Our Fartwork

 

 

I had been shopping around for some art to hang in my living room. It turns out that anything that I like is completely out of my price range, so I decided to make my own art. I stole an idea from my sister, Mona, and bought a canvas for us to "paint". I painted the background, and let the kids put their hand and footprints on it. Jason and I also added our hand prints. I couldn't NOT include the dogs, so I also stamped their paws. The paw stamp was a bit tricky. It turns out that Kaiser, our mastiff, doesn't like to have his paw restrained. He cried like I was trying to kill him, and then mouthed my hand in an attempt to remove it. Kaiser's paw is the blue smudge in the middle of the canvas. Dan, our obese coonhound, will do anything for a cracker, so he was no problem. Jules barely bothered to wake up. "Huh, what? What's going on? You're dipping my paw in paint. Alright, whatever. zzzzzzz"

 

I am not a crafty person. I have zero interest in Pinterest. I just don't have the patience to make a map of Oklahoma out of nails, and rubber bands. I have laundry to fold, and television to watch thankyouverymuch. So, this will likely be my one and only craft project for the year...unless you count the kids forcing me to make lopsided turtles out of playdoh. That, my friends, is why this artsy endeavor is notable.





The Neverending Remodel

 

 

The outside portion of our restoration project is about done. Now that I have new siding and windows, I am thinking that my roof looks kind of shabby. It never stops. A new roof is not in my remodel budget this time around. Maybe in a couple years, or after a good hailstorm, we can replace it a la Allstate ;-)

Also, we need to landscape a bit now that we have a house worth landscaping. If I can just keep the goat from eating said landscaping, and keep the dogs from dragging random carcass portions into my yard...then maybe Dammit Farm won't look so much like a redneck hell. I am aiming for the stars, I tell ya.

 

 

 

Sentimental Hoarding

The boys dug this squished ball out of the "dog toy basket". "Mom, there's something wrong with this ball. We need to throw it in trash." I was distracted, cleaning up the dinner mess, when I caught the black and white mush in my peripheral vision. "No! Don't throw that away." My kids were baffled. I love throwing things away. I have been known to chuck small toys that have crossed my path one too many times. (I'm very sorry about your hat and left arm, Mr. Potatohead, but I was having a bad day.)
"Why?" they asked me.
Then, for whatever reason, something that I hadn't cried about for a very long time came roaring back. I tried to hold down the tears, but couldn't. Looking at that ball reminded me of my sweet friend, who I had not seen in about eight years. Our coonhound had suddenly died of bloat while were on vacation. He was only three. It was an especially sudden, and painful loss. I never got to say goodbye to him. I grieved hard for that animal.  Clyde was ill-mannered, mildly destructive, but so there was a peacefulness to his soul. He was such a large, and noisy presence, that the silence he left in his absence was hard to bear. I have spent years filling my life with noise via other animals, and children, but I still miss him.
"You can't throw it away because it was Clyde's. It belonged to my dog that died."
"Why are you crying, Mommy!?" Asked my four year old.
"I'm crying because I miss my dog."
Then little hands were patting me. "Jules will be your friend, mommy."
"I know guys. She is my friend."
I pulled it together, put the ball back in they toy basket, and changed the subject. "Do you boys want to take a bath?"  I didn't want to upset them, but even more I did NOT want to entertain any conversation about life and death with them. I've had to before, and it's not fun.  For days after the mention of death I have to answer questions like "Do potato chips die when you eat them?" Not even joking.

Who are those kids? Jason, Jules, Clyde and I in the good old days. This picture isn't that old (about ten years)...it just happens to be black and white.

My PSA for this post. Here is tidbit on bloat that I find informative. It can't always be prevented, but there are steps one can take that can decrease the risk.
http://avetsguidetolife.blogspot.com/2011/02/preventing-bloat.html

Slightly Spiffier

We finally broke down, and hired a contractor to finish the "fun project" that is also know as our home. It turns out there's a reason why people pay other people to do carpentry jobs. That shit isn't easy. Here's a taste of the improvements to the house on Dammit Farm. The first phase is new windows, and "log cabin" siding.

The before

In the process.

 

Oh, and the older boys got new haircuts. Gunther's mohawk is back!

 

I can't wait to have my house be "done" and not have to explain anything to visitors. "We're in a transition phase..." Too bad the transition phase has lasted nearly five years.

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.