Why Alanis Doesn't Suck No Matter What Art May Tell You

Here's the story. Art and I were living in a tiny (400 square feet, maybe?) apartment stuck to the back of her parents' basement. It was 1995 and we were 19 year old girls. That means we were required by law to listen to women whine to an instrumental accompaniment. While there were many such CDs to choose from I was inexplicably drawn to Alanis Morrisette's Jagged Little Pill. I played it all the time. All. The. Time. 3 am? Sure. 7 am? Sure. 10:30 pm? Sure. While Art was sleeping in the adjoining room? Sure. I was all about Jagged Little Pill.

Art took a bit of a different path and put Pearl Jam's Nothing Man on repeat for a full month. It was sandwiched between long bouts of Counting Crows August and Everything After. Neither one of which I mind listening to now. But for some reason Art has a deeply ingrained aversion to Alanis's brand of whine.

Flash forward a few years and I was newly entrenched in Southern Illinois and dating a FarmBoy.  I was a bit of a mess. My previous relationship had left me pretty seriously damaged. FarmBoy was ridiculously patient with me. I tried to keep my distance and put up some pretty tall walls. Luckily he's a good climber. I'd push and he'd let me. I'd keep him at arms length and he'd stay there until I wasn't looking. Then he'd scoot a little closer. He was very clear about his feelings very early on. I was ambiguous for months. He was kind. He was steadfast. He didn't give up and wasn't easily dissuaded by the hot mess I was.

 I had pretty deep feelings for him but wasn't willing or able to state them on my own so I turned to music. Oh, how I miss the days of the mix-tape.  The one I made FarmBoy was called "The Yucky Love Stuff." I'm pretty sure it still lives in a kitchen cabinet somewhere around here. The first song on it was Alanis's Head Over Feet.

I had no choice but to hear you
You stated your case time and again
I thought about it

You treat me like I'm a princess
I'm not used to liking that
You ask how my day was

Your love is thick and it swallowed me whole
You're so much braver than I gave you credit for
That's not lip service

You are the bearer of unconditional things
You held your breath and the door for me
Thanks for your patience

You're the best listener that I've ever met
You're my best friend
Best friend with benefits
What took me so long

I've never felt this healthy before
I've never wanted something rational
I am aware now
I am aware now

You've already won me over in spite of me
And don't be alarmed if I fall head over feet
Don't be surprised if I love you for all that you are
I couldn't help it
It's all your fault

That pretty well summed up what was going on with us, especially that line in red. It became "our song" almost instantly. 

And that is why Alanis doesn't suck no matter what Art may say.

Updated: It has been pointed out to me that Art has a completely legitimate reason to hate this song. I will not share the reason but I will say that she is fully in her rights to detest this song and were I here I would also hate it. But I am not her so I still love it in spite of a particularly crappy circumstance. 

They don't pay me enough for this.

As you may recall this blog once went by the title Confessions of a City Gal.  It was the documentation of my slow but sure progression from a dyed in the wool city girl to a down the dirt road farm wife.  I'm pretty sure my header read something like, "One chicken, goat, casserole, and stomach bug at a time."  Well, today I have achieved a FarmWife necessity.  I learned to drive a tractor.  Not at all by choice, let  me tell you.

My neck, still sore from my free fall out into nothing snow, needed some TLC this afternoon.  As Husband readied himself for work, I readied myself for R&R.  Advil, a warm buckwheat stuffed heart, blankets, and Lord of the Rings on DVD were all gathered as I hunkered down on the couch hoping to catch a few naps.  Husband kissed us all goodbye and headed out into the snow with my cell phone in hand.  10 minutes later the phone rang.  Husband's van was stuck in the snow a little over a mile down the road.

He tromped up to a neighbor's house to call his folks.  His dad had already left for work meaning there was no one to help pull him out.  He headed down the road towards our house only to be picked up by a guy in a truck who dropped him off at our drive.  He came in, changed into coveralls, and told me to pack the kids up.  We were going to rescue the van.

After dropping the kids off at his mom's we headed to the barn to start up the tractor. The tractor had other ideas.  Ideas like sitting in the cold barn and not going anywhere.  Husband grabbed the starter fluid and showed me where to spray it.  Unfortunately it was empty.  We tromped through the snow to the old barn to get another can of starter fluid from the new tractor.  Then back to the new barn and the old tractor and tried again to no avail.  Back to the old barn and new tractor only to discover Husband has no idea how the new tractor works and it's battery is dead and hasn't been hooked up to the charger as FIL had told Husband it had.  Back to the old barn with the battery charger in tow.  30 minutes into the adventure he finally got a tractor started.

That's when the fun began.  You see, FIL's old tractor is a 1970's Deutz open cab tractor.  Open cab.  As in  a seat totally exposed to the elements.  And seat as in one seat.  Not two.  It was 32 degrees outside so I knew I was in for a cold mile jaunt down the road. Much like driving a convertible in the snow.  A convertible with only one seat and no doors.  A convertible that smells like cow pies and diesel fumes.  What I didn't know was that Husband thought the best way for me to ride behind him was by standing on the hitch tongue on the back of the tractor.  It's a metal piece about a foot long and about 6 inches wide.  It also moves somewhat freely.  "Stand here, put your other foot on this bar to steady yourself, and hold on to the seat back," he tells me.  "Try not to hit any bumps," I replied realizing I was basically surfing behind a giant piece of machinery down a road covered in snow, ice, and mud.  I do not surf. In fact, I have the balance and physical grace of a new born giraffe.

Husband thought I'd be warmer behind him than perched up on one of the fenders.  He may have been right, but I only know I will never ever ever be persuaded to stand on the hitch of a tractor again.  I don't care if that's the only way to avoid a herd of hungry zombies.  I'll take my chances with the undead.  I have never been so scared in my entire life.  I'm pretty sure I cried a full quarter mile of the trip back to the old van.  It was unsteady, exposed, and so cold I couldn't feel my fingers to be sure I was still holding on to the seat properly as we jostled down a rutted, potholed road not visited by a road grader in far too long. When we had to turn around on a lease road and back the tractor toward the van, I flat refused to go another inch clutching to the back of that beast.  Instead I walked/jogged the 1/4 mile from the lease road to our van.

By that time another man with a back hoe was by the van.  He helped Husband hook up the chain and pull it back off the snow bank he'd pulled down the road with him.  As soon as the van was unstuck, Husband realized we couldn't get the tractor, the back hoe, and our van down the same 1 lane cut in the road.  I was standing behind the van when the back hoe driver asked if I was having fun.  "I don't remember this being in the wedding vows.  I knew I was marrying a country boy, but no one warned me about this kind of stuff."  Husband hops out of our van and says, "Babe, do you know how to drive this tractor?"  I laughed in his face.

45 seconds of instruction later and I was driving the tractor down the gravel road between 2 foot drifts of snow and slush so Husband and the other guy could maneuver the other vehicles around each other.  Husband put the tractor in 2nd gear so I couldn't go very fast and told me to stay in the tracks in the road.  The only time that 1 mile trip down the road has ever been longer was when I was standing on the hitch on the way down.  Cold made colder still by the constant wind I was creating driving down a frozen country road.

Husband backed the van all the way down the road because he figured it would do better with the rear wheel drive if he didn't turn it around.  By the time I made it back to his Mom's driveway he'd driven the old van home and jogged back to his parents' so he could get the tractor back into the barn.  I moved off the single seat and back onto the fender for the last 200 yards of the trip.  "I just want you to know I cried from the cross roads to the lease road."

"What?  Why?" he asked in a frustratingly clueless manner.

"I have never been that scared for that long in my life!" I snapped back.

"Oh, you mean when you were standing on the hitch," he said.  "Well, now you'll have something to blog about."  He knows me too well.

Now I'm freshly showered to rid myself of the smell of diesel fumes, dressed in lazy clothes straight from the warm dryer, wrapped in a blanket, with a pot of coffee brewing happily in my kitchen.  I can feel all of my fingers and toes once again.  My neck still hurts but then I'm sure having my shoulders up under my ears for 45 minutes didn't help.  Husband finally made it safely to the highway and to work only an hour or so late.

I've learned a new skill.  That means the snow can melt.

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.

Thank God for small mercies.

When the principal called and told me the school board had approved my hiring, the first question I asked was who I'd be working with.  You see, both cooks from the school retired last year and that meant an entire regime change.  I was a bit nervous as the other person hired would be my constant companion in a rather small space for the next....well....20 years or so at least, depending on retirement age.  The name the principal gave me was not unknown nor was it a surprise, but I had never actually spoken to her.

It turns out I had nothing to worry about.  Miss T and I get along swimmingly.  We are just different enough to give us something to talk about all day long and just similar enough to share feelings on important matters as well as a slightly twisted sense of humor. We spend most of our day chatting and laughing but when the time comes for quite neither of us takes issue with it.  We work equally hard and both take suggestions from the other with ease.

I fully believe the Lord has blessed me with a good work companion and a new friend.

People keep asking me if I like my new job.  The truth is- I do.  I enjoy seeing the FarmHands going about their days.  I enjoy being in a building full of kids.  The faculty is a great group and not a day goes by without a good laugh brought to the kitchen by a teacher or secretary or such.  I like cooking.  It's easier when no one can whine, "But I don't like that!" and expect you to do anything about it.  I love that the answer to that one is always, "Then don't eat it."  There is a learning curve that I'm in the middle of.  There is stress.  There are times I feel I might pull my hair out, but for the most part, I truly enjoy what I do.  The waking up at 4:45 am, I could do without, but it's a small compromise.

My other concern with working outside the home was that life on the Farm would fall to pieces.  Dishes would pile up all week and garbage would never get taken out.  The bathrooms would grow a fine layer of mildew and stink to all high heaven.  Laundry would set in the hampers until everyone ran out of clean underpants.

You see, for the past 15 years, Husband and I have had a serious division of labor.  He's handled all the outside chores while I've kept house, cooked, and looked after the children.  We've been very 1963 and happy with the arrangement.  I've never really mowed the lawn or used the weed eater.  He doesn't know how to load the dishwasher and was a bit apprehensive of the front load washer.

With my return to the work force things have changed.  The change has been rather seamless and I've been pleasantly surprised.  Husband gets the kids ready for school in the morning.  He does washes dishes daily.  He folds laundry when necessary. He made friends with the vacuum.  He's even cooked a few meals here and there.  Mister Mom he is not, but the weight of the inside of our house is not resting solely on my shoulders.  In all honesty, I think my Summer of Recovery helped ease him into this new role.

I get home around 1:40 pm and he leaves for work at 2:10 pm giving us a full 30 minutes of time to catch up on our days.  Not ideal, but better than missing each other entirely and being forced to communicate solely via email through the week.  I'm getting used to cramming all the information he needs into the first few minutes I'm home each day and I try to relax and enjoy our brief time alone every afternoon.

But once he's gone- it's me time.  Time truly, honestly, just for me.  I could hurry up and clean the bathrooms or strip beds, but instead I unwind.  I sit and read or watch something targeted entirely at adults.  I guiltlessly scan Facebook or Pintrest to my heart's content.  Then, at 4 o'clock, the bus pulls up and life stats all over again.

It's not easy, but God has provided small mercies to buffer all these changes and I am extraordinarily thankful.

The glimmer is becoming a full blown glow.

It's been a wicked bad summer. A summer I hope never to repeat.  But things are looking up.

One thing I hadn't mentioned here is that when I was in the ER with BabyGirl I called Husband to tell him her arm was broken.  He had news for me.  They're shutting down his department at work and he would be losing his job in 6 months or so.  Now to be clear he wouldn't be without a job. He could transfer in the plant where his seniority would take him, but that could mean a serious cut in pay and hours.

Today he interviewed for a new position at work and much to my surprise, they've already called and told him he got it!  I think the pay will be comparable to what he's currently making and it is in a much quieter part of the factory than he was expecting.

He will probably be losing the overtime he's been working since BabyGirl was born, but what I'm making will cover that.  I truly believe God put me in the job I'm in fill this gap.

In other wonderful news- #1 Son's 10 days of blood sugar readings were so good the doctor said we could stop checking.  I called the office and asked after looking over our log & realizing nothing on it came even close to the numbers we were worried about.  And on top of that, his rash that caused the diabetes scare in the first place, is nearly gone.

Yesterday was a tough day at work.  I was worn out and discouraged when I got home.  It was one of those days when nothing went as planned and we spent the entire day trying to get caught up.  Today was the polar opposite.  Today was a day that should have been difficult and drawn out.  It was not at all.  It was easier than expected and things went very smoothly.

Today I feel like I can breath.  Today I know that the good can outweigh the bad. Today I can praise God with a happy heart instead of praising Him in the midst of heartache.

After all these years

When Husband and I were dating, we both worked second shift at C**** where Husband is still employed.  Husband (then FarmBoy) got off work 20 minutes before I did.  A few nights a week he would wait for me in the parking lot after work so we could spend a few minutes together before heading to our respective abodes.  Quite a few nights when he couldn't wait, he would make a quick trip to the gas station down the road, pick up a bottle of soda & a package of Reese's Cups and leave them in my car seat sometimes with a note scrawled on a post-it.  It was a sweet little tradition that lasted until we got married & started riding to work together.

This morning I headed out to my van to go to work & much to my surprise, in my driver seat, there was a bottle of Coke and a package of Reese's Cups.

Who says romance is dead?

If you're ever feeling a bit bad about yourself, I fully suggest hanging out with some 4 year old girls.  This week the kids in Bitsy's class have been fascinated by the fact that I'm at school all the time.  A few of them eat breakfast there, but none of them eat lunch at school.  After serving breakfast to the students, the other cook & I sit in the cafeteria & eat our breakfast while we wait for a student from each class to bring us the list of children eating that day.  Today, Bitsy's class hadn't left the gym when we sat down.  They all peeked out the doors & I heard lots of little voices saying, "Hi, Bitsy's Mom!"

One little girl ran up & asked, "When am I coming to your house?"  This seems to be the thing that needs asked by most kids from Pre-K to 1st grade.  Some I would be fine with coming over for a play date.  Some, I'd rather their mother's not know where we live  This little girl was in the first group.  I told her maybe when it warms up outside she could come over to play with Bitsy.  "OK.  I asked my dad & he said maybe sometime."    As soon as she got her answer, another little one pops up and says, "When do I get to come?!"  I told her the same thing.  She quickly responded with, "Well, then you have to call my mom."  They both came running to give me hugs on their way to class.

Now I'm left wondering if they want to come play with Bitsy, or is the draw just getting to come to my house.  One way or the other, I'm very popular with preschoolers....they're not old enough to realize Lunch Ladies aren't really considered cool.

Speaking of Lunch Ladies, I owe my husband a public apology.  He had been suggesting I become a lunch lady for quite a while before I ever called the school to ask if they needed any help in the cafeteria.  When he initially suggested it (and the next 10-15 times following) I blew him off thinking I'd hate to work in a school cafeteria.  Turns out, he was right.  Not only did they need help (I was sure they wouldn't), but I actually enjoy it.  I like the work.  I like the fact that I can keep a bit of an eye on the FarmHands.  I like the limited interaction with the students (I can talk to them if I want but I don't have to if I've had too much "kid time").  I like that I know most of the faculty and teachers after being there 7 school years.  I like that I don't have to get the kids up & ready for school in the morning (an exercise in torture).  And I really like that the hours are flexible enough that if we get our work done 15 minutes early, it's no big deal if we leave.

So, Husband, I am officially and publicly apologizing for ever doubting your insight into my professional future....and thanks for the soda.  Love you.

On Anniversaries and Dry Wall

I've been so infatuated with Pinterest that I missed my very own Blogoversary on the 5th. I've been filling the Interwebs with my prattle for a full 6 years & 2 days. I've had followers come & go. I've had Spammers fill my comments with Viagra ads. I've had luls in my posting. I've posted 4 times in a single day. But I'm still here. If you decide to take a stroll through my archives -Long ago & Farm Away on the side bar- you'll find posts that make it look like I began blogging on January 6th. Do not be fooled. They were post-dated Memes.

I also missed Lilly May's 6th birthday (which was also on the 5th). Luckily, being a Wirehaired Fox Terrier, she hasn't noticed. Amazingly enough, she also didn't complain about being overlooked at Christmas. What can I say? She's wonderfully well mannered when it comes to gifts.

Last week, when we had our new roof put on, I lost my master bath skylight. It's made me rather depressed. When we first looked at the model home I was immediately drawn to a few things: the open great room, the kitchen at the front of the house with an island, the walk-in pantry, the walk-in master closet, the fire place in the corner of the living room, the linen closet in the master bath, and the skylight.

When we realized we had to replace the roof, I knew that meant I'd be losing my brightly lit bathroom. Husband was worried it would eventually leak & we'd have to do major repairs to replace sections of a metal roof. In the end, it's a good thing we did remove it. When the crew was working on the roof, Husband discovered water stains in the attic around the skylight.

It's removal has left a big patch of green drywall exposed on our bathroom ceiling. Husband's been spackling & sanding all week. This weekend he gets to try his hand at texturizing it so it matches the rest of the drywall. I'm a bit nervous about handing him a plastic bag & expecting him to get all artistic. He's a dyed in the wool farm boy after all....but I'm holding out hope that he'll discover a new side of himself. Oh, and his stitches come out today!

Until then I'm afraid we're all going to drown in dry wall dust. Where's a door to door vacuum sales man when you need one?

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.

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.

Now What?

It has just occurred to me that my children will not be spending 8 hours each day at school this week. In fact, they will be entirely under my supervision for the next three months. I'm not entirely sure I'm qualified for this. Maybe someone should come in and check up on us occasionally. I'm not really to be trusted.

Today, #1 Son turns 8. I'm glad. I've not been a huge fan of 7. Mostly because I can't seem to remember that number when it comes to the ages of my children. When BabyGirl was seven, I was continually telling people she was eight. I've been doing the same thing with #1 Son all year. Unfortunately I only get a brief break from seven as B.B. will be turning it in September.

#1 Son got his very own green Light Saber for his birthday today. I wish I could have frozen the look on his face for all time. He knew what was in the package before he started unwrapping it, but in his excitement, he must have momentarily forgotten. He began trembling all over and could hardly get the paper off.

My children have developed a fairly new obsession with all things Star Wars. Being a child of the 70's and 80's myself, I am a hard core fan of the original three movies. My children, being of the CGI generation, are all about the most recent three movies. In my opinion, they hardly count as true Star Wars movies. I fear Mr.Lucas may have suffered some type of brain injury as he was writing the dialogue for them.

But it still makes me happy that Bitsy named her (now deceased) kitten Princess Leia, B.B. lives to quote Yoda, and #1 Son asks me to call Uncle Bubba to check on the accuracy of their imaginary Light Saber (which they still tend to call Life Savers or occasionally Light Savers) duels.

The Force is strong with in them.

Their father on the other hand, not so much. He is continually misquoting Yoda (I'm pretty sure that's tantamount to sacrilege in some places) and just last week the following conversation actually took place in my home:

As Husband watches Star Wars Episode II: Attack of the Clones with the FarmHands and I wash dishes....

Husband- What are those?
FarmHands- The Secret Plans.
Husband- What secret plans?
FarmHands- THE Secret Plans, Dad. (the "duh" was implied)
Husband- What are they plans for?
Me- The Death Star.
Husband- What?
Me- The. Death. Star.
Husband- What's that?
Me- What's what? They're the plans for the Death Star that R2-D2 takes from Leia to deliver to Ben in the first movie. (Do not argue with me that A New Hope is actually the fourth movie...it is now & will always be the first movie.)
Husband- No, what's the Death Star?
Me- (dropping dish sponge, removing rubber gloves, and walking into living room) You did not just ask me what the Death Star is.
Husband- Yes I did. What is it?

Oh. My. Stars.

Where have I failed this man? I thought it was bad when BabyGirl asked me who Bobba Fett was a few months back. This was so much worse.

Wanna' know something cool?

My husband has lost 33 pounds in just over 2 months. He started one of those Couch to 5K programs on the recommendation of a guy from work. He also started watching his diet more than he has in years. He's cut down his portion sizes and has been requesting more chicken and fish and rice instead of red meat and potatoes.

A few months ago he realized he'd gained more than 20 pounds in the months preceding. He wasn't happy about it and decided to take care of things. I, on the other hand, had no clue he'd gained anything. Guess I'm not that observant...at least not about people I see every day. If he'd have cut his hair differently or grown out a beard, I'd have noticed. 20+ pounds, not so much.

I'm so proud of him. I cannot begin to tell you how much I admire his will power as I lay on the couch napping & eating the FarmHands' leftover Easter candy while he runs 4 miles a day. Maybe one of these days I'll move past the admiring phase and move into the joining phase....but not with running. I detest running.

We've had a (thus far) small & short-lived outbreak of stomach bug around here. It started Sunday with #1 Son & ended (I hope & pray) yesterday with B.B. They're the only two who've been sick so far. B.B. had the wonderful fortune to throw up Thursday while we were an hour & a half away at the zoo with his class field trip. After a quite 30 minutes resting on the bus in the parking lot, he was ready to go back to see the tiger. He made it the rest of the way home without getting sick again, so that was a blessing.

Maybe if Husband gets the stomach bug, he'll drop a few more pounds. I'M KIDDING, I'M KIDDING!!! Please, Lord, do not let Husband get this stomach bug. We need him well & able bodied around here.

Step Right Up!

Come one, come all to see the Amazing FarmBoy & His Miracle Hair Elixir!

Is your hair too fine? This fabulous tincture will thicken it up in an instant!

Is your hair too frizzy? FarmBoy's awesome mixture will smooth it out in seconds!

Is you hair less-than-there? Try this wonderful concoction & watch it grow at an astounding rate!

Is your hair growing too fast for your own comfort? This solution will put a quick stop to that!

Last week Husband and I found ourselves facing an entirely new beast. One we've never seen before in our 9+ years of parenting. She didn't want a hair cut. She wanted her hair to stop growing. She simply wanted her hair to stay where it is indefinitely. Unfortunately, that is one super power I am lacking. (Incidentally, she also does not want to grow up. Recently she said she wants to be three when she grows up...not a mommy or a teacher....just three.)

And Bitsy wasn't in the mood to be persuaded that this wasn't something I could will into happening. She threw herself face down in the floor & screamed. The tears flowed freely. The breathing was rapid & labored. Life as we knew it had come to an end.

I scooped her up and cuddled her in my lap crooning softly about how hair just grows & there isn't much that can be done to stop it. She continued to fall apart. Her daddy told her she needed to grow her hair out long so someday, when she's a flower girl for someone, she can have long beautiful hair to go with her beautiful dress. "Me not wanna' be a fwower girl!" (Not even for Beffie or Rachie when the time comes. She said Beffie could be Rachie's flower girl and, "Daddy tan be Beffie's fwower girl. Him be good at it.")

After 20 minutes of heart wrenching tragedy, Husband got up, walked across the room to us, rubbed her scalp with his fingertips, said some "magic words," and told her her hair had stopped growing.

Bitsy stopped crying, climbed off my lap, & went back to what ever it was she was doing to entertain herself prior.

Now Uncle Right Rev & Uncle Gick want Husband to rub their heads & say his magic words backwards so they're hair will start to grow.

I wanna' be famous.

I fear we are on the road to stardom....and not the good kind. The creepy reality television kind. Some day we're going to appear on an episode of Animal Hoarders. But then, can they really come to a farm? I mean, it's not like we're keeping 27 cats, 14 dogs, 8 rats, and a chinchilla in an apartment in L.A. We have 7 sheep, one goat, 13 chickens, half a dozen dogs, and a scattering of random cats on 10 acres in the country.

Husband and Bitsy got a new puppy Friday. Her name is Misha and she's a husky. We bought her from Husband's cousin. She owns the mama & this was their first litter. Getting Misha was my desperate attempt to distract my husband from wolves. Yup, you read that right. The man wants a wolf.

There's a family about 20 miles from us who breeds wolf pups & sells them. We went to see them about a year before we got pregnant with BabyGirl. At the time, you could have your name put on a list. Then you waited until they called to tell you it was your turn to come pick out a pup. Naturally, Husband put his name on the list. And naturally, his name came up in the middle of my first pregnancy. Not surprisingly, I vetoed the idea rather vehemently.

Now, 10 years later, the fever had struck again. It's come and gone over the past 10 years, but this time I could tell he was in the late stages of WPF better known as Wolf Pup Syndrome. If I didn't step in, I'd come home from the grocery to find a wolf in a kennel in my living room.

So as he began searching the Internet for wolf and wolf dog breeders, I began searching for pet wolf information. Much to his chagrin, I stumbled on a forum run by wolf & wolf dog owners. It said, in no uncertain terms, that wolves do not make good pets. Good companions, maybe if you have a vast amount of time to invest in them and can with out fail be the alpha in their pack. They are not good with other animals, small children, fences, or property you'd like to keep in tact. Eventually I began to steer Husband in a less wild, more domesticated direction.

He channeled his energy into finding a breed of dog that resembled a wolf, but was family friendly. Luckily, that's when his cousin posted pictures of her new litter of pups on Facebook. I emailed her a few times to ask about her pups, then I started researching huskies as family pets. They appear to be a match made in heaven.

Husband lost both his beagles this winter, so we were down to a paltry 5 dogs on the farm. That was simply unacceptable. With the addition of Misha, our dog population once again matches our human population. Things are once again, right in our world....so long as reality TV producers don't show up.

Never get between a girl & her make-up

Monday, Husband had the day off work. It was too hot to spend it out of doors, so we decided to take the kids to Chuck E. Cheese for lunch. That involves an hour & twenty minute drive to E'ville, so it's not exactly an every day thing for us.

When we told the kids what the plan was, they flipped. Bitsy spent 10 minutes dancing in circles around the living room shouting, "Chuck Cheese! Chuck Cheese! Chuck Cheese!" Husband and I started teasing her saying things like, "Oh, Bitsy doesn't like Chuck E. Cheese. We'd better just stay home. Or we could leave her at Grandma's while the rest of us go. I'd hate to take her when she really doesn't like Chuck E. Cheese." To which she'd reply, "CHUCK CHEESE! ME LIKE CHUCK CHEESE! ME GO CHUCK CHEESE!!" and start dancing in circles again.

The FarmHands were eating breakfast, so I went to my room to get ready to leave. After a few minutes I heard a heart wrenching wail from the kitchen. I ran to see what was going on and found Bitsy face down on the linoleum sobbing.

"Bitsy Bee, what's wrong?"
"Daddy (sob) me no (sob) go (sob) Chuck Cheese (sob)."
"What?" as I scooped her up and she buried her head in my shoulder.
"Daddy me no go (sob) Chuck Cheese."
"Daddy said you can't go to Chuck E. Cheese? He was just teasing, Baby. You can go."

Then Husband walked into the kitchen, "I never said anything about her not going to Chuck E. Cheese. I just washed her face."

"Bitsy, you can go. Daddy just washed your face so it won't be dirty when we go."
"NO!! (wail, sob, wail) Me no go! (wail, sob, wail)"

Husband watched this in a state of mild what's-going-on-here shock. "All I did was wash her face. She had something sticky all over it. I don't know what it was, but it was pink. She had it smeared all over her mouth and cheeks. I could barely get it off."

That's when the light bulb went on.

"Oh no. You washed off her Chapstick. That's what this is all about."
"I didn't know what it was. It was everywhere!"

This is when Bitsy rejoined the conversation. "Yeah! Daddy wash off me lipstick (sob)! Now me no tan go Chuck Cheese (wail)! Me no make-up (wail)!"

I rocked her a bit and cooed soothing words in her ear like, "It's OK, sweetie. Mommy will get you new lipstick. Daddy didn't know you were putting on your make-up. We can fix it. You can still go to Chuck E. Cheese."

A light smear of Soft Lips applied by mom, and the sobs began to subside. If she's like this at three, what will she be like when I let her start wearing actual make-up? Oy. Better buy stock in Sephora.

Overheard at the bank drive-thru yesterday:

Woman in min-van in the lane next to us: So, how's your dad doing?

Teller at window: Um. Well. He's in the hospital. He has to have open heart surgery.

W in V: Oh. Wow. I didn't know that.

T at W: Yeah. They're not really sure what all is going to have to be done, but he has to have it soon.

W in V: OK. But other than that, he's OK, right?

Husband: (quietly to me) Yeah, other than the open heart surgery, he's Great!

You can call me Hellen Wheels.

A few weeks back, Husband & I were discussing the wardrobe choices of women who ride lawn mowers. I know this is a sweeping generalization, I'm sure there are many, many women who wear pressed linen capris and beautiful floral print blouses and large straw sun hats while mowing perfectly even lines in their lawns on their zero point turn radius 63 inch mowing decks, but lately, all I've seen are the 45 year old, slightly overweight women in sports bras, tube tops, or bikinis paired with flip flops & daisy dukes with their ponytails as high on their heads as humanly possible putting around on their 1983 Sears Craftsman mowers. It makes me wonder, do they think that the lawn tractors they're tulling about on are equipped with cloaking shields a la Star Trek? Are they some how invisible to the naked eye making it OK to mow in a hot pink tube top & curlers in the middle of the afternoon?

Teenage girls should not be doing this, much less women of a more advanced age & therefore knowledge. A tank top & shorts is perfectly acceptable attire. Booty shorts & a string bikini top, not so much.

I told Husband he needed to teach me to use his mower so I could buy a neon bikini & spend my days mowing our 2 acre yard while sunning myself to a crispy golden brown. His reply? "Woman, stay away from my mower."

I've only mowed twice in my life. Once when I was in high school because I felt like it and once when I was 19 or 20 because I had a crazy room mate (not Art) who spent 2 months in California (long story). But never once have I mowed since Husband & I married.

He spent the first year we were in the country push mowing our lawn. It was a grueling, miserable, sun burnt task & I hated that he had to do it....but not so much that I'd volunteer to take over his lawn duties. We also had a deal that once I quit work to stay home with the FarmHands, all indoor duties were mine & all out door chores were his. Who was I to infringe on his space? When he finally got a riding mower (yes, it's a Sears Craftsman), he insisted I ride around on it. He was so proud of it. I couldn't really say no....as much as I wanted to. I took a quick ride across the front yard, then abdicated. I was still recovering from B.B.'s birth (C-section) and was in no mood to be vibrated half to death. Since then, I've stuck with the 4 wheeler when I wanted some off road fun.

Last week, the mower battery died. I picked up a new one at Sears on Friday & Husband hooked it up to his baby mower. Then he headed off to put a new belt on our tiller so he could work up the garden, but he left the mower running to be sure the battery was properly charged. After a few minutes he says, "You can take Bitsy & drive around the yard on the mower." WHAT?! Me? Touch his mower?!

Before the afternoon came to a close, I had not only driven a few laps around our yard, but actually mowed 2 swipes around the garden & down the path to it so he could run the tiller without tromping through knee high weeds.

Bitsy was very impressed with my mowing prowess & Husband was very patient with my complete ineptitude with anything mechanical.

This may be the beginning of a new relationship between me & lawn equipment.

Then again, maybe not.

The weed eater & I despise each other.

Hey Y'all, Watch This!

Bitsy has a theme song. I'm not sure it's really appropriate for a 2 year old (yeah, I just looked up the lyrics & it's NOT), but it has a story. We call Bitsy "Bitsy Bee" replacing 'Bitsy' with her actual first name. It started when she was tiny & has stuck to the point that she introduces herself (when she deems it necessary to talk) as Bitsy Bee.


A few weeks back Uncle E asked us if we'd heard the "Bitsy Bee song." Nope. Can't say I have. He said, "It's by the Black Eyed Peas." Wha? Uncle E listens to the Black Eyed Peas? I'm confused. But then I remembered he's the father of 2 twenty-somethings & 2 teenagers. He knows these things whether he wants to or not.


Turns out the song is called Imma' Be (as in I'm Going to Be). Uncle E, Beffie, and J replace the words 'Imma' Be' with 'Bitsy Be' & sing it to her. She loves it & has claimed it as her own. It came on the radio today while we were driving & she spent the rest of the morning shouting for me to, "Pway My Bitsy Bee Song!!!"


So B.B. wants to know what his theme song is. I started singing Chris Cagle's Chicks Dig It. It's about a little boy who jumps off the roof of the shed wearing his mama's curtains as a cape & breaks his arm trying to impress the little neighbor girl. That's my boy...only he doesn't need the little girl to impress. He'd just do it for fun.


To finish off this post, I thought I'd share some pictures of the Playhouse from Hades that was finally completed last weekend. It really wasn't that horrible to construct, just time consuming. And, as you may have read below, B.B. has told us there's not enough to do outside....so maybe I'll post some pictures of all the "nothing" we have to play with in our yard.

Front of the playhouse (that's what the FarmHands call it) & a rear view of Sydney Cat who should be having a litter of kittens very soon. Yeah. More cats. (Sarcasm doesn't really translate well in print.)

Back side of the playhouse complete with hanging flowers & a planter under the slide. Both were Husband's idea....as were the yellow & green chairs on the lower deck. He's practically a professional landscape designer.

Husband built this tepee out of some old logs that used to be the roof of Fort FarmHand & some old tarps. His great grandmother was half Native American. I told him his ancestors were probably rolling over in their graves & laughing at that white boy. In reality, I'm impressed & the kids are thrilled......and the dogs love to hide in it.

There's more, but posting photos is taking hours today. Sorry.

Three days in & still no end in sight.

My wonderful, loving, overworked husband had a 3 day weekend off work. The weather was fabulous & he got to spend all of his time out of doors.


Building the play house from Hades.


And it's still not done.


Bless his heart.


We both know that once it is finished & the FarmHands can be turned loose on it, it will be worth all the time & effort spent on it, but in the midst of the blood (his), sweat (ours), and tears (the FarmHands') it's tempting to douse the entire thing with lighter fluid & set a match to it.

Yesterday was The Curly Slide Debacle of 2010. 140 or so bolts (my words to QM were "A hundred & a heck of a lot"), twice the number of washers, 18 or so giant yellow pieces of plastic, and around 6 hours of "This isn't right. This can't be right. Let's take it down & do it this way. This doesn't make sense. Check those instructions again. This is too heavy! Wait, no, the other way. Crap, that's wrong. Why won't this work? Gah!!!" and it's almost finished.....the slide that is. There's still monkey bars to assemble & attach and the entire swing set portion to build.

We may be finished before BabyGirl out grows it. But then again, maybe not.

How to build a wooden play structure for your children in a few simple steps.

1. Have a baby & decide to move to the country.


2. Move to the country & have 3 more babies.


3. Clear out a place in the woods next to your house.


4. Put horse in the woods.


5. Wait a few years.


6. Buy goats.


7. Put goat pen in the woods.


8. Wait 3 to 4 years.


9. Move goats.


10. Assemble play structure (*see note).

See, it's really not that hard. It only takes 7 years & your kids will love you for it....if it ever gets finished (*really, you need to read the note). Eventually you can take pictures of it to post to your blog & send to the Queen Mother & Pa who purchased the play structure for their Grandchildren.

Note: I want to know exactly who's job it is to put the time estimates on build-it-yourself play sets. Then I want to show up at their house, bang on the door until they either agree to talk to me or call the police & take out a restraining order.

I want to know a few things. How exactly do you come up with the assembly time for this structure, of 6 to 8 hours for 2 people? Did your 2 people major in play set construction in college? Do they have double doctorates in it? Can they read each other's minds therefore skipping any and all need for communication? Do they each have 2 power drills for their own personal use so they don't have to switch out between the counter sinking drill bit & the phillips head screwdriver? Are there personal assistants for each assembler to hand them things, steady the ladder, and sort parts? Or do they have some kind of telekinetic powers that aid in construction? I know you don't figure in potty breaks or time to eat, but I guess that's far too much to ask.

For the record, we're 2 days in & on step 23 (I think) of 48....not including the slide. I don't even want to know how many steps that's going to take. Grant it, Husband has done 90% of the work himself & following the directions as printed is not difficult, but 6 to 8 hours could only be accomplished by members of the X-Men team or a full work crew from Extreme Makeover: Home Edition.

Can I just say, I adore you all?

Well, I'm going to say it just the same. You have given me blog fodder for days. Now I remember why I instated Ask FarmWife Day to begin with. I'm going to try to spread your questions out over a few days, but I must, must, must start with Inkling's "manpri" query.

How do you feel about "manpris", as in capris / crop pants for men? They are all over metro Vancouver, and I'm not feeling the love. Specifically, would you think Farmboy was hot if he wore them?

This is one of those times I thank the Good Lord that I live in the middle of nowhere & have never laid eyes on manpris. So, being the good, Internet addicted FarmWife that I am, I googled them. What did I find? This:

If a picture is worth a thousand words, I'm pretty sure this picture is enough four letter words & to land me in time out for the rest of the millennium. Ugh. (Thanks to the ladies at Gofugyourself.com for the lovely image.) According to the Urban dictionary, manpris is gay slang. I think that's enough in it's self to keep FarmBoy far, far away from them.

I really think the image of Carrot Top wearing them should be enough to keep any man away from them, but apparently that's not the case.

They put me in mind of K-Fed. He must be seriously ahead of the times since he's been rocking these beauties since he became Brit's boy toy.

To answer your question about FarmBoy in manpris....my man would be hot in anything. That being said, I wouldn't be seen in public with him if he were sporting cropped pants and crocs....unless it was Halloween. Then I'd been seen in public with him dressed as a pirate.

For anyone who's never met my husband, FarmBoy adheres to a strict dress code: Relaxed fit blue jeans (not dark wash, not light wash), pocket T-shirts, Hanes socks, and Nikes. If it's cold out he'll toss on a flannel shirt. If it's hot, he swaps out for a plain men's tank top & relaxed fit jean shorts. I've tried to expand his horizons, but if this is the direction men's fashion is taking, I'll buy stock in Wrangler & Fruit of the Loom.