My ankle hurts. So does my thigh muscle. Oh, and my shoulder doesn't feel so great either.
Want to know why?
Because I slid down a muddy hill into a creek bed.
Why was I trying to go down a muddy hill into a creek bed?
Because I had to pee and the house was too far away.
Yup, that's what 4 kids will bring you to. You will be happily lounging by the pool, reading your book, drinking your Crystal Light, when suddenly you'll have to pee. And I mean right that second. And you'll know there's no way you're going to make it the 100 yards to the door of your house or the 15 yards from the door of your house to the bathroom. So instead you'll opt for the outdoor pee.
That's OK because you live in the country. No one will see you. But your father-in-law just may be mowing hay in the fields behind your house so you'll need to find some decent cover, especially considering giving birth to 4 kids has forced you back into a one piece bathing suit. Even a tankini won't cut it any more. So you'll opt for the nearly dry creek bed that's a mere 15 yards from where the children are playing in the pool. The floor of the creek bed is well over your head when standing and it's a veritable jungle of overgrowth and trees.
The only problem is the rain you've had lately. It will have made the steep bank of the creek extra treacherous to one shod only with flip flops. But you will attempt it because you don't want to lose control of your bodily functions in full view of your 4 children. You will quietly head for the creek bank. You will judge the best place to step off the grass and onto the dirt slope leading down. You will attempt to firmly plant your foot just at the edge of the grass before you actually step down onto the slope but the tall grass will play with your perception. What looks to be a solid piece of ground will turn out to be nothing more than a weedy patch of nothing. Your foot will slip into the 4 inch abyss and your body will lurch forward in a desperate attempt to right yourself before you plunge face first down a 5 foot drop into gravel, mud, and a trickle of water.
The resulting lurch will leave you shaken but not truly hurt. You will hunt a few yards down the creek for a good place to do your business and....well...do your business. Thus far you have succeeded in keeping your 4 children from noticing anything is amiss. They even overlooked your slide down the hill. But the moment you being to relieve yourself, stripped to your ankles (remember that one piece bathing suit), your almost 6 year old daughter will suddenly notice your absence and begin screaming your name. Luckily you are graceful under pressure (except for that bit of a slide) and you will calm her fears that you've run away from home to join a traveling Ukrainian circus as their new fire eater, hitch your bathing suit back up where it belongs, and clamber back out of the creek of death before anyone realizes exactly what you're doing.
A full 24 hours later, once you've nearly forgotten the incident, your ankle, thigh, and shoulder will remind you of your brief foray into extreme peeing.
Next time, go to the house.
Showing posts with label Eww Gwoss. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Eww Gwoss. Show all posts
June 22, 2013
Holy Pinterest, Batman!
Pinterest has changed our lives. It has inspired us to craft to greater heights. It has taught us that Everyone Can Cook (or was that Ratatouille?). It has feed our inner Geek. It has inspired us to think about working out. It has turned us all into the next Martha Stewart. And it has made us all feel lazy and worthless, too.
We have jumped on the Pinterest Bandwagon with both feet. We've cut up our old t-shirts to make ill hanging infinity scarves. We've hot glued our fingers to ribbons more times than we'd like to admit. We've dipped our nails in polish floating in cold water. We've slathered coconut oil on everything that will sit still long enough. We've tried to furnish our homes with nothing more than old books and tossed out pallets. We've coveted our neighbor's wardrobe.
But by far, my favorite thing about Pinterest is all the things it has convinced us we can clean absolutely anything with baking soda, vinegar, and peroxide. And we've tried. Oh, how we've tried.
I will fully admit to attempting to clean my oldest, nastiest of baking sheets with baking soda and peroxide. The before and after pictures on Pinterest were undeniable. There was even a pan divided down the middle with one side gleaming and perfect, the other grungy and stained. But scrub as I might, it was to no avail. My pan was no more "like new" when I'd finished (and chipped away my Pinterest office supply manicure) than it was when I'd started.
So when I saw the "clean your oven burners with ammonia" Pin, I thought it certainly couldn't hurt to try.
My burner tops have seen better days. The stove was brand new when we moved in 10 years ago (have I really been in the country that long?!) and as much as I've tried, I haven't been able to keep it looking that way. They've been soaked. They've been scrubbed. They've been scoured. They've been run through the dishwasher. Nothing was cutting through that seared on nastiness. Nothing.
We spent the last 30 years being promised cleaning products were ammonia free. We've demonized ammonia. After smelling it, I can understand why but I also love the idea of a half gallon of dilutable cleanser for under $2. It's just the smell I can't get past.
I crammed my burners in their bags last night before bed, put in a half a tablespoon of ammonia (it calls for 1/4 cup but all you really need are the fumes; the burners do not need to soak in ammonia), and sealed them up for the night.
It wasn't an instant, no scrub miracle, but the 10 years of gunk that has never budged an inch no matter what I've done became much more forgiving. A bit of scrubbing with a nylon scrubber, and (while not perfectly spotless) my burners look good! I scrubbed all 4 down and the two that were the worst off are in for a second fumigation in their bags of ammonia.
So now the big question is, where to I find a ziploc bag big enough to hold my entire stove?
We have jumped on the Pinterest Bandwagon with both feet. We've cut up our old t-shirts to make ill hanging infinity scarves. We've hot glued our fingers to ribbons more times than we'd like to admit. We've dipped our nails in polish floating in cold water. We've slathered coconut oil on everything that will sit still long enough. We've tried to furnish our homes with nothing more than old books and tossed out pallets. We've coveted our neighbor's wardrobe.
But by far, my favorite thing about Pinterest is all the things it has convinced us we can clean absolutely anything with baking soda, vinegar, and peroxide. And we've tried. Oh, how we've tried.
I will fully admit to attempting to clean my oldest, nastiest of baking sheets with baking soda and peroxide. The before and after pictures on Pinterest were undeniable. There was even a pan divided down the middle with one side gleaming and perfect, the other grungy and stained. But scrub as I might, it was to no avail. My pan was no more "like new" when I'd finished (and chipped away my Pinterest office supply manicure) than it was when I'd started.
So when I saw the "clean your oven burners with ammonia" Pin, I thought it certainly couldn't hurt to try.
I crammed my burners in their bags last night before bed, put in a half a tablespoon of ammonia (it calls for 1/4 cup but all you really need are the fumes; the burners do not need to soak in ammonia), and sealed them up for the night.
So now the big question is, where to I find a ziploc bag big enough to hold my entire stove?
February 7, 2013
Dream Big, FarmWife
I came home from work today full of vim and vigor and ready to tackle the world. Actually I was ready to tackle the house that has been sorely neglected since shortly after Christmas. Hey, I took my Christmas tree down on December 28th. I think that should garner me mega housekeeping points for months to come. Unfortunately housekeeping points in no way actually keep house. That's still my job.
Husband, being the stand up guy that he is, took over dish duty last summer when I was recovering from, well, everything. So the dishes are done on a daily basis. The table is washed off. The counters are cleaned. The stove top is scrubbed. If it weren't for the 6-people-in-a-3-bedroom-house clutter that accumulates everywhere, my kitchen would be spotless.
As long as no one looks at the floor.
So my big plans were to come home, grab a snack (apple crisp is awesome but in no way is a truly proper lunch), and get to work. Bathrooms need scrubbing, floors need vacuuming, beds need stripped, and everything needs dusted.
Instead I pull into my parking space to see Lilly May's kennel standing up on end on my steps. I got really worried because Husband doesn't mess with the dog kennels and my overwrought mind immediately went to My Dog Has Died mode. Don't ask why. I'm strange like that.
Then I heard her. She was barking her head off in her run in the back yard. As I tossed my purse and keys on the counter I hollered, "Hello? Why is Lillly's kennel on the porch?" Husband gives me the good news. She's puked/pooped all over her kennel and laid in it. All. Day. Long.
Ugh.
Lilly has seizures. She only has 1 or 2 a year and there's no way of knowing when one is coming on. She had one last night after I got in bed. They usually involve her stumbling around and bumping into walls and furniture until she's told to kennel up. Then she pukes and goes to sleep for 8 hours. It's a bit unnerving, but not as terrifying as it was the first time she did it.
I cleaned up the puke before I went to sleep last night. Lilly was worn out and laid down to sleep. At some point in the night/early morning hours she must've been sick again. From the smell of her blankets I'd guess it came from the back end of her, not the front.
So my dreams of scrubbing away at the house turned into scrubbing away at a nasty smelling and none to happy with me wirehaired fox terrier.
I did take a few minutes to scrap the mountains of paper that accumulate when you have 4 children in school who are certain that their entire lives depend on keeping everything they've ever written on. I even collected all the eraser-less pencils that live on our tables and tucked them safely away in the cabinet where they actually belong.
Then I sat down. That's when it all truly fell apart.
I got sucked in.
Sucked in to Facebook and Crappy Pictures and Dog Shaming and Cake Wrecks and Savage Chickens and the other pages and pages of time sucks that live on the Internet.
I may never see my kitchen floor again. Oh well.
Husband, being the stand up guy that he is, took over dish duty last summer when I was recovering from, well, everything. So the dishes are done on a daily basis. The table is washed off. The counters are cleaned. The stove top is scrubbed. If it weren't for the 6-people-in-a-3-bedroom-house clutter that accumulates everywhere, my kitchen would be spotless.
As long as no one looks at the floor.
So my big plans were to come home, grab a snack (apple crisp is awesome but in no way is a truly proper lunch), and get to work. Bathrooms need scrubbing, floors need vacuuming, beds need stripped, and everything needs dusted.
Instead I pull into my parking space to see Lilly May's kennel standing up on end on my steps. I got really worried because Husband doesn't mess with the dog kennels and my overwrought mind immediately went to My Dog Has Died mode. Don't ask why. I'm strange like that.
Then I heard her. She was barking her head off in her run in the back yard. As I tossed my purse and keys on the counter I hollered, "Hello? Why is Lillly's kennel on the porch?" Husband gives me the good news. She's puked/pooped all over her kennel and laid in it. All. Day. Long.
Ugh.
Lilly has seizures. She only has 1 or 2 a year and there's no way of knowing when one is coming on. She had one last night after I got in bed. They usually involve her stumbling around and bumping into walls and furniture until she's told to kennel up. Then she pukes and goes to sleep for 8 hours. It's a bit unnerving, but not as terrifying as it was the first time she did it.
I cleaned up the puke before I went to sleep last night. Lilly was worn out and laid down to sleep. At some point in the night/early morning hours she must've been sick again. From the smell of her blankets I'd guess it came from the back end of her, not the front.
So my dreams of scrubbing away at the house turned into scrubbing away at a nasty smelling and none to happy with me wirehaired fox terrier.
I did take a few minutes to scrap the mountains of paper that accumulate when you have 4 children in school who are certain that their entire lives depend on keeping everything they've ever written on. I even collected all the eraser-less pencils that live on our tables and tucked them safely away in the cabinet where they actually belong.
Then I sat down. That's when it all truly fell apart.
I got sucked in.
Sucked in to Facebook and Crappy Pictures and Dog Shaming and Cake Wrecks and Savage Chickens and the other pages and pages of time sucks that live on the Internet.
I may never see my kitchen floor again. Oh well.
October 9, 2012
So.....
Things got thoroughly checked yesterday. Can't say I remember much of it. There were people, and an IV, and I'm pretty sure a doctor showed up, but once they squeezed that happy juice into my arm I pretty much couldn't care less what else was going to happen.
Sunday night, on the other hand, was crappy. In the fullest sense of the word. All stinking night long. At one point I was wishing I hadn't thrown out the kids' old potty chair because I was pretty sure we'd need it on the 15 mile drive to the hospital. Turns out I was wrong. Not gonna' gripe about that one.
We were sitting in the prep room waiting for the nurse to come get me and take me into the procedure room when Husband said, "I didn't sleep good last night."
I said nothing.
"Someone kept waking me up."
Still nothing.
"I'm not gonna' say who.....I'm just saying."
Nada.
"And then I had to get up early."
Icy stare.
"And I have to work late tonight and won't get my nap."
Stare turns to glare.
"Just sayin'."
"Yeah, well they're getting ready to stick a camera up my butt so I really don't care if you ever sleep again."
Way to handle that with grace, FarmWife.
(Don't freak out on my dip stick of a husband. He was trying to be cute. And, truth be told, I did laugh.)
Not that I remember anything about yesterday past the nurse doping me up, but Husband said Doc was pleased with my tests. Everything looked good. He did take a few samples and we should get the results back by the end of this week.
In case you're wondering, Burger King breakfast is good even when you're unconscious.
Sunday night, on the other hand, was crappy. In the fullest sense of the word. All stinking night long. At one point I was wishing I hadn't thrown out the kids' old potty chair because I was pretty sure we'd need it on the 15 mile drive to the hospital. Turns out I was wrong. Not gonna' gripe about that one.
We were sitting in the prep room waiting for the nurse to come get me and take me into the procedure room when Husband said, "I didn't sleep good last night."
I said nothing.
"Someone kept waking me up."
Still nothing.
"I'm not gonna' say who.....I'm just saying."
Nada.
"And then I had to get up early."
Icy stare.
"And I have to work late tonight and won't get my nap."
Stare turns to glare.
"Just sayin'."
"Yeah, well they're getting ready to stick a camera up my butt so I really don't care if you ever sleep again."
Way to handle that with grace, FarmWife.
(Don't freak out on my dip stick of a husband. He was trying to be cute. And, truth be told, I did laugh.)
Not that I remember anything about yesterday past the nurse doping me up, but Husband said Doc was pleased with my tests. Everything looked good. He did take a few samples and we should get the results back by the end of this week.
In case you're wondering, Burger King breakfast is good even when you're unconscious.
October 5, 2012
To Explore Strange New Places (TMI)
I'm having strange places explored on Monday. Places no man has gone before.
Remember that lovely bout with colitis I had a few months back? The one that landed me in the hospital for 4 days? The one that ruined my all too brief weekend visit with Art? The one that made me miss my kids showing their Rabbits at 4-H fair & seeing them auction off their bunnies? Yeah, that one. Well, that bout has made my doctor decide he really needs to get a good look at the entire length of my large intestine.
When I was in the hospital Doc did a Flexible Sigmoidoscopy. That only took him about 1/4 of the way through my colon and the results were inconclusive. Nothing really showed him why I was writhing in pain and why my colon lit up like a Christmas tree on the CT scan. The most intense pain was located in my Ascending Colon and he's been itching to get in there and get a good look at it ever since. Unfortunately the Ascending Colon is well past the quarter point of the lower intestine.
Lucky me, Monday is the day he's picked to take peek at my innards.
It's not the colonoscopy that worries me. I'll be unconscious. And even if I'm not, one of the medications they give you has an amnesic effect meaning I won't remember anything even if I'm not entirely asleep. I'm so very OK with all of that.
What I've worked myself into a tizzy about is the day before prep. The idea of ingesting that much of any type of laxative in that amount of time is not something I look forward to....especially when Harvard Health says, "you’re going to be experiencing high-volume, high-velocity diarrhea."
So, any prayers would be appreciated not only for a good outcome of the test, but for an easy prep the day before.
Remember that lovely bout with colitis I had a few months back? The one that landed me in the hospital for 4 days? The one that ruined my all too brief weekend visit with Art? The one that made me miss my kids showing their Rabbits at 4-H fair & seeing them auction off their bunnies? Yeah, that one. Well, that bout has made my doctor decide he really needs to get a good look at the entire length of my large intestine.
When I was in the hospital Doc did a Flexible Sigmoidoscopy. That only took him about 1/4 of the way through my colon and the results were inconclusive. Nothing really showed him why I was writhing in pain and why my colon lit up like a Christmas tree on the CT scan. The most intense pain was located in my Ascending Colon and he's been itching to get in there and get a good look at it ever since. Unfortunately the Ascending Colon is well past the quarter point of the lower intestine.
Lucky me, Monday is the day he's picked to take peek at my innards.
It's not the colonoscopy that worries me. I'll be unconscious. And even if I'm not, one of the medications they give you has an amnesic effect meaning I won't remember anything even if I'm not entirely asleep. I'm so very OK with all of that.
What I've worked myself into a tizzy about is the day before prep. The idea of ingesting that much of any type of laxative in that amount of time is not something I look forward to....especially when Harvard Health says, "you’re going to be experiencing high-volume, high-velocity diarrhea."
So, any prayers would be appreciated not only for a good outcome of the test, but for an easy prep the day before.
July 27, 2012
Adventures in Colitis- Not for the Weak of Stomach
Many of you already know what has been happening on the Farm, but not the entire story....and then I'm sure there are those of you who have no clue what I'm talking about (assuming someone other than my cousin and best friend still read this).
It's been a tough week to say the very least. A week I pray I never have to relive. A week I really wish would be over & done with but unfortunately will have a few repercussions.
Monday afternoon Uncle Gick came to stay with the FarmHands while Busha took me into town to see Dr.R (the surgeon who took out my appendix). I fell asleep on and off all the way to his office. I was in more pain than I've been in since they made me get out of bed after my first c-section (on the 1-10 scale I was at a 10). When we walked into the waiting room, the receptionist asked if I'd gotten her voice mail. For the record, my voice mail message says, "I do not check this mail box. If you need to get in touch with me, keep calling." So, no, I hadn't.
She was trying to let me know that Dr.R wanted me to have blood work taken before I came into his office. Good news: the lab is 2 doors down from his office in the same building. Bad news: I have to walk half way around the building to get in the elevator, go back to the first floor, stand in line and register as a hospital patient to have the blood drawn in the first place. By the time I got back in his office, it was a full hour later and I was still in serious pain.
When the nurse came to get me, Busha and I started down the hall. A few steps in and I had to steady myself on a door frame because I was light headed. On the off chance that they would need a stool sample, I took one at home and brought it in with me (seriously unpleasant, I know, but after waking up to bloody diarrhea I thought it was a prudent step to take). I also wrote down everything that had taken place since my symptoms first began because I knew in my state of mind I would forget quite a few key points like days of the week. Dr.R looked over everything (including my sample), did a serious examination of my abdomen and torso and told me he was admitting me to the hospital. He was not a happy man.
I was seriously dehydrated. He ordered IV fluids in massive amounts and a CT scan once I'd had a full bag of fluid. Busha took me to the hospital and the real fun began. I look like I've been on a heroin bender if you go by all the track marks on my my arms. When you're dehydrated it's not easy to hit a vein and keep it from blowing out especially when you need a bigger needle to put CT contrast through. 2 nurses and 4 needle sticks later, they called in the anesthesiologist nurse to get my IV going.
Eventually a dose of Toradol and a bolus of fluid made me comfortable enough to stretch out so I could lay down for the CT. My second CT in 2 months, mind you. After I was settled and a bit more comfortable, Busha went home. Dr.R came in just after 9 to tell me I didn't have any bowl obstruction but that my entire colon lit up like a light bulb.
Sleeping in the hospital wouldn't have been bad if it hadn't been for the 800 times a night they had to come check and see if I was still alive. Toradol every 6 hours wasn't bad either. More samples were collected, more labs done, more blood drawn.
The next morning Dr.H came in to see why I was back in the hospital. I told him I had decided to spend my summer there. "If I had 37 kids, I'd spend my summer here, too!" he said. I love my doctors. He took me off all food or drink by mouth and went off to investigate what was going on with me. Dr.R said he thought Dr.H was trying to starve me to death when he discovered the NPO order a few hours later. I told him they'd have to duke it out amongst themselves. I didn't care so long as no one took my pain meds away.
I'm not sure when it happened, but eventually words like inflammation, ulcerative colitis, crohns, colonoscopy, and flexible sigmoidoscopy started getting tossed around.
Wednesday morning rolled around and Dr.R scheduled me for what is affectionately known as a flex sig (see above paragraph). He didn't want to go in for a full colonoscopy because there was a massive amount of inflammation and he didn't want to risk perforating my colon. Personally, I'd like to keep my colon un-perforated as well. That involved being put under conscious sedation (that is a bit of a misnomer). I don't remember anything before they moved me from the gurney back into my bed in my room. Ulcerative Colitis was his initial suspicion.
Wednesday they finally decided I could be put on a clear liquid diet. By that time I hadn't ingested anything since the glass of lemonade I nursed all Monday morning. Chicken broth has never tasted so good. Do you have any clue how many food commercials are on television each hour? At least 85,000.
After breakfast (my third meal of chick broth, orange jell-o, apple juice, and a Popsicle in a row) on Thursday, Dr.R came back and said all my tests had come back negative and I was feeling leaps and bounds better so he thought I should eat & possibly go home.
My pathology reports from the flex sig are negative. All my cultures, samples, blood work, and other various tests are clean. Right now it's a guessing game. Dr.R has me on medication for Ulcerative Colitis until I see him again Friday, August 3rd. He said there will eventually be a full blown colonoscopy but he wants to wait until he's sure my colon has healed from this flare up.
I'm praying this was caused by some kind of infection/bacteria that isn't going to be an on going battle (U.C. is a chronic condition and not something I'd wish on my worst enemy). Things are beginning to return to normal. QM is here taking care of all of us. I'm resting as much as I can.
Maybe next time I'll tell you about my rather entertaining neighbor from the hospital.
It's been a tough week to say the very least. A week I pray I never have to relive. A week I really wish would be over & done with but unfortunately will have a few repercussions.
Monday afternoon Uncle Gick came to stay with the FarmHands while Busha took me into town to see Dr.R (the surgeon who took out my appendix). I fell asleep on and off all the way to his office. I was in more pain than I've been in since they made me get out of bed after my first c-section (on the 1-10 scale I was at a 10). When we walked into the waiting room, the receptionist asked if I'd gotten her voice mail. For the record, my voice mail message says, "I do not check this mail box. If you need to get in touch with me, keep calling." So, no, I hadn't.
She was trying to let me know that Dr.R wanted me to have blood work taken before I came into his office. Good news: the lab is 2 doors down from his office in the same building. Bad news: I have to walk half way around the building to get in the elevator, go back to the first floor, stand in line and register as a hospital patient to have the blood drawn in the first place. By the time I got back in his office, it was a full hour later and I was still in serious pain.
When the nurse came to get me, Busha and I started down the hall. A few steps in and I had to steady myself on a door frame because I was light headed. On the off chance that they would need a stool sample, I took one at home and brought it in with me (seriously unpleasant, I know, but after waking up to bloody diarrhea I thought it was a prudent step to take). I also wrote down everything that had taken place since my symptoms first began because I knew in my state of mind I would forget quite a few key points like days of the week. Dr.R looked over everything (including my sample), did a serious examination of my abdomen and torso and told me he was admitting me to the hospital. He was not a happy man.
I was seriously dehydrated. He ordered IV fluids in massive amounts and a CT scan once I'd had a full bag of fluid. Busha took me to the hospital and the real fun began. I look like I've been on a heroin bender if you go by all the track marks on my my arms. When you're dehydrated it's not easy to hit a vein and keep it from blowing out especially when you need a bigger needle to put CT contrast through. 2 nurses and 4 needle sticks later, they called in the anesthesiologist nurse to get my IV going.
Eventually a dose of Toradol and a bolus of fluid made me comfortable enough to stretch out so I could lay down for the CT. My second CT in 2 months, mind you. After I was settled and a bit more comfortable, Busha went home. Dr.R came in just after 9 to tell me I didn't have any bowl obstruction but that my entire colon lit up like a light bulb.
Sleeping in the hospital wouldn't have been bad if it hadn't been for the 800 times a night they had to come check and see if I was still alive. Toradol every 6 hours wasn't bad either. More samples were collected, more labs done, more blood drawn.
The next morning Dr.H came in to see why I was back in the hospital. I told him I had decided to spend my summer there. "If I had 37 kids, I'd spend my summer here, too!" he said. I love my doctors. He took me off all food or drink by mouth and went off to investigate what was going on with me. Dr.R said he thought Dr.H was trying to starve me to death when he discovered the NPO order a few hours later. I told him they'd have to duke it out amongst themselves. I didn't care so long as no one took my pain meds away.
I'm not sure when it happened, but eventually words like inflammation, ulcerative colitis, crohns, colonoscopy, and flexible sigmoidoscopy started getting tossed around.
Wednesday morning rolled around and Dr.R scheduled me for what is affectionately known as a flex sig (see above paragraph). He didn't want to go in for a full colonoscopy because there was a massive amount of inflammation and he didn't want to risk perforating my colon. Personally, I'd like to keep my colon un-perforated as well. That involved being put under conscious sedation (that is a bit of a misnomer). I don't remember anything before they moved me from the gurney back into my bed in my room. Ulcerative Colitis was his initial suspicion.
Wednesday they finally decided I could be put on a clear liquid diet. By that time I hadn't ingested anything since the glass of lemonade I nursed all Monday morning. Chicken broth has never tasted so good. Do you have any clue how many food commercials are on television each hour? At least 85,000.
After breakfast (my third meal of chick broth, orange jell-o, apple juice, and a Popsicle in a row) on Thursday, Dr.R came back and said all my tests had come back negative and I was feeling leaps and bounds better so he thought I should eat & possibly go home.
My pathology reports from the flex sig are negative. All my cultures, samples, blood work, and other various tests are clean. Right now it's a guessing game. Dr.R has me on medication for Ulcerative Colitis until I see him again Friday, August 3rd. He said there will eventually be a full blown colonoscopy but he wants to wait until he's sure my colon has healed from this flare up.
I'm praying this was caused by some kind of infection/bacteria that isn't going to be an on going battle (U.C. is a chronic condition and not something I'd wish on my worst enemy). Things are beginning to return to normal. QM is here taking care of all of us. I'm resting as much as I can.
Maybe next time I'll tell you about my rather entertaining neighbor from the hospital.
July 23, 2012
The weekend of Art (and TMI)
Art came to see me this weekend. At first the trip was to be a surprise, but she gave up on that idea very early on in the game.
I was so excited to have her coming...and then Thursday hit. I ended up sick. Without going into gory details, I was having stomach issues. I figured it was no big deal. She wouldn't be here until Friday night & I'd be all better by then.
Well, I wasn't. Friday afternoon rolled around & I opted to take an Imodium AD thinking it would take care of the problem & I'd be good to go for the weekend. It took care of one problem, but seemed to lead to a whole mess of other issues.
I was in pain. A lot of pain. Like pre-appendectomy pain. Saturday, Art convinced me that I needed to go to the doctor. Unfortunately we made it to town a little late & ended up in the ER instead of the walk-in clinic.
3 hours later they sent me home saying there was no infection so my pain was probably related to my surgery (that happened a month and a half ago....that hasn't caused me pain of any kind in weeks). They gave me a shot of Torodol that wore off before we ever left the hospital.
Saturday was spent laying on the couch- hurting.
Sunday was spent laying on the couch - hurting. Sunday morning, when I found myself unable to pee, I called the hospital and made them page my surgeon. He was off on vacation and had a house full of people. But he told me he wanted me on clear liquids for the rest of the day (by this time the only thing I'd eaten in nearly 24 hours was 1/2 an order of McDonalds fries on Saturday afternoon- yes, the pinnacle of heath, but it was the only thing that sounded remotely appetizing and I was starved). He said it sounded like I either had a stomach bug and had blocked everything off taking the Imodium or I have scar tissue adhesion from my surgery that has caused a bowl blockage. Either way, he said the best way to go was clear liquids and wait to see if things being working on their own. If I was still in pain, he wanted to see me in his office this afternoon.
They're going to work me in at 3.
The QM says that when I get better I owe Art a visit in Tennessee to make up for the failed visit here. I think that's a splendid idea....or I would if I thought anything was splendid right now. It's hard to see the bright side when your stomach hurts like that chick who had an alien pop out of hers. I'm so glad Art was here. I only wish things could have been, "Way funner," to quote Elle Woods.
I was so excited to have her coming...and then Thursday hit. I ended up sick. Without going into gory details, I was having stomach issues. I figured it was no big deal. She wouldn't be here until Friday night & I'd be all better by then.
Well, I wasn't. Friday afternoon rolled around & I opted to take an Imodium AD thinking it would take care of the problem & I'd be good to go for the weekend. It took care of one problem, but seemed to lead to a whole mess of other issues.
I was in pain. A lot of pain. Like pre-appendectomy pain. Saturday, Art convinced me that I needed to go to the doctor. Unfortunately we made it to town a little late & ended up in the ER instead of the walk-in clinic.
3 hours later they sent me home saying there was no infection so my pain was probably related to my surgery (that happened a month and a half ago....that hasn't caused me pain of any kind in weeks). They gave me a shot of Torodol that wore off before we ever left the hospital.
Saturday was spent laying on the couch- hurting.
Sunday was spent laying on the couch - hurting. Sunday morning, when I found myself unable to pee, I called the hospital and made them page my surgeon. He was off on vacation and had a house full of people. But he told me he wanted me on clear liquids for the rest of the day (by this time the only thing I'd eaten in nearly 24 hours was 1/2 an order of McDonalds fries on Saturday afternoon- yes, the pinnacle of heath, but it was the only thing that sounded remotely appetizing and I was starved). He said it sounded like I either had a stomach bug and had blocked everything off taking the Imodium or I have scar tissue adhesion from my surgery that has caused a bowl blockage. Either way, he said the best way to go was clear liquids and wait to see if things being working on their own. If I was still in pain, he wanted to see me in his office this afternoon.
They're going to work me in at 3.
The QM says that when I get better I owe Art a visit in Tennessee to make up for the failed visit here. I think that's a splendid idea....or I would if I thought anything was splendid right now. It's hard to see the bright side when your stomach hurts like that chick who had an alien pop out of hers. I'm so glad Art was here. I only wish things could have been, "Way funner," to quote Elle Woods.
June 29, 2012
Things that make you go, "Ewwwww!"
Now imagine that title being sung by C+C Music Factory.
I am easily grossed out. Things that don't bother other people give me the Hebe-geebies. Somethings make me physically ill, others just really make my skin crawl....and being the kind and thoughtful person I am, I think I need to share them with you. Ready? Go!
I am easily grossed out. Things that don't bother other people give me the Hebe-geebies. Somethings make me physically ill, others just really make my skin crawl....and being the kind and thoughtful person I am, I think I need to share them with you. Ready? Go!
- Spit- seriously I cannot abide saliva. It makes me want to hurl. Anything to do with it freaks me out. Ordinary Sarah posted about being gifted spit shined jump boots and I thought, "I would never wear shoes again."
- Mucus- OK, so no one really likes this stuff, but I have an aversion to it that rivals a phobia. A child at school informed me that she had a cold then proceeded to lift her head so I could see up her nose and proclaimed, "See? Lots of snot!" 2 things. #1- She was old enough to know this is not a polite way to tell someone you don't feel well. #2- She was old enough to keep her nose clean & obviously had not. I almost threw up on the cafeteria floor.
- Roaches- Again, unless you're an entomologist, who really likes roaches? But the sight of a roach scurrying across the ceiling is enough to make me come unhinged. Don't believe me? Ask Swiss Miss- my first college roommate. I ran screaming from our dorm and hid in the hallway while she killed the only roach I ever saw in our room. In the country we have wood roaches. They thrive on rotten wood & being that we live surrounded by a wooded area, they are abundant. I can deal with them living in the rotten stumps outside, but they occasionally wander into my bathroom (not the kitchen or pantry- just the bathroom) and wait to be smashed. By the time I've killed one, I've convinced myself that I must shower immediately or face a similar fate to Gregor Samsa.
- (Now this is where it gets strange) Cotton balls- yes, I detest those little white, fluffy things you use to remove eye make-up, craft sheep in Sunday School, and pour peroxide on to clean a cut. Touching a cotton ball is tantamount to getting a filling with no Novocaine in my book. It physically makes my teeth ache. If I wet them quickly, I can deal with them just long enough to get nail polish off my badly chipped manicure, but I absolutely cannot pull them out of a pill bottle to get to the medicine beneath. That is a job strictly reserved for Husband or a FarmHand who happens to wander by. And don't even get me started on the cotton they pack your mouth with after dental work. I'm gagging just thinking about it.
- Walking on snow- My reaction is nearly the same as the one I have when touching a dry cotton ball. My skin crawls. I shudder. A shiver runs up my spine. I can abide neither the sound nor the feeling of a deep snow fall under foot. Sledding I'm fine with. The thought of snowshoeing makes me break out in hives. It's kind of a fingernails on the chalk board thing for me.
My mother has issues with displaced hair. If it is not firmly attached to your head, it should not be present anywhere. Just the picture of my ponytail before I donated it was enough to make her sick at her stomach. She cannot stand to see someone brush their hair out in a kitchen (something we're oddly prone to as that's the last place in the house we tend to be before ushering everyone out the back door). She cannot stand to watch someone clean out a hair brush. In fact, when she donated her her hair, she took the envelope pre-stamped to the stylist and made her package and mail the hair because QM didn't even want to handle the envelope once it contained "free" hair.
Another friend had issues with pencil erasers. The sound they made. The feeling of them dragging across the paper. The left behind bits all over a desk top. It set her on edge.
So now I must ask, what makes you squirm? Reptiles? Birds (it's more common than you'd imagine)? Babies who stare? Clowns? Regis Philbin's voice? Spill!
So now I must ask, what makes you squirm? Reptiles? Birds (it's more common than you'd imagine)? Babies who stare? Clowns? Regis Philbin's voice? Spill!
May 31, 2012
How to get an unscheduled day away from home.
Just come down with appendicitis.
Simple, right?
But I really don't suggest it.
Tuesday afternoon, around 5:30, I got sick. My first thought was that I had a wicked bad case of gas & no gas-x in the house. After trying every possible position to get comfortable I decided a hot bath would help. It did, but only very temporarily. It was Bucka's birthday and I had made him Cat Head Biscuits for dinner but had to call Busha and tell her we weren't coming because my stomach hurt too bad. Then came the vomiting. Fun. After 2 extra-strength Tylenol and an hour on the couch with my hot rice bag, I was comfortable enough to sleep....but only if I didn't move at all. It was a long night.
The next morning all 4 of the FarmHands had check-ups with our family doctor. Husband went with us & planned on sitting in the car while I took the kids in to see Doc. I told him I really thought I'd need his help inside. Doc took one look at me trying to walk & he new something was wrong. 15 minutes later I was on my way to the hospital for a CAT scan. By 1:30 that afternoon I was being wheeled down to surgery.
Grandma M&M had surgery in Indy on Monday so Mama was on her way to our neck of the woods when they took me back. That was a God send because we really need her help around here right now.
Apparently the surgeon asked me if I wanted to go home the same day and I told him no. I wanted to stay in the hospital over night because I didn't want to try to recover from surgery at home with 4 kids.
He opted to do an open appendectomy in stead of the laproscopic surgery because of how close my appendix was to the surface. He said it would be faster and easier to get to it if he just opened me up. I figured one opening as opposed to 3 sounded good to me.
I'm sorry if this post is a bit disjointed. Vicodin and I are buddy-buddy right now. I think it may be nap time.
Simple, right?
But I really don't suggest it.
Tuesday afternoon, around 5:30, I got sick. My first thought was that I had a wicked bad case of gas & no gas-x in the house. After trying every possible position to get comfortable I decided a hot bath would help. It did, but only very temporarily. It was Bucka's birthday and I had made him Cat Head Biscuits for dinner but had to call Busha and tell her we weren't coming because my stomach hurt too bad. Then came the vomiting. Fun. After 2 extra-strength Tylenol and an hour on the couch with my hot rice bag, I was comfortable enough to sleep....but only if I didn't move at all. It was a long night.
The next morning all 4 of the FarmHands had check-ups with our family doctor. Husband went with us & planned on sitting in the car while I took the kids in to see Doc. I told him I really thought I'd need his help inside. Doc took one look at me trying to walk & he new something was wrong. 15 minutes later I was on my way to the hospital for a CAT scan. By 1:30 that afternoon I was being wheeled down to surgery.
Grandma M&M had surgery in Indy on Monday so Mama was on her way to our neck of the woods when they took me back. That was a God send because we really need her help around here right now.
Apparently the surgeon asked me if I wanted to go home the same day and I told him no. I wanted to stay in the hospital over night because I didn't want to try to recover from surgery at home with 4 kids.
He opted to do an open appendectomy in stead of the laproscopic surgery because of how close my appendix was to the surface. He said it would be faster and easier to get to it if he just opened me up. I figured one opening as opposed to 3 sounded good to me.
I'm sorry if this post is a bit disjointed. Vicodin and I are buddy-buddy right now. I think it may be nap time.
April 11, 2012
Why Mary Kay Letourneau really was crazy.
Let's get past the whole "she was his teacher, he was a minor, she was married" stuff and get right to the heart of the matter.
13 year old boys are gross.
They're gangly.
They're loud.
They're overly self-centered.
They're obnoxious.
And they smell.....really bad.
Now I realize that not all 13 year old boys are like this, but in all the odds are greater that they fit this bill than the idea of a "datable" man to any grown woman. I don't see how 13 year old girls can abide them.
Why am I on this strange train of thought?
I had to work today & was watching the Junior High boys file through the lunch line. A few weeks ago I watched an episode of Criminal Minds about a "Letourneau" situation and it popped into my sleep deprived brain after scooping my 275th helping of peaches and handing it to the 14th 8th grade boy in a row who looked like he hadn't bathed in 2 days.
The strangeness that is me thought, "What about these overgrown, stinky things says, 'I'll leave my husband and four children and give up my career and eventually go to jail for one of them'?"
Please tell me I'm not the only one who's brain goes off on random tangents like this.
Please.
13 year old boys are gross.
They're gangly.
They're loud.
They're overly self-centered.
They're obnoxious.
And they smell.....really bad.
Now I realize that not all 13 year old boys are like this, but in all the odds are greater that they fit this bill than the idea of a "datable" man to any grown woman. I don't see how 13 year old girls can abide them.
Why am I on this strange train of thought?
I had to work today & was watching the Junior High boys file through the lunch line. A few weeks ago I watched an episode of Criminal Minds about a "Letourneau" situation and it popped into my sleep deprived brain after scooping my 275th helping of peaches and handing it to the 14th 8th grade boy in a row who looked like he hadn't bathed in 2 days.
The strangeness that is me thought, "What about these overgrown, stinky things says, 'I'll leave my husband and four children and give up my career and eventually go to jail for one of them'?"
Please tell me I'm not the only one who's brain goes off on random tangents like this.
Please.
February 23, 2012
You really don't want to eat that.
In order to work full time at the cafeteria at school (something I hope and pray is in my future), I need to be certified in Food Safety and Sanitation. It's a 16 hour long class. I go 2 days a week, 4 hours a night, for 2 weeks. I'm half way through the course as I write this. All I can say is that if you're looking for a way to prevent yourself from eating out with any regularity, take one of these classes. The list of things that can kill you in a restaurant setting is longer than my arm.
We all know about Salmonella and Botulism, but have you ever hear of Hemorrhagic Colitis? How about Bacillus Cereus? And Vibrio Gastroenteritis? Yeah, it's all nasty. Most of them cause diarrhea and severe abdominal pain. Listeria can actually cause miscarriage.
It's all a bit overwhelming and more than a bit disgusting. Especially the lemons they put in your water or iced tea. But then, the good Lord made our bodies to withstand amazing amounts of abuse and microorganisms. I only hope he made my mind elastic enough to store all the information I'm going to have to recall for my certification exam on Wednesday. Any prayers offered would be more than a little appreciated.
I did have 2 days of work this week. Monday was President's Day and Tuesday, MJ, the cook I've been filling in for, decided to try out her wrist at work. I called halfway through the school day to ask her a question & she said, "By the way, do you want to work this week?" Apparently she'd come back a bit too soon. She's supposed to be off work for 3 weeks but decided it would make her stir crazy to sit home all that time.
I've worked the past 2 days on top of going to my night class. For a girl who's been a serious homebody for the past 10 years, this has been a massive change. I'm not sure I've adjusted to it just yet. Especially not being at work at 6:30 am after getting out of class at 9:50 pm the night before. I've still got a lot of catching up to do.
But the good news is, I haven't had time to miss the satellite dish being disconnected. The one day I was going to have to sit & do nothing ended up being the day Husband, Bitsy, and I had to go pick up my text book and make a run to Menards so bored was not an option.
So if you're trying in vain to get in touch with me, you'll just have to wait. I'm a career girl now. Well, at least for the rest of this week.
We all know about Salmonella and Botulism, but have you ever hear of Hemorrhagic Colitis? How about Bacillus Cereus? And Vibrio Gastroenteritis? Yeah, it's all nasty. Most of them cause diarrhea and severe abdominal pain. Listeria can actually cause miscarriage.
It's all a bit overwhelming and more than a bit disgusting. Especially the lemons they put in your water or iced tea. But then, the good Lord made our bodies to withstand amazing amounts of abuse and microorganisms. I only hope he made my mind elastic enough to store all the information I'm going to have to recall for my certification exam on Wednesday. Any prayers offered would be more than a little appreciated.
I did have 2 days of work this week. Monday was President's Day and Tuesday, MJ, the cook I've been filling in for, decided to try out her wrist at work. I called halfway through the school day to ask her a question & she said, "By the way, do you want to work this week?" Apparently she'd come back a bit too soon. She's supposed to be off work for 3 weeks but decided it would make her stir crazy to sit home all that time.
I've worked the past 2 days on top of going to my night class. For a girl who's been a serious homebody for the past 10 years, this has been a massive change. I'm not sure I've adjusted to it just yet. Especially not being at work at 6:30 am after getting out of class at 9:50 pm the night before. I've still got a lot of catching up to do.
But the good news is, I haven't had time to miss the satellite dish being disconnected. The one day I was going to have to sit & do nothing ended up being the day Husband, Bitsy, and I had to go pick up my text book and make a run to Menards so bored was not an option.
So if you're trying in vain to get in touch with me, you'll just have to wait. I'm a career girl now. Well, at least for the rest of this week.
January 2, 2012
On the First Day of Christmas....
Instead of song birds in fruit bearing trees, young women milking bovine, European royalty jumping around like grasshoppers, and a troupe of piccolo players, I got sick kids. And to make things super fun, they didn't all get sick at once. The spread it out over the first week of their Christmas break. #1 Son got started a day early missing the last day of school when he vomited All. Over. My. Bathroom. But I already told you about that.
BabyGirl picked it up the first day of their vacation with a sore throat & vomiting. Since Doc was about to leave the office for days on end, he gave us a script without the strep culture just to be on the safe side & save me a trip to the ER over the holidays. Too bad we still had to go...but that's for later in the post.
B.B. puked Christmas Eve morning & again Christmas morning preventing us from going to church on Christmas day. He complained of a sore throat on & off for 24 hours. By the time the weekend was over, I had worn 3 pairs of pajamas & no "real" clothing. What's the point of dressing when you're laying around for hours on end, watching House Hunters on an endless loop of HGTV, and living off Chex Mix and Poor Man's Toffee?
Bitsy rounded us out by running a fever & having a sore throat Monday & Tuesday keeping the two of us housebound while everyone else went to Little BIL & Aunt Cher's for lunch. By Wednesday, everyone was finally feeling better just in time for rain & rain & more rain.
Thursday the roofers showed up. Two high strung dogs plus half a dozen Mennonite men on the roof plus four nosy kids equals entirely too much going on for one FarmWife to deal with. So I kenneled up the dogs who were trying their hardest to coax the men off the roof so they could be summarily eaten, plopped the FarmHands down in front of the television, and proceeded to undress my Christmas tree.
By Friday, we were officially de-Christmased, it was warm enough to throw the FarmHands outside, & Bitsy had a WIC appointment, so the monotony was finally broken. The roof was finished that afternoon much to the dogs' delight.
On Saturday everyone came by to see our new lid. MIL & SIL came first followed by Uncle E, J, & Beffie. Uncle E gave Husband some drywall tips before he got started on the bathroom ceiling (I lost my skylight in getting my new roof....I am still in mourning, but fully understand the need for it's departure). Then Busha & Bucka came by very proud of Husband for, "Finally putting a roof over our Granddaughter's head." Little BIL & Aunt Cher stopped by on their way out to lunch with MIL & FIL. Everyone seems to like the new change.
Saturday afternoon Husband was putting the flashing up behind the gutters when he came in the house. "Um, come look at this, FarmWife. Do you think I need stitches?" His had slipped while sliding flashing into place & he cut his hand on the new roof. He had a 2 inch gash on his right hand across the knuckle at the base of his middle finger. One frantic hunt for a sitter, and a quick trip to the ER & he is now the proud owner of his first ever stitches. Four in total that earned him a hand full of stickers from the ER nurse & large strawberry milkshake from me. He was very brave.
Tomorrow our "normal" life resumes. I'm ready for it. Today I've battled allergies and a massive headache along with children in serious need of more structure than I'm willing to give. Husband's feeling lousy as well & I'm hoping it's just a bug & not infection in his hand. I'm keeping a close eye on it & him & if things are the same in the morning, Doc will be getting a New Year's visit from the FarmFamily Patriarch.
Happy stinking New Year.
Oh, and incidentally, I've finally joined the movement that is Pinterest. You can find me here if you like. Let me know if you pin. I'm just getting started & haven't quite got the hang of it. I'd love some ideas & input.
BabyGirl picked it up the first day of their vacation with a sore throat & vomiting. Since Doc was about to leave the office for days on end, he gave us a script without the strep culture just to be on the safe side & save me a trip to the ER over the holidays. Too bad we still had to go...but that's for later in the post.
B.B. puked Christmas Eve morning & again Christmas morning preventing us from going to church on Christmas day. He complained of a sore throat on & off for 24 hours. By the time the weekend was over, I had worn 3 pairs of pajamas & no "real" clothing. What's the point of dressing when you're laying around for hours on end, watching House Hunters on an endless loop of HGTV, and living off Chex Mix and Poor Man's Toffee?
Bitsy rounded us out by running a fever & having a sore throat Monday & Tuesday keeping the two of us housebound while everyone else went to Little BIL & Aunt Cher's for lunch. By Wednesday, everyone was finally feeling better just in time for rain & rain & more rain.
Thursday the roofers showed up. Two high strung dogs plus half a dozen Mennonite men on the roof plus four nosy kids equals entirely too much going on for one FarmWife to deal with. So I kenneled up the dogs who were trying their hardest to coax the men off the roof so they could be summarily eaten, plopped the FarmHands down in front of the television, and proceeded to undress my Christmas tree.
By Friday, we were officially de-Christmased, it was warm enough to throw the FarmHands outside, & Bitsy had a WIC appointment, so the monotony was finally broken. The roof was finished that afternoon much to the dogs' delight.
On Saturday everyone came by to see our new lid. MIL & SIL came first followed by Uncle E, J, & Beffie. Uncle E gave Husband some drywall tips before he got started on the bathroom ceiling (I lost my skylight in getting my new roof....I am still in mourning, but fully understand the need for it's departure). Then Busha & Bucka came by very proud of Husband for, "Finally putting a roof over our Granddaughter's head." Little BIL & Aunt Cher stopped by on their way out to lunch with MIL & FIL. Everyone seems to like the new change.
Saturday afternoon Husband was putting the flashing up behind the gutters when he came in the house. "Um, come look at this, FarmWife. Do you think I need stitches?" His had slipped while sliding flashing into place & he cut his hand on the new roof. He had a 2 inch gash on his right hand across the knuckle at the base of his middle finger. One frantic hunt for a sitter, and a quick trip to the ER & he is now the proud owner of his first ever stitches. Four in total that earned him a hand full of stickers from the ER nurse & large strawberry milkshake from me. He was very brave.
Tomorrow our "normal" life resumes. I'm ready for it. Today I've battled allergies and a massive headache along with children in serious need of more structure than I'm willing to give. Husband's feeling lousy as well & I'm hoping it's just a bug & not infection in his hand. I'm keeping a close eye on it & him & if things are the same in the morning, Doc will be getting a New Year's visit from the FarmFamily Patriarch.
Happy stinking New Year.
Oh, and incidentally, I've finally joined the movement that is Pinterest. You can find me here if you like. Let me know if you pin. I'm just getting started & haven't quite got the hang of it. I'd love some ideas & input.
December 19, 2011
Email for the strong of stomach (Warning: TMI)
#1 Son threw up about an hour ago. Being the good mom I am, I emailed his dad to let him know what he has to look forward to in the morning: #1 Son just puked all over our bathroom...
My darling husband responds: He threw up on your side I hope and not my side of the room or bed:)
Being the loving wife I am, I emailed back a detailed response about the when & wheres of the icky-ness that I will leave entirely to your imagination. I ended it with: You're lucky you're not here.
He responded with: you could of just saved it for me to clean-up. I love doing jobs like that.
Now I'm wondering who hacked my husband's work email.
My darling husband responds: He threw up on your side I hope and not my side of the room or bed:)
Being the loving wife I am, I emailed back a detailed response about the when & wheres of the icky-ness that I will leave entirely to your imagination. I ended it with: You're lucky you're not here.
He responded with: you could of just saved it for me to clean-up. I love doing jobs like that.
Now I'm wondering who hacked my husband's work email.
September 18, 2011
I love the out doors....
So long as it stays out doors. When things that thrive in nature move into my home, I don't deal with it well.
Case & point: The tree frog that decided to vacation in my shower last week.
Husband was getting in the shower one morning after chores when he hollered, "Hey, FarmWife, come see what's in here!" Initially I was a bit hesitant because...well....because my husband can be a little...well...how to put this discreetly?......(Daddy you might want to skip this part-fair warning)....a bit strange when it comes to mating calls (I warned you, Daddy). But my second & nearly as immediate thought was, "Oh no. There's a snake in the bath tub. Please Lord, do not let there be a snake in my bath tub!"
The certainty of a snake in the house stemmed from our earlier adventures last weekend.
As many of you know, our house is surrounded by woods. Husband had to clear out a decent chunk of one of the woods when we put our house in. There were 2 tree stumps left on the west side of our driveway & Uncle E brought over a bunch of flowers & planted them between the stumps. A few years ago, one stump rotted out entirely. The second stump has been moving that way for quite a while now. Last spring, the FarmHands and I found a nest of hatched snake eggs in the base of the still standing stump. There were no snakes in sight & after investigating the empty shells for a few hours, they were promptly forgotten.
Last weekend, I walked past the stump and a flutter in the wind caught my eye. When I got closer I realized it was a snake skin stuck in the rotten wood. I called the FarmHands over to check it out & BabyGirl asked if she could take it to school for their science lab. I got a Ziploc bag & gently freed the skin from the stump. As I was pulling it out I discovered 3 or 4 more full shed skins. We gathered them up, found a few remaining egg shells, and packaged them all to send to school.
That's when I gotstupid brave. With a twig, I poked away some of the rotten wood to see how far gone the stump was. As a large chunk fell away, a small head shot out of the stump at me. I screamed & jumped & laughed all at once (you know the reaction, we've all seen it before). Husband came to the rescue with his shovel (he was on his way to dig out what he could of the stump), scooped the small tree snake up, and tossed it out in the woods. As he continued to demolish the stump, snakes continued to slither out of the bottom of the stump. In all, we "relocated" 4 small snakes and made an entire colony of ants homeless. My theory is that the snakes had been living in the stump off of ants sharing their space.
A few days later Uncle Gick came over & the FarmHands were telling him about the family of snakes when one more slithered out mid skin shed. It shot into a clump of day lilies and Bitsy decided to help it shed it's skin. As she grabbed the tail of the skin, the snake made a break out the front of the clump of greenery & what was left of it's shed.
So after our Week of the Five Snakes, when Husband called to me from the bathroom, I was sure what I was about to find.
I was wrong.
Under the soap holder in my shower, sat a walnut sized, rather terrified tree frog. How he got into the house, much less my shower, we may never know. But what I do know is when I tried to catch him with a paper towel, he jumped out from under the soap dish, landed briefly on my arm (causing another scream, jump, laugh), on to the floor & under the edge of our vanity where Husband cornered & caught him. I tossed him out the side door with a stern warning not to come back in my house no matter how posh he finds my bathroom.
Yes, I love the out of doors. I just don't want to share my living space with it.
Case & point: The tree frog that decided to vacation in my shower last week.
Husband was getting in the shower one morning after chores when he hollered, "Hey, FarmWife, come see what's in here!" Initially I was a bit hesitant because...well....because my husband can be a little...well...how to put this discreetly?......(Daddy you might want to skip this part-fair warning)....a bit strange when it comes to mating calls (I warned you, Daddy). But my second & nearly as immediate thought was, "Oh no. There's a snake in the bath tub. Please Lord, do not let there be a snake in my bath tub!"
The certainty of a snake in the house stemmed from our earlier adventures last weekend.
As many of you know, our house is surrounded by woods. Husband had to clear out a decent chunk of one of the woods when we put our house in. There were 2 tree stumps left on the west side of our driveway & Uncle E brought over a bunch of flowers & planted them between the stumps. A few years ago, one stump rotted out entirely. The second stump has been moving that way for quite a while now. Last spring, the FarmHands and I found a nest of hatched snake eggs in the base of the still standing stump. There were no snakes in sight & after investigating the empty shells for a few hours, they were promptly forgotten.
Last weekend, I walked past the stump and a flutter in the wind caught my eye. When I got closer I realized it was a snake skin stuck in the rotten wood. I called the FarmHands over to check it out & BabyGirl asked if she could take it to school for their science lab. I got a Ziploc bag & gently freed the skin from the stump. As I was pulling it out I discovered 3 or 4 more full shed skins. We gathered them up, found a few remaining egg shells, and packaged them all to send to school.
That's when I got
A few days later Uncle Gick came over & the FarmHands were telling him about the family of snakes when one more slithered out mid skin shed. It shot into a clump of day lilies and Bitsy decided to help it shed it's skin. As she grabbed the tail of the skin, the snake made a break out the front of the clump of greenery & what was left of it's shed.
So after our Week of the Five Snakes, when Husband called to me from the bathroom, I was sure what I was about to find.
I was wrong.
Under the soap holder in my shower, sat a walnut sized, rather terrified tree frog. How he got into the house, much less my shower, we may never know. But what I do know is when I tried to catch him with a paper towel, he jumped out from under the soap dish, landed briefly on my arm (causing another scream, jump, laugh), on to the floor & under the edge of our vanity where Husband cornered & caught him. I tossed him out the side door with a stern warning not to come back in my house no matter how posh he finds my bathroom.
Yes, I love the out of doors. I just don't want to share my living space with it.
September 28, 2010
And now for something completely different.
OK, not really. Actually I do this fairly often....or did this very often & am trying to get back in the habit. Enough rambling. It's time for FarmWife to answer your most pressing queries.
Vic (who asked for another installment of Ask FarmWife Day) sent me her question on FaceBook. Is there a certain age young girls should shave their legs? Is their a magic number or just when you need it. Do little girls even care?
Ahhh, growing up. It's tricky. I'm constantly asking myself these kinds of questions. When I found out my oldest niece was starting to shave I was shocked. She seemed really young to me...until I thought back to how old I was when I took up a razor. She was going into seventh grade (I think) so that would make her 12 years old. To me just seeing the number 12 means you should still be playing Barbies & dress up & riding bikes & watching Disney cartoons. But such is not the case.
I was in sixth or seventh grade the first time I snuck out my mom's razor & took a swipe down my shin. That's it. Just one pass of the razor about 6 inches long right down the middle of my shin. Then I panicked and put it away. A day or two later, QM noticed the bald spot on my leg & decided it was time to get me my own razor & shaving gel before I made a mess of things.
Being a brunette, my leg hair was pretty obvious even before it started growing as puberty set in. In middle school we had to change into shorts for gym class. That's when I started getting a little self conscious about it. It's about the only category in which I was not a late bloomer.
I'm hoping my girls won't get on the bandwagon too soon. I don't think there's a magic number but I do think girls pay more attention to that kind of stuff than we think they do. My biggest hope in that area is that my girls will broach the subject with me before they take it up with Lady Bic....but I'm also hoping they'll wait until they're at least out of grade school. I don't want them growing up & feeling that kind of pressure too soon.
Next, Penny asks about my meal planning & canning. Do you plan menus for your week? Since you have 4 kids and a hubby who works a not normal daily schedule...how do you plan meals? I know Kork does lots of canning and preserving, do you?
I would love to say that I plan out our weekly menu before ever leaving for the grocery. But sadly that is not normally the case. I try to have an idea of what I want to cook for the week, but I often find myself at the grocery with 1/4 of a list & no clue what I need. I try to plan for at least one major meal every day all week long & the rest is left overs or small stuff.
I can tell you that our "big meal" of the day is lunch. With Husband working nights & the kids gone, I normally make a full meal at lunch time so he can have enough to eat before he leaves & left overs to take with him. At dinner time the kids & I eat smaller, simpler meals. Often sandwiches or mac & cheese or even breakfast for dinner (that's their favorite).
As for canning & preserving, I really love to do that but haven't had a good run with our garden the past 2 years. In fact, I didn't put anything up this year. We only had enough corn to eat with a few meals & my green beans withered & died without producing enough to fool with. There's nothing I love more than to look in my freezer & see bags & bags of corn that we grew & put up...but lately that hasn't worked for us.
I hope I've helped & haven't rambled on too much. And now for something really & truly different...and if you're weak of stomach or cannot handle the thought of blood, you might want to stop reading right now.
Last night I shut the back door over top of my big toe. To say it did not feel good would be an understatement. When it happened I felt something give way. I looked down in horror thinking I'd ripped the skin off my toe or broken it. Instead everything looked normal...except for the blood seeping out from around three sides of my toe nail. That's when I realized I had just ripped off my toe nail. This entire though process took about 3/4 of a second. The reason it took that long is because the nail didn't actually come off...it just detached from the nail bed entirely.
I hobbled into the bathroom where the 3 youngest were supposed to be bathing, wrapped my toe in a cold wet cloth & called Busha. I was pretty sure there was little to be done about it, but though I should ask someone, anyone, and try to fend off going into shock by talking to a grown up.
Busha told me she didn't think they'd do anything at the ER if I went & asked if I needed her to come over. I told her no & realized I should have called Rachie since she's an RN & might know something about it. Busha thought that was a good idea. I called Rachie & told her what was up & she gave me her expert medical opinion.
If I could get the nail off, that would be the best thing. Then clean it, put on some triple antibiotic ointment & ice it down. I was OK with everything but the clipping. That though made my stomach roll. After a few minutes I realized there wasn't much feeling left in my toe & that might be the best time to tackle a nail removal.
15 minutes later I was down to about 1/4 inch of toe nail left just at the base. It's not actually attached but I couldn't get it cut down that far. I smeared some Neosporin on some gauze, wrapped it up, and spent the rest of the night with my foot elevated & my toe on ice. At bedtime I took a vicodin left over from having my wisdom teeth taken out.
That helped until Bitsy decided she was done sleeping at 2:30 this morning. That's when we headed to the living room to sleep on the couches & that's also when the nausea hit like a freight train. I spent the next 30 minutes hugging the porcelain god & praying to the Real One that I could just vomit or fall asleep (which I'm pretty sure I did a few times while hanging my head over the toilet bowl...that's a rather precarious position to be in).
This morning my toe is very tender & walking is a bit of a task. The thought of putting on shoes makes me sick to my stomach (as does the thought of vicodin). This could be a long couple of months before my nail grows back. Bitsy is sporting matching gauze on her index & middle fingers of her left hand. She has sucked them so much she's broken down the skin. They're a mess. I've greased her up with Aquaphor & put on a mitten or sock, but that doesn't last long. So I've moved on to Neosporin & gauze taped on. I'm hoping they'll heal & she'll give up the finger sucking.
This week can end now.
Vic (who asked for another installment of Ask FarmWife Day) sent me her question on FaceBook. Is there a certain age young girls should shave their legs? Is their a magic number or just when you need it. Do little girls even care?
Ahhh, growing up. It's tricky. I'm constantly asking myself these kinds of questions. When I found out my oldest niece was starting to shave I was shocked. She seemed really young to me...until I thought back to how old I was when I took up a razor. She was going into seventh grade (I think) so that would make her 12 years old. To me just seeing the number 12 means you should still be playing Barbies & dress up & riding bikes & watching Disney cartoons. But such is not the case.
I was in sixth or seventh grade the first time I snuck out my mom's razor & took a swipe down my shin. That's it. Just one pass of the razor about 6 inches long right down the middle of my shin. Then I panicked and put it away. A day or two later, QM noticed the bald spot on my leg & decided it was time to get me my own razor & shaving gel before I made a mess of things.
Being a brunette, my leg hair was pretty obvious even before it started growing as puberty set in. In middle school we had to change into shorts for gym class. That's when I started getting a little self conscious about it. It's about the only category in which I was not a late bloomer.
I'm hoping my girls won't get on the bandwagon too soon. I don't think there's a magic number but I do think girls pay more attention to that kind of stuff than we think they do. My biggest hope in that area is that my girls will broach the subject with me before they take it up with Lady Bic....but I'm also hoping they'll wait until they're at least out of grade school. I don't want them growing up & feeling that kind of pressure too soon.
Next, Penny asks about my meal planning & canning. Do you plan menus for your week? Since you have 4 kids and a hubby who works a not normal daily schedule...how do you plan meals? I know Kork does lots of canning and preserving, do you?
I would love to say that I plan out our weekly menu before ever leaving for the grocery. But sadly that is not normally the case. I try to have an idea of what I want to cook for the week, but I often find myself at the grocery with 1/4 of a list & no clue what I need. I try to plan for at least one major meal every day all week long & the rest is left overs or small stuff.
I can tell you that our "big meal" of the day is lunch. With Husband working nights & the kids gone, I normally make a full meal at lunch time so he can have enough to eat before he leaves & left overs to take with him. At dinner time the kids & I eat smaller, simpler meals. Often sandwiches or mac & cheese or even breakfast for dinner (that's their favorite).
As for canning & preserving, I really love to do that but haven't had a good run with our garden the past 2 years. In fact, I didn't put anything up this year. We only had enough corn to eat with a few meals & my green beans withered & died without producing enough to fool with. There's nothing I love more than to look in my freezer & see bags & bags of corn that we grew & put up...but lately that hasn't worked for us.
I hope I've helped & haven't rambled on too much. And now for something really & truly different...and if you're weak of stomach or cannot handle the thought of blood, you might want to stop reading right now.
Last night I shut the back door over top of my big toe. To say it did not feel good would be an understatement. When it happened I felt something give way. I looked down in horror thinking I'd ripped the skin off my toe or broken it. Instead everything looked normal...except for the blood seeping out from around three sides of my toe nail. That's when I realized I had just ripped off my toe nail. This entire though process took about 3/4 of a second. The reason it took that long is because the nail didn't actually come off...it just detached from the nail bed entirely.
I hobbled into the bathroom where the 3 youngest were supposed to be bathing, wrapped my toe in a cold wet cloth & called Busha. I was pretty sure there was little to be done about it, but though I should ask someone, anyone, and try to fend off going into shock by talking to a grown up.
Busha told me she didn't think they'd do anything at the ER if I went & asked if I needed her to come over. I told her no & realized I should have called Rachie since she's an RN & might know something about it. Busha thought that was a good idea. I called Rachie & told her what was up & she gave me her expert medical opinion.
If I could get the nail off, that would be the best thing. Then clean it, put on some triple antibiotic ointment & ice it down. I was OK with everything but the clipping. That though made my stomach roll. After a few minutes I realized there wasn't much feeling left in my toe & that might be the best time to tackle a nail removal.
15 minutes later I was down to about 1/4 inch of toe nail left just at the base. It's not actually attached but I couldn't get it cut down that far. I smeared some Neosporin on some gauze, wrapped it up, and spent the rest of the night with my foot elevated & my toe on ice. At bedtime I took a vicodin left over from having my wisdom teeth taken out.
That helped until Bitsy decided she was done sleeping at 2:30 this morning. That's when we headed to the living room to sleep on the couches & that's also when the nausea hit like a freight train. I spent the next 30 minutes hugging the porcelain god & praying to the Real One that I could just vomit or fall asleep (which I'm pretty sure I did a few times while hanging my head over the toilet bowl...that's a rather precarious position to be in).
This morning my toe is very tender & walking is a bit of a task. The thought of putting on shoes makes me sick to my stomach (as does the thought of vicodin). This could be a long couple of months before my nail grows back. Bitsy is sporting matching gauze on her index & middle fingers of her left hand. She has sucked them so much she's broken down the skin. They're a mess. I've greased her up with Aquaphor & put on a mitten or sock, but that doesn't last long. So I've moved on to Neosporin & gauze taped on. I'm hoping they'll heal & she'll give up the finger sucking.
This week can end now.
August 23, 2010
As FarmWife takes yet another important political stance.
"So, what's in the news today that FarmWife is going to get up in arms about?" you may be asking yourself. Boobs. Yup. You've got it. Ta-tas. Knockers. Pick your white-trash slang. They're every where this week...except where they should be.
First of all, there is a major scandal over the Miss Universe Pageant going topless in some new publicity shots (sorry, y'all, no links here). The young ladies are in different stages of undress ranging from bikini tops & bottoms & body paint to just bottoms & body paint. Folks are up in arms about this one. It is a travesty that such an upstanding organization should stoop so low.
Yes, we all know that everything Donald Trump is involved with just reeks of moral fiber. His Miss USA pageant has become the slutty little sister of the Miss America pageant...and we're all surprised by this why? You put a paragon of virtue like the Donald in charge of a group of women vying for "Scholarship money" in their skivvies, toss in a sex crazed media, and quite a few cultures that have no problem with nudity and see where it leads.
Secondly this weekend found protesters on Venice Beach fighting for the rights of women nationwide to "Free your breasts. Free your mind." Yup, topless protesters marching against the inequality of topless laws in the U.S. If men can go shirtless, women should be allowed the same freedom, right?
I have a funny feeling this movement started in the rec room of a frat house. The Alpha Delta Nu brothers were sitting around taking hits of their bongs (both beer &.....not beer) when Brother Jake said, "Dude. I just thought of the most awesome thing ever. If chicks could hang out the campus green topless we could save so much money! We could cancel our subscriptions to Playboy. We could quit hanging out at Miss Kitty's Gentleman's Club and spending all our money on D.D. Kentucky* and her friends." And once they sobered up enough to spell correctly, they made picket signs & started marching.
I'm not sure they really thought this through. Sure, you might end up with one or two topless Carmen Electras roaming randomly around town, but you're much more likely to end up with a rabid pack of topless Roseanne Barrs hanging out at the local play ground.
To be honest, most men you see shirtless are less Taylor-Lautner-in-New-Moon and more My-Fat-Hairy-Uncle-Henry-riding-his-bicycle-to-the-liquor-store-in-105-degree-weather. Personally, I'd rather we all just keep our tops on. As I tell the FarmHands, lets keep our privates private no matter what our gender or political views.
If you really want to get behind a movement with the word "Breast" in the title, how about try something like "Support a Woman's Right to Breastfeed." You'll look much less pervy & won't be ashamed of your past political actions when you're 80.
*If you're wondering about the name of my fictional stripper, you can get a stripper name of your very own with this simple equation: name of your first pet + street you lived on as a child = stripper name.
First of all, there is a major scandal over the Miss Universe Pageant going topless in some new publicity shots (sorry, y'all, no links here). The young ladies are in different stages of undress ranging from bikini tops & bottoms & body paint to just bottoms & body paint. Folks are up in arms about this one. It is a travesty that such an upstanding organization should stoop so low.
Yes, we all know that everything Donald Trump is involved with just reeks of moral fiber. His Miss USA pageant has become the slutty little sister of the Miss America pageant...and we're all surprised by this why? You put a paragon of virtue like the Donald in charge of a group of women vying for "Scholarship money" in their skivvies, toss in a sex crazed media, and quite a few cultures that have no problem with nudity and see where it leads.
Secondly this weekend found protesters on Venice Beach fighting for the rights of women nationwide to "Free your breasts. Free your mind." Yup, topless protesters marching against the inequality of topless laws in the U.S. If men can go shirtless, women should be allowed the same freedom, right?
I have a funny feeling this movement started in the rec room of a frat house. The Alpha Delta Nu brothers were sitting around taking hits of their bongs (both beer &.....not beer) when Brother Jake said, "Dude. I just thought of the most awesome thing ever. If chicks could hang out the campus green topless we could save so much money! We could cancel our subscriptions to Playboy. We could quit hanging out at Miss Kitty's Gentleman's Club and spending all our money on D.D. Kentucky* and her friends." And once they sobered up enough to spell correctly, they made picket signs & started marching.
I'm not sure they really thought this through. Sure, you might end up with one or two topless Carmen Electras roaming randomly around town, but you're much more likely to end up with a rabid pack of topless Roseanne Barrs hanging out at the local play ground.
To be honest, most men you see shirtless are less Taylor-Lautner-in-New-Moon and more My-Fat-Hairy-Uncle-Henry-riding-his-bicycle-to-the-liquor-store-in-105-degree-weather. Personally, I'd rather we all just keep our tops on. As I tell the FarmHands, lets keep our privates private no matter what our gender or political views.
If you really want to get behind a movement with the word "Breast" in the title, how about try something like "Support a Woman's Right to Breastfeed." You'll look much less pervy & won't be ashamed of your past political actions when you're 80.
*If you're wondering about the name of my fictional stripper, you can get a stripper name of your very own with this simple equation: name of your first pet + street you lived on as a child = stripper name.
June 14, 2010
The Shed
Husband bought BabyGirl & #1 Son sheep a year & a half ago. Husband feeds them. Husband cares for them. Husband shears them. For some reason, that's when I'm forced to take over. I was in charge of getting rid of the wool.
BabyGirl's third grade teacher's husband raises sheep, shears them, and sells wool. So I spent three days trying to track down their phone number. In the days of cell phone only families, that's easier said than done.
I finally made contact & arranged to deliver the wool (some of which was left over from the spring shearing in 2009). I was OK with that until it came time to deliver it. Husband had already left for work and I had to load the bags up myself. That wasn't really a big deal either.
So what was the big deal that needed to be blogged about, you might be asking? The Shed. I had to go into Husband's domain. I do not like The Shed. The Shed is dirty. The Shed is full of bugs. The Shed is home to the carcasses of dead arachnids. The Shed is not a lovely place to be.
Husband built The Shed about 6 years ago to house my hens. Yes, it's first life was that of a chicken coop. Since then it has housed lawn mowers, baby chicks, cats with their kittens, guinea pigs, rabbits, bikes, and Great Dane puppies. Now, it mostly houses wood roaches.
Husband keeps his tools in it. The FarmHands' sled is tucked away in there. All of my gardening implements live there. Fishing poles line the walls, and chicken feed is stacked on pallets on the dirt floor.
I try to avoid The Shed when at all possible. The cobwebs look like they belong in an Indiana Jones movie. I fear there may be things living under the piles that could chew through the steal shanked toes of my work boots. It's just.....ewwwww.
But I pulled up my Farm Girl panties and dealt with it. I dug through the bug droppings, spider shells, and other icky stuff to get to the wool and the giant Rubbermaid tub I was using to protect my van from the ick. (For those of you who think, "Oh, sheep! How sweet. They're just white, woolly, walking clouds," have obviously not spent much time around sheep. They're dirty, smelly, and the "lovely white fluffy wool" is dirty and greasy with lanolin.)
Once I was done I nearly spiraled into OCD. I was tempted to spend a few hours in the shower armed with a gallon of Clorox and a box of Brillo pads....but instead, I washed my hands and got on with my day.
Now aren't you proud of me? I am.
BabyGirl's third grade teacher's husband raises sheep, shears them, and sells wool. So I spent three days trying to track down their phone number. In the days of cell phone only families, that's easier said than done.
I finally made contact & arranged to deliver the wool (some of which was left over from the spring shearing in 2009). I was OK with that until it came time to deliver it. Husband had already left for work and I had to load the bags up myself. That wasn't really a big deal either.
So what was the big deal that needed to be blogged about, you might be asking? The Shed. I had to go into Husband's domain. I do not like The Shed. The Shed is dirty. The Shed is full of bugs. The Shed is home to the carcasses of dead arachnids. The Shed is not a lovely place to be.
Husband built The Shed about 6 years ago to house my hens. Yes, it's first life was that of a chicken coop. Since then it has housed lawn mowers, baby chicks, cats with their kittens, guinea pigs, rabbits, bikes, and Great Dane puppies. Now, it mostly houses wood roaches.
Husband keeps his tools in it. The FarmHands' sled is tucked away in there. All of my gardening implements live there. Fishing poles line the walls, and chicken feed is stacked on pallets on the dirt floor.
I try to avoid The Shed when at all possible. The cobwebs look like they belong in an Indiana Jones movie. I fear there may be things living under the piles that could chew through the steal shanked toes of my work boots. It's just.....ewwwww.
But I pulled up my Farm Girl panties and dealt with it. I dug through the bug droppings, spider shells, and other icky stuff to get to the wool and the giant Rubbermaid tub I was using to protect my van from the ick. (For those of you who think, "Oh, sheep! How sweet. They're just white, woolly, walking clouds," have obviously not spent much time around sheep. They're dirty, smelly, and the "lovely white fluffy wool" is dirty and greasy with lanolin.)
Once I was done I nearly spiraled into OCD. I was tempted to spend a few hours in the shower armed with a gallon of Clorox and a box of Brillo pads....but instead, I washed my hands and got on with my day.
Now aren't you proud of me? I am.
January 10, 2010
Who needs an abattoir when you have a FarmBoy?
When Husband & I first married, I told him I would only cook meat that came from the grocery safely wrapped in plastic on a neat Styrofoam tray.
That didn't last long.
The next fall, he shot a deer & brought it home to process. To say I was freaked out is an understatement. A 13 gallon trash bag full of deer carcass dumped out in your kitchen sink is not an easy thing for a newly married city girl to wrap her head around. But eventually I hiked up my big girl panties and wrapped butcher paper around it.
11 years later I think nothing of a kitchen full of raw meat. I've even packaged rabbits that were still twitching. That whole "chicken with it's head cut off" thing is not a joke. They go nuts. I have no problem eating pork chops that were walking around our back yard last month & answering to the name "Oreo."
For our anniversary, my lovely, romantic, kind, thoughtful husband bought me a meat grinder. I can't say that went over well. If I'd have gotten him one, that would be a different story. Our big Black Friday purchase this year was a professional food slicer (like the kind they use in the deli). I picked up a vacuum sealing system this year as well. I told Husband he needs to build me a butcher shop in the back yard.
Today we made our first batch of sausage. I can't tell you how it tastes because we haven't tried any yet...but it was kind of fun to make. And of course, by fun I mean messy, greasy, loud, and gross. As Husband pushed the ground meat & seasoning through the food grinder & I filled the bags, we yelled back & forth over the noise of the machine. I told him if it wasn't for the ickyness, hard work, and roar of the grinder, it was almost like quality time.
We really need a date night.
That didn't last long.
The next fall, he shot a deer & brought it home to process. To say I was freaked out is an understatement. A 13 gallon trash bag full of deer carcass dumped out in your kitchen sink is not an easy thing for a newly married city girl to wrap her head around. But eventually I hiked up my big girl panties and wrapped butcher paper around it.
11 years later I think nothing of a kitchen full of raw meat. I've even packaged rabbits that were still twitching. That whole "chicken with it's head cut off" thing is not a joke. They go nuts. I have no problem eating pork chops that were walking around our back yard last month & answering to the name "Oreo."
For our anniversary, my lovely, romantic, kind, thoughtful husband bought me a meat grinder. I can't say that went over well. If I'd have gotten him one, that would be a different story. Our big Black Friday purchase this year was a professional food slicer (like the kind they use in the deli). I picked up a vacuum sealing system this year as well. I told Husband he needs to build me a butcher shop in the back yard.
Today we made our first batch of sausage. I can't tell you how it tastes because we haven't tried any yet...but it was kind of fun to make. And of course, by fun I mean messy, greasy, loud, and gross. As Husband pushed the ground meat & seasoning through the food grinder & I filled the bags, we yelled back & forth over the noise of the machine. I told him if it wasn't for the ickyness, hard work, and roar of the grinder, it was almost like quality time.
We really need a date night.
March 2, 2009
I have long suspected
Saturday, during the mammoth bed moving adventure, I was fully convinced of something I've suspected for a long time. My daughter is a pack rat of the highest degree. She's like one of those people on the BBC's How Clean is Your House? with a house packed to the gills with newspapers & bread ties & cat litter. I've tried cleaning out her room a few times, but she's so insistent that things are "special" that it's hard to toss anything without her melting down about it.
Husband pulled out her big mattress & box springs & started to break down the bed frame while I tackled the mess that was living under her bed. There were Barbie shoes & odd bits from her tea set that have been missing for months. There were old sneakers & empty shoe boxes. There were hair barrettes & seed bead bracelets. And there was no less than 2 cups of dust accumulated in the carpet.
Normally I would have her come in & put things away where she wants them to live, but Saturday I did not have the patience to keep 2 year old Kleenex boxes because Miley Cyrus happens to be printed on the side. I started tossing. An old clock radio that doesn't work any more. A fifty cent wicker basket from last Easter that BabyGirl rescued from the trash when I threw it out 3 weeks ago. A Hannah Montana dish set box with the front plastic torn out. An empty shoe box with a smashed lid. An old decorative box that's been smushed beyond repair. Coloring books that have been half filled out & badly water damaged. Shoes with no mates. Unraveled hair ribbons. This list could go on & on....I filled an entire trash can with "special" stuff from my daughter's room. I had to sneak it out the back door when she was busy playing on the new bunk beds & am hoping she doesn't notice what's missing (I don't see how she could, but #1 Son once asked to play with a Spongebob toy I'd given away 18 months prior that he'd never played with in the first place).
With Bitsy officially sharing a room with her big sister, I'm hoping the clutter will stay to a minimum. BabyGirl cannot keep every piece of odd pea gravel she stumbles upon. She has plastic totes to keep her Barbies, My Little Pony's, Strawberry Shortcakes dolls, and odd little things every kid has. Now I have to convince her that if the "special" item does not fit in one of these boxes, it cannot stay. The threat of Bitsy demolishing things is enough to keep them picked up...at least thus far.
Next time we have to clean out her room, I'm calling Kim & Aggie.
Husband pulled out her big mattress & box springs & started to break down the bed frame while I tackled the mess that was living under her bed. There were Barbie shoes & odd bits from her tea set that have been missing for months. There were old sneakers & empty shoe boxes. There were hair barrettes & seed bead bracelets. And there was no less than 2 cups of dust accumulated in the carpet.
Normally I would have her come in & put things away where she wants them to live, but Saturday I did not have the patience to keep 2 year old Kleenex boxes because Miley Cyrus happens to be printed on the side. I started tossing. An old clock radio that doesn't work any more. A fifty cent wicker basket from last Easter that BabyGirl rescued from the trash when I threw it out 3 weeks ago. A Hannah Montana dish set box with the front plastic torn out. An empty shoe box with a smashed lid. An old decorative box that's been smushed beyond repair. Coloring books that have been half filled out & badly water damaged. Shoes with no mates. Unraveled hair ribbons. This list could go on & on....I filled an entire trash can with "special" stuff from my daughter's room. I had to sneak it out the back door when she was busy playing on the new bunk beds & am hoping she doesn't notice what's missing (I don't see how she could, but #1 Son once asked to play with a Spongebob toy I'd given away 18 months prior that he'd never played with in the first place).
With Bitsy officially sharing a room with her big sister, I'm hoping the clutter will stay to a minimum. BabyGirl cannot keep every piece of odd pea gravel she stumbles upon. She has plastic totes to keep her Barbies, My Little Pony's, Strawberry Shortcakes dolls, and odd little things every kid has. Now I have to convince her that if the "special" item does not fit in one of these boxes, it cannot stay. The threat of Bitsy demolishing things is enough to keep them picked up...at least thus far.
Next time we have to clean out her room, I'm calling Kim & Aggie.
November 8, 2008
So...do you? (TMI & a Meme)
Frank Warren is the man behind the Post Secret web site. I saw him interviewed about a year ago & he said the most common secret he receives in the mail, hands down, is, "I pee in the shower." I thought it was hysterical.
My husband cannot abide this practice. When we were first married he told me the one rule he gave his older brother when Big BIL moved in with him. No peeing in the shower. Ever. I didn't think much of it except that he was so adamant about it.
A few months ago this discussion came up at some social event comprised mainly of his family. Why we were talking about peeing in the shower is beyond me, but Big BIL made a comment about Husband's rule. A cousin was gobsmacked. "But everybody pees in the shower! That's so weird." I laughed & Husband's head snapped around & looked at me. "You don't, do you?!" I said it didn't really matter since I only shower in the master bath & he only showers in the kids' bathroom...but then I admitted to doing it when absolutely necessary...like when I'm 9 months pregnant & my bladder is doing weird things or shortly after my c-sections when I couldn't tell when I had to pee until it was nearly too late. It's not a regular practice.
But it did get me thinking. Is my husband really odd in his thinking? Am I a total freak for my feelings on it? SO, I'm putting a poll in my side bar. I really don't expect you to comment on this & reveal your shower peeing preferences in public, but clicking the poll is completely anonymous. Please, click for me!
For those of you unconcerned with my peeing habits, I've borrowed a meme from Lori.
1. Where is your cell phone? In the junk drawer in the kitchen
2. Where is your significant other? Still asleep
3. Your hair color? Brown
4. Your mother? The Queen Mother (all hail the Queen Mother) lives entirely too far away from me.
5. Your father? Will still be my "Daddy" even when I'm 80.
6. Your favorite thing? Movies...at least today.
7. Your dream last night? Oddly enough, I can't remember
8. Your dream/goal? I think I might like to own my own business someday. When the kids are older.
9. The room you are in? The wigga room as my kids call it (that's baby talk for living room & they've all called it that at some point)
10. Your hobby? Blogging!
11. Your fear? Snow & Ice
12. Where do you want to be in six years? A more active member of our community (again, the kids will be older)
13. Where were you last night? Parent teacher conference, Bucka & Busha's, and Uncle E's house 14. What you're not? Disciplined
15. One of your wish list items? An apple green Kitchen Aid Mixer
16. Where you grew up? Central Illinois & Middle Tennessee
17. The last thing you did? Put a band-aid on B.B.'s toe & wiped Bitsy's nose.
18. What are you wearing? Old blue flannel jammies.
19. Your T.V.? Old-style (not flat) 19 inch RCA. And it's the only one we have.
20. Your pet? Lilly May, Andrew, Bonpas, Aurora, Luke (all dogs), about 12 cats, 3 sheep, 2 goats, a duck named Lucy that won't quit pooping on my steps, one cow, one horse, and a few rabbits running loose in the yard.
21. Your computer? eMachines T3604 Desktop from QM & Daddy
22. Your mood? Apathetic
23. Missing someone? My nephew HT....oh, and his mom too, I guess. :)
24. Your car? Mammy my 2004 Black Cherry Chevy Astro
25. Something you're not wearing? a Sombrero
26. Favorite store? Target (how I wish we had one near)
27. Your Summer? Was too long ago.
28. Love someone? Yes...lots of someones in all shapes & sizes
29. Your favorite color? Green, Blue, Purple
30. When is the last time you laughed? Last night at Uncle E's house talking to Uncle E, Aunt C, Aunt CB, Breezie, 'Livi, and NM.
31. Last time you cried? Does teary count? I almost cried yesterday while listening to the country station.
My husband cannot abide this practice. When we were first married he told me the one rule he gave his older brother when Big BIL moved in with him. No peeing in the shower. Ever. I didn't think much of it except that he was so adamant about it.
A few months ago this discussion came up at some social event comprised mainly of his family. Why we were talking about peeing in the shower is beyond me, but Big BIL made a comment about Husband's rule. A cousin was gobsmacked. "But everybody pees in the shower! That's so weird." I laughed & Husband's head snapped around & looked at me. "You don't, do you?!" I said it didn't really matter since I only shower in the master bath & he only showers in the kids' bathroom...but then I admitted to doing it when absolutely necessary...like when I'm 9 months pregnant & my bladder is doing weird things or shortly after my c-sections when I couldn't tell when I had to pee until it was nearly too late. It's not a regular practice.
But it did get me thinking. Is my husband really odd in his thinking? Am I a total freak for my feelings on it? SO, I'm putting a poll in my side bar. I really don't expect you to comment on this & reveal your shower peeing preferences in public, but clicking the poll is completely anonymous. Please, click for me!
For those of you unconcerned with my peeing habits, I've borrowed a meme from Lori.
1. Where is your cell phone? In the junk drawer in the kitchen
2. Where is your significant other? Still asleep
3. Your hair color? Brown
4. Your mother? The Queen Mother (all hail the Queen Mother) lives entirely too far away from me.
5. Your father? Will still be my "Daddy" even when I'm 80.
6. Your favorite thing? Movies...at least today.
7. Your dream last night? Oddly enough, I can't remember
8. Your dream/goal? I think I might like to own my own business someday. When the kids are older.
9. The room you are in? The wigga room as my kids call it (that's baby talk for living room & they've all called it that at some point)
10. Your hobby? Blogging!
11. Your fear? Snow & Ice
12. Where do you want to be in six years? A more active member of our community (again, the kids will be older)
13. Where were you last night? Parent teacher conference, Bucka & Busha's, and Uncle E's house 14. What you're not? Disciplined
15. One of your wish list items? An apple green Kitchen Aid Mixer
16. Where you grew up? Central Illinois & Middle Tennessee
17. The last thing you did? Put a band-aid on B.B.'s toe & wiped Bitsy's nose.
18. What are you wearing? Old blue flannel jammies.
19. Your T.V.? Old-style (not flat) 19 inch RCA. And it's the only one we have.
20. Your pet? Lilly May, Andrew, Bonpas, Aurora, Luke (all dogs), about 12 cats, 3 sheep, 2 goats, a duck named Lucy that won't quit pooping on my steps, one cow, one horse, and a few rabbits running loose in the yard.
21. Your computer? eMachines T3604 Desktop from QM & Daddy
22. Your mood? Apathetic
23. Missing someone? My nephew HT....oh, and his mom too, I guess. :)
24. Your car? Mammy my 2004 Black Cherry Chevy Astro
25. Something you're not wearing? a Sombrero
26. Favorite store? Target (how I wish we had one near)
27. Your Summer? Was too long ago.
28. Love someone? Yes...lots of someones in all shapes & sizes
29. Your favorite color? Green, Blue, Purple
30. When is the last time you laughed? Last night at Uncle E's house talking to Uncle E, Aunt C, Aunt CB, Breezie, 'Livi, and NM.
31. Last time you cried? Does teary count? I almost cried yesterday while listening to the country station.
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