doubt that there was a mountain lion preying my pets up until that second, then the doubt was certainly gone at that second.

A few days later, another goat busted out. Jesus, my strapping young billy, had repeatedly rammed the gate to his pen and gotten loose. I tried to get him back in his pen with no success. I came home on a Saturday evening to find my husband's best friend "finishing him off" at bottom of the creek bed. Something had drug him down there, leaving him alive but just barely. Shooting him was the most "humane" solution. I didn't look at him for obvious reasons. I feel incredibly bad. If I had just gotten him in the pen.....but the baby was fussy, and my kids needed to eat dinner, I was tired. Excuses. Now I'm writhing with guilt. I will not get any more goats after my latest rash of death.

It has been said that mountain lions no longer exist in Oklahoma. That has been disproven recently: http://www.tulsaworld.com/sportsextra/article.aspx?subjectid=25&articleid=20111103_25_B2_TheOkl104743 . I've also noticed that almost any "old timer" I have questioned about this subject has at least one story. The old men who farm around my area may be prone to exaggeration, but not prone to full-on lies. Despite all the death, and fear this creature in our midst has caused, I am still intrigued. I'm glad that I live in a place where something so wild and wonderful exists.

zzzzzzz.......

I have no time to type anymore...see previous post. Our whole family is tired. I tell you what.

Covenience

I have been running a convenience store/gas station/service shop with my husband for a little over a month now. It's an interesting shift for our family. The kids come to work with me every day. They have a playroom in the back where they spend the majority of their time grinding cheetos into the carpet, and throwing toys all over the room. The other half of the time they come behind the counter and pester me for chips, or pop tarts, chocolate milk,or any other random piece of inventory that is their current obsession. Life is good when your parents own twenty thousand dollars worth of groceries (mostly junk food), or so they seem to think. My usual answer to their begging is "do you have any money?". Their response is always "no"...then they look at me like I am nuts.

While his brothers run amok, Axel kicks it with me behind the front desk most the day. I have a playpen, a bouncy seat and a bumbo seat for him there,but he spends 97.89% of his time in my arms. The child wants to be held ALL THE TIME. I run a cash register with one hand. Every other customer says "Wow. You have your hands full." I act like I have NEVER heard that, and say "Yes. You're right." Although "full hands" sounds like the understatement of the year when my three year old,and four year old are beating each other senseless right in front of the tobacco display, I'm soothing a crying baby, and waiting on a line of customers...oh and the phone is ringing too. "Wow. You have all four limbs stuck in a meat grinder." Seems like a more fitting phrase for me and my situation.


There are perks to having your own convenience store. I get to buy groceries professionally now, which is fun. I am guilty of buying an entire case of something just because it's something I want it, which does not necessarily mean that it will fly like hotcakes. On this note: Are mint M&Ms not appealing? I think they are damn good, but I don't think I have sold one bag to anyone, but me. I will be really depressed if I look at that empty box of 24 bags and realize that I have eaten every single one. Also, I get a rush when it is time to leave and I can shove anything I want in my bag. Last night I impulsively grabbed a root beer, which is not usually on the Audrey menu. "Why are you drinking a root beer?" my husband later asked, as if it was the oddest thing I've ever done. "Because I can." was my response, and I really have no reasoning other than that. I want it, and I can!

Liberation Day

This morning I was wondering why today was important as I shut off my alarm. What is March 5th? The ides of March? Nope. That's the fifteenth. Caesar won't get stabbed today. It's nobody's birthday. Huh. It's the day Jules was busted out of puppy jail. Ten years ago today Jason slapped down the fifty bucks it took to free Jules from the pound. We had no intention of adopting a dog that day. We just happened upon the Portsmouth, Virginia ASPCA. "Let's just go LOOK". Forty five minutes later we were in love, and there was a skinny, ten month old hound dog riding in my lap. That was the best fifty dollars Jason ever spent. Jules is still my number one girl ten years later. I love her so much.

Go get a pound hound. You'll never regret it.

Kaiser Wizer...

Kaiser Wizer Puddin Pie

His farts smell so bad,

they burn your eye

And when he poops on the floor mama sighs,

But we love our Kaiser Wizer Puddin Pie

That's Kaiser's poem. I can't claim authorship, though. That would be my husband's original verse.

We got Kaiser in October. He's an English Mastiff puppy. His food bill is sizable, but he is a sweet boy. He has stopped that floor poopin' stuff...and now he poops on my PORCH. Why the porch when we have five acres? I have no idea. Other than that, he is a good dog. He fits in well with our two other dogs. Jules, our ten year old coonhound, is actually quite fond of him. I have even caught the old girl engaging him in play outside. The boys adore him. Jason treats him like he is one of OUR babies. I am only mildly annoyed by his hoarding of shoes...mainly because he likes to move my shoes on me during the night, so I can spend thirty minutes I don't have finding them the next morning. Cute. I am very much in love with him despite his bad habits.

A Look Back

I said goodbye to a friend this week. I met her when she was three days old, and she was all limbs and ears with a wagging tail. I named her Lily. Lily was the sweetest, but dumbest of all of my goats. Her herd-mates recognized her airheadedness, and ranked her last. Or, they were just jealous because she was the prettiest and kept he in the bottom slot (this is what I would tell her anyway). She was always the last to eat, and the first to get her head stuck in the fence. Lily was my most compliant milker. Happy to have a few back scratches and some goat cookies, she would hop in the milk-stand without any fuss. She never fought me, or kicked the milk bucket like her bratty herd-mates.

She seemed a perfect fixture for our little farm. The boys lovingly called her "Lily-goat", fed her cookies out of their little hands, petted and brushed her. It never dawned on me that one day she would just be gone.

I went to feed a few nights back, and all the goats were waiting for me at the fence but one. I knew instantly that it was not good. My sweet girl, who I had bottle fed from birth, was laying dead under the lean-to. It seemed that she had bloated and died. We assume she ate something that she couldn't pass. I screamed "no" and sobbed and sobbed. I'm sure you could hear my wailing a mile away. I blocked the boys at the fence, so they couldn't see her body. I thought that it might be much for a three and four year old to see their pet dead. I did, however, have to explain why mama was sad. Little hands patted my shoulder while I sat and cried in the yard. Barrett summed up the whole event to my husband: "Lily died. Mama cried".

I feel incredible guilt, because I feel like I could have done something to prevent Lily's passing had I been home more in the days preceding her untimely death ( she was only three). We just took over a small business, and I have been gone practically from sun up to sun down. I hadn't done much aside from dump food and water in the goat pen. I wouldn't have noticed if she was showing signs of illness. I will never forgive myself.

I dug through my photos and all I could find were pictures of Lily as a baby. I loved that little goat, and I hope to see her one day again.

A Third Son

I'm back. I have a lot to update, but I suppose I'll start with the biggest news. I had another baby. In keeping with every other child who has come out of me, he has both red hair and a penis. We named him Axel. NO. We were not listening to Guns n Roses when he was conceived. I don't even like Guns n Roses. Anywho, he was born early in the morning on the day after Christmas. I'll let the pictures tell the rest of the story.