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.

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.