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. 

Please tell me I'm not alone

I'm afraid I'm missing the Mothering Sympathy Gene. You know, that thing that makes you run to your kids & scoop them up in your arms when they get hurt. I'm much more likely to be found standing over their poor broken bodies saying things like, "Well, if you'd have gone inside when I told you to instead of climbing up the tree house ladder again, you probably wouldn't have fallen off the slide & hurt your leg." Or, "If you had been in your room cleaning it like you were told to, your brother couldn't possibly have poked you in the arm with his pencil because he was in the kitchen." Or, "I'm sorry you chipped a tooth, but I'm pretty sure I just told you to quit swinging that stick around in the air like a sword."

Husband, on the other hand, picks them up & coddles them & promises candy & ice cream & rainbows & unicorns while I stand feet planted shoulder width apart, arms akimbo, eyes rolling back in my skull saying, "If you break your leg, don't run crying to me."

I think I may be damaged.

Excuse me?!

OK, I know that the comment box on blogs is a really great place for folks to leave advertisements for their crap. Mainly link sharing, the occasional porn site, and lots of odd junk. Normally it irritates me, I delete them, and I move on. But this one? Yeah. This one has gone too freaking far.

"Hi FarmWife, Nice blog you got here! try visit my new post: Blog SEO Tutorial: How to Choose the Best Title For Post. I hope you will learn something from it. Have a great day! " From: hapi

Not terribly offensive, I grant you, but this is the post "hapi" chose to leave his/her comment on: We'll Sing & Shout the Victory. Yup. You guessed it. The post in which I announced the death of my husband's grandmother. I haven't deleted the comment yet because I fear people will think I'm making this up. Couldn't if I tried, folks.

Now that's class.

Just a little something to think about during the off season

Just before school started, Husband took a day off work so we could take the FarmHands to the local pool for one last hurrah. We had spent most of the summer swimming happily in our own back yard. It's surprising how sheltered you can become in a short period of time. Apparently this past summer new swimwear fashion rules were passed while I was left in the dark.

Here's what I learned is now acceptable for public swim:

• Everyone can now wear string bikinis. And by everyone I mean EVERYONE. Are you 58 pounds overweight? Tie one on. Have you passed your 60th birthday recently (and are not Cher or Demi Moore)? Tie one on. Are you entering first grade? Tie one on. It's the new suit for all bodies!
• If you don't have a swimsuit at your disposal a black lace bra and pastel tank top will fit the bill. Or how about a yoga top? It not only doubles as a cover-up but can pinch hit for a Tankini top. Who needs structure and support in a bathing suit top? Really, both are overrated.
• If you're a 14 year old boy, you'd better keep your boxer shorts on under your swim trunks. Chicks dig it. They also love it when you wear white shorts with your black Underroo briefs underneath. With this look you are sure to rule the pool (especially if you get the girls' attention by trying to drown your buddy or picking fights with other skinny 14 year old boys).
• Finally, forget the need to check your bathing suits transparency when wet in the privacy of your own home. I mean, if it's black and modest looking on the rack, it will be the same when soaked through in a public pool, right? Of course right.

Next year when we go back I'll be more prepared. I'll forget my 1940's inspired suit complete with full lining, great support and modest coverage and stick with maybe a string bikini bottom and a random bra & tank top from my everyday wardrobe.

I will add that showing up to the pool only to find out it's Free Swim Day is awesome! It's also awesome when the pool has a 3 story tall water slide. You can pretty much forget the need for the rest of the pool as far as B.B. is concerned. Just give that boy the slide & it's well& he's good to go. Bitsy on the other hand, was happy with the water inlets that sprayed up from the bottom of the walk in area of the pool. She camped out around one shouting, "Mommy look! It's Awesome!"

Cutelittleboyspellswhat?!

#1 Son was lucky to have inherited his grandfather's spelling skills. His Pa is a natural speller...as is his mother. #1 Son's mother, on the other hand, was not gifted thusly. She inherited her mother & her father's father's lack of skill in spelling.

First grade spelling has been a breeze for him. He only ends up taking one final spelling test or so a month having aced many of his trial spelling tests earlier in the week. This week, things were a bit different. He missed 7 words on his trial test Thursday assuring his need to take the final test today.

This morning, Husband & I were helping him study after breakfast. We stressed the "wh" sound because it was used in 3 or 4 of his words today. "Remember," I said, "if your word starts with the 'Whu' sound, it's a W & an H." He took the words to heart.

He only missed one word on his final test today: yours. It's kind of a tough one to sound out. He spelled it W-H-O-R-E-S.

Yup.

I called his teacher & asked what exactly she's teaching her first graders in spelling (I can do things like that....she was BabyGirl's teacher, I'm her room mother, & she goes to church with my Grandparents). She laughed so hard. "I know, I know," she said, "I read that & had to work really hard to not react to that one!"

As Inkling would say, Oy.

One giant leap for Bitsy Bee.

Bitsy made her first trip out of the house in big girl panties today. Not Pull-Ups mind you, real, honest-to-goodness underpants. We didn't go far, only to Uncle E's house to visit with Ray-ray & Beffie. On the way, I reminded Bitsy that she was wearing her panties & couldn't pee in them. As soon as Ray-ray opened the door, Bitsy bolted in shouting, "Poop! Me poop!" made a bee line for the bathroom, and did.....nothing.

When Beffie got home from school I told Bitsy to tell her why we were at their house. We'd gone to borrow their Tinkerbell DVD. Bitsy said, "Poop!" Yes, we came over to poop at your house. We do that. Wait until we have to go, then hop in the car, drive to an unsuspecting family member's home, and ask to use the commode.

But, she did use the potty there (without telling anyone she needed to go!! She hollered at me when she was done) and stayed dry the entire time we were gone. Up until now, things have been just too exciting at Ray-ray's house for her to bother paying attention to her bladder. She could make it all the way home from Tennessee dry, but 20 minutes at Uncle E's & her Pull-Up needed changing.

This is a recipe for one happy mama.

Bitsy on Gum & Bras

B.B. had his first piece of chewing gum about a month and a half ago. You'd have thought he'd won the lottery the way he was carrying on & telling everyone about his gum. He was so excited!

Bitsy immediately began demanding gum, too. I told her she had to wait until she was bigger remembering the time I called poison control because B.B. ate an entire pack of gum while I was in the bathroom. This conversation instigated another, on going conversation with Bitsy. It went something like this:

Bitsy- Dum, dum! (That's Bitsy for Gum)
Me- No, you're too little for gum, baby.
Bitsy- DUM! Me dum!
Me- You can have gum when you're big.
Bitsy- Me big, dum. Yeah.
Me- Yes. When you're big.

A few days after the first time (of many, many times) we had this conversation, she peed in her potty chair.

Me- Good job, Bitsy! You peed in the potty!! What a big girl you are!
Bitsy- Me big! Me dum!
Me- Um. Well.

Eventually I decided that with plenty of supervision, she could have a little piece of gum. I tore about 1/4 of a stick of gum off and gave it to her with a strict warning not to swallow it. She did surprisingly well for a 2 year old & has been chewing gum like a little pro ever since. A few pieces have been swallowed; a few have dropped out on the floor; a few have been strung out all over her in the van, but the vast majority of it has been well chewed then tossed in the trash.

Last week she developed an interest in my bras. I was folding laundry when she absconded with one. I chased her down & rescued my unmentionable much to her chagrin. She began screaming & crying, "Me bra! Me bra!" I said, "No, this is Mama's bra. They aren't for little girls," and I promptly forgot about it.

Monday night, after I put the 3 older FarmHands in bed, Bitsy & I were sitting in the living room watching TV. The shoulder strap of my tank top slipped to the side & she caught a glimpse of my bra strap. "Oh!! Mama bra! Mama bra!" she squealed while trying to yank my neck line down so she could get a better look.

I pulled her hand off my shirt & said, "Yes, that's Mama's bra. You let it be."
"Me bra! Me bra!"
"No. Mama's bra. You're too little. Bras are for big girls."
She considered this for a moment then announced, "Me big! Me dum! Me bra!" I tried to tell her that just because she's big enough to chew gum, that doesn't make her big enough to wear a bra, but she strongly disagrees.

Today in Wal-Mart we walked past the lingerie department & her big blue eyes lit up. "BRAS!! BRAS!!"

I am so not ready for this.

Yes, we know exactly what causes this.

A few weeks ago, we were heading to the van after our weekly grocery run when BabyGirl turned to me & said, "Mommy, why do people think 4 kids is a lot of kids?" I told her I really didn't know. Maybe because most people only have 1 or 2 kids. But I told her I don't think 4 kids is a lot of kids. I think 4 kids is the exact right amount for our family. I can't imagine us without one of our kids, so 4 never seems too many to me.

Yes, there are days when the chaos gets a bit overwhelming. Yes, there are days when I feel like I'm going to pull my hair out trying to corral all 4 of them. Yes, there are days when I am vastly outnumbered, but which one do you think I should give up to relieve myself of the pressure? BabyGirl? Our funny mother hen, the boss, the immensely creative, deeply feeling oldest? Or how about #1 Son? My sensitive, caring, helpful, eager to please, eager to learn second child? No, wait, definitely B.B. Our wild, fearless, 90 to nothing all day long, hysterically funny ball of energy & love. Then again, maybe Bitsy. Our cuddly, talkative, sweet natured, possessive beam of sunshine. You pick, because I can't.

When I was pregnant with...well...everyone except BabyGirl, people would constantly nod at my belly & ask, "Don't you know what causes that?" followed by raucous laughter. Um. What? It was one thing to hear it jokingly from my uncles who love us & love our babies, it's another thing to hear it from complete strangers at the grocery.

But 2 or 3 weeks ago was the jaw dropping comment that I will never forget. Husband & I were leaving Wal-Mart tugging our 2 carts full of groceries & necessities all 4 rather excited FarmHands in tow, when a man started chatting with Husband. I thought it was someone from work because of his familiar tone. He asked if they were all ours (something we hear a lot), then asked their ages. Husband rattled off our 8-6-4 & 2 that will be the case until September when B.B. turns 5, and kept walking. The man told me they were cute & I said thanks. Nothing, so far, was really different from the comments we get every time we take the kids out. Then he dropped his voice & leaned in closer to me so only I could hear his next remark.

"He must keep you busy," with a gesture towards Husband. I froze. I mumbled a weak, terse, obviously forced, one syllable laugh and sped up. He kept walking with us. I tried to get my cart closer to Husband's, but he didn't realize anything was wrong. After a tense moment the man said, "Sorry. I was just trying to make conversation," to which I replied, "Um. OK," and turned away. He (finally) picked up his cue & walked away.

Did I miss the new rules of etiquette that make it OK to comment on the sex life of total strangers in Wal-Mart's vestibule? When we got to the van I told Husband what the man said & he looked at me oddly. At first, he didn't understand the innuendo...but he caught up to speed pretty quickly.

At the time, I was too stunned to turn to the man & say, "Excuse me? What did you just say about my husband?!" But I don't think we're ever really prepared for that kind of thing.

This is what happens when you let FarmBoy play with toddler toys.

You end up with a "Tower of Pooh."

He wants to know if anyone else has a better caption for his picture. So, can you beat him? Huh? Can you? Can you?

Once upon a time there was a young married couple. They were very much in love. They spent every waking moment together...as well as all non-waking moments. But this couple had a serious problem. You see, he was a smart Alec & he loved pestering his wife ceaselessly.

One afternoon, the wife was splayed out across their couch watching a soap opera (which, incidentally, she did not watch before they were married. He watched this particular soap & lured her into it) attempting to relax before work. The husband was setting on the floor in front of the couch, pestering his lovely wife.

Now, all these years later, the actual mode of irritation has been lost to the annals of time, but trust me when I say he deserved everything he was about to get.

The young bride, slightly irritated by her husband's repeated actions said, "Darling. Love. Sweetheart. Would you so very kindly stop doing that, please?" To which her evil groom only laughed. "Dearest, I'm begging of you, please desist in your actions as I fear my own response to them." Again, laughter from him. Weeping now she cried, "My beloved, why do you insist on torturing me so? Why? Why?!" His maniacal laughter ringing through the house.

OK, so it was more like:
Bride- Quit that.
Groom- (He doesn't)
Bride- Stop it! You're getting on my nerves.
Groom- (He continues pestering)
Bride- I SAID STOP IT!! NOW!!
Groom- (Still keeps pestering)
Bride- OK, that's it. You do that one more stinking time & I'm going to punch you in the face.
Groom- You wouldn't do that. You might break my glasses.
Bride- I don't suggest you try me.
Groom- (Does what ever it was one last time for good measure)
Bride- Take off your glasses.
Groom- (Takes off his glasses)
Bride- (Punches him in the eye)
Groom- Ouch! What?! Hey! I can't believe you just did that!!
Bride- I can't believe you took off your glasses.

Yeah, folks. It's a true story.

Well, what would you have done? I mean he took off the glasses.

Clarifications & Cats

Pilot left a comment on my post about Uncle E regarding the ER's treatment of Uncle E. This is where I should clarify (yet another issue of things coming down the line not being totally true) that Dr.G (the local country doc) is the one who caught the broken ribs & had Uncle E put back in the ICU. The radiologist is the one who told the ER doctor to send him home. Somehow Uncle E managed to break his #1 rib. We've been told that takes some serious doing.

Tomorrow is Bucka's heart cath. Aunt Silverbelle had hers last week & those results were good (for which I am very thankful). Daddy saw his endocrinologist on Friday. He was very pleased with Daddy's progress & says with work & time Daddy may get off his insulin injections yet. I'm ready for a break & lots more good news.

Bitsy's getting a runny nose. I should have know it was coming since her birthday is Thursday. My kids are almost always sick on their birthdays. This year alone #1 Son was throwing up the day before his and BabyGirl had poison ivy on hers.

Uncle E's vacation & injuries have put a damper on his evil plans. He & Aunt C have 4 kids. With 4 kids (as I completely understand) comes a LOT of toys. Now that their youngest is 13, the need for toys (and Disney videos) wanes. Uncle E's evil plans include sending toys home with my kids everytime we visit. It took a while for me to catch on, but I finally figured out he's just emptying his house into mine slowly over the course of weeks. I've been putting a stop to it recently. I was beginning to think I'd foiled his plot...until the kittens were born.

In the country everyone (except MIL & FIL) has cats. Lots & lots of cats. They keep rodents out of your house & out buildings (FIL could use a few in his machine shed). But outdoor cats run off regularly. They can have short life expectancies. These are not "pets" per say. They are rough & tumble hunters who occasionally get loved on if they allow it. We keep a small herd of cats around. Right now I think we have one or two toms that hang about & 3 females. The females have had kittens, but we can only find two of them. Each summer Husband brings back more kittens to restock our supply in the hopes that they'll hang around.

Uncle E promised the FarmHands kittens this spring when the litters were born. I was fine with that. A few days later BabyGirl informed me, "Uncle E says we can have 4 kittens." OK with me, one for each FarmHand. "No Mommy, he said we can each have 4 kittens. I get 4, #1 Son gets 4, & B.B. gets 4!" Uh...no. That's when I realized there was a phase two to his evil plot.

Yesterday we took the FarmHands to get their new kittens. We came home with three. That's a good number as far as I'm concerned. BabyGirl named her's Sydney, "Because when ever I see a calico cat I think of the name Sydney." Uh....OK. B.B. named his Rose even though we already have a Rose. He will not be dissuaded. #1 Son wanted to name his kitten Rose as well, but I told him 2 were plenty. His second choice was "Rainbowie" but I nixed that. So we spent 30 minutes last night saying every girl's name we could think of only to have him name his cat Kitty. Very original. Now both the boys say they're changing their minds. I fear we may have more nameless cats this summer.

Cussing with the FarmHands

We really try not to cuss around the kids. I really try not to cuss at all. Not altogether good at the not cussing thing some days, but I try. I really don't want a call from the principal asking where BabyGirl learned such colorful language. Don't want to watch old women in Wal-Mart turn a deathly shade of white & pass out due to my children's choice of adjectives. I had a friend once who walked through the store loudly proclaiming over her sons' Tourrete Syndrome to cover up the less than family friendly vocabulary picked up from their dad & grandpa.

But sometimes things happen. A few weeks ago #1 Son informed B.B. he was going to, "Kick your ass!" I swooped in pretty quickly and informed him that was not something we said in this house (or outside of it for that matter). I was calm & tried not to make a big deal of it & it hasn't happened since. One day BabyGirl screamed for the boys to "get the hell out" of her room. This also did not go over well & was quickly dealt with. It's really be a non-issue for us so far.

The FarmHands, especially #1 Son, have adapted rather creatively. Much to the amusement of his older cousins, when #1 Son gets frustrated, he curses Spongebob style. His favorite curse words: Tartar Sauce! Fish Sticks! Barnacle! And if you cross him & he gets really made, he'll call you a barnacle head. OK, so maybe not you...but if his siblings cross him, he doesn't hesitate to call them "Barnacle Head." That's an interesting mental picture, I must admit (really, you can find anything on the interweb).

Are mine the only kids that have picked this up? What do your kids say when they're frustrated? What do you say? Husband's Grandma in Country used to say "Sugar Beets" in place of Sh*t. I tend to curse rather creatively as well. Many people are taken back when they hear me interject, "Son of a motherless goat!" In all fairness, I stole that from Three Amigos! I've been hearing "Son of a biscuit eater" lately...but it doesn't have that certain ring to it.

So, lets hear it. How do you curse creatively? And please, keep it clean...that's the whole point of creativity in this case.

Extreme Gardening

As I've stated before, we don't own a tiller. A 25' x 40' patch of dirt is a little tough to break down into planting material without some kind of mechanical help. So my husband, FarmBoy MacGyver that he is, took a 60 year old disk we were using as a lawn ornament & hitched it up to the back of his four wheeler (we live in the country, people...we can use old farming equipment & other junk as decor...I have a pink sink in my flowerbed).

When the kids & I got home from church he was nearly finished turning the garden over by hand & had made a few passes with the disk. It wasn't heavy enough to dig deep, so he had me drive the AVT while he stood on the disk. Extreme gardening? Disk Surfing? Death by Lawn Decor? Call it what you will. It worked. Thank God he's a country boy!

We also made a quick trip to Rural King to get fertilizer, a new garden hoe, seeds, & a garden weasel. While there we ran into Uncle Gick & Unkie Di. Husband & Uncle Gick talked tillers & gardening. Just after Husband came in for the evening, Uncle Gick pulled up the drive hauling Bucka's tiller. So Husband has now dug, disked, tilled, fertilized, & planted onions & carrots. We are officially gardening!

I'm going to have some serious canning & freezing to do this summer. Guess I should start figuring out what I want to do now so we can plant accordingly. BTW, Kork, can I have your tomato sauce recipe (I know your Italian self doesn't go for Ragu) so I can can fresh homemade marinara? That just sounds yummy!

We're putting the FarmHands to work too. What exactly are your thoughts on child labor? Don't worry, we're not paying them...so technically it's child slave labor. I'm all for it. But unfortunately, they only work about 3 1/2 minutes before demanding Popsicles. We won't get far that way.

Something you're dying to know, our stupid bull, and a funny story about me

I think I'm ovulating.

Yeah, you were just dying to know that weren't you?

I'm exhausted. Not the normal, I'm-the-mother-of-four-wild-children-who-never-sit-still kind of exhausted. More the I'm-afraid-I-may-be-getting-sick kind of exhausted....but I don't really feel like I am getting sick. I've barely made it off the couch today.

Then there's the pain. A sharp shooting pain in the right side of my lower abdomen. New development for me.

Guess we'll know for sure in a few weeks...about the same time we'll know for sure if Doc knew what he was doing in that OR 9 months ago.

In other reproduction related news (not about me, don't worry), I think our bull is getting old enough to....well...you know. But I'm also afraid he may be a tad stupid. Every time I look out the back window he's trying to ride one of the little heifers...but from the wrong end. The heifers are sick of having him try to jump on their heads! And I really doubt we'll be getting any calves that way.

While I'm at it, there's a story I keep meaning to share. It's silly & embarrassing, but should make for good reading.

When #1 Son was tiny I lived in a pair of over sized Old Navy sweatpants Art gave me. They were hand-me-downs from her sister & I wore them through my pregnancy & for months after.

One afternoon later that fall, I had to copy the bulletins for church. I took a runny nosed BabyGirl (who was 2) and #1 Son & headed to the church. I was admittedly a tad nervous about being alone in the church building because we'd been having mouse problems. I am terrified of mice & was very worried we would encounter one. Luckily we didn't & I finished my tasks.

As we were walking back to the van, I felt something shimmy down my leg inside my pants. I was immediately convinced there was a rodent in my pant leg. I started screaming & kicking & jumping up & down. I put the baby carrier on the sidewalk, let go of BabyGirl's hand, dropped the keys & diaper bag, and was on the verge of dropping trou in front of our place of worship when an old tissue slid out the bottom of my pant leg.

There were no pockets in those sweat pants, so I absentmindedly stuck BabyGirl's tissue in the waist band. It had worked loose & slid down my leg. Why in the world I thought it was a mouse, is beyond me.

I was so glad there was no one around...but I'm pretty sure (being a town of about 250 people) there were probably whispers of "that crazy woman out front of the church Friday. I never knew that was a Charismatic congregation."

In case you're curious, this is what it looks like when I spend about 30 minutes with my blow drier & flat iron. If you look closely you can still see the hint of a wave across the back of my head. Oh well.

Now, for the meat of my post. Warning: the images below may not be suitable for younger viewers. They are graphic and disturbing. I cannot be held responsible for an terror inflicted or sleep lost as a result of viewing said images.

OK, so maybe they're only terrifying if you're B.B. Our house is over run by Japanese Ladybeatles (or Halloween Ladybugs or Asian Ladybugs all depending on where you live). This happens a few times a year. Once in the spring, just as the weather starts to warm up a bit. Again in the fall when soybeans are harvested. They are irritating, they stink when threatened, but otherwise they are fairly innocuous.

Try telling that to B.B. It will all fall on deaf ears. He is absolutely petrified of them. About a week ago he went tearing through the living room screaming in a complete panic. I flipped out thinking something horrible had happened. Bracing myself for blood, open wounds, broken bones, or at least need for a big ice pack, I caught him & spun him around to face me. "What's wrong?!" "Ladybug! Ladybug! It was on my arm! It touched me!!" and he burst into tears. Poor baby.

There's a sky light in my bathroom. It's over top of the tub. The kids always take their baths in my bathroom. The ladybugs congregate there. He spends most of his time in the tub staring at the celling in a state of high agitation. I've told him at least 5 million times that they won't hurt little boys. That was a mistake.

A few days ago, I caught him trying to run through the living room carrying a rather amused Bitsy under her arms. "What are you doing?! Give her to me! You can't carry the baby, B.B." To which he replied, "I had to, Mommy. I'm savin' her from dem ladybugs. Dem don't hurt little boys, but dem might eat Bitsy 'cause hers is a girl." Can't argue with that logic.

Thanks for sharing, Son.

I live for parent/teacher conferences. What parent doesn't really? To get a brief glimpse of how your child behaves when outside of your presence. It's truly fascinating.

In keeping with the general theme of this blog, #1 Son's teacher had an interesting anecdote to share with me today. Since the beginning of the school year he has had issues at snack time. Miss G instigated a two bite rule because #1 Son refused to try anything she offered. Today she told me he's getting better at snack time & has been eating more than the two required bites most days. Then she said, "I do have a story for you though." The words every parent longs to hear during a conference.

Miss G brought colored Goldfish crackers for snack one day. She passed them out, then asked the kids to find a purple goldfish in their pile. #1 Son got very concerned & raised his hand. When Miss G called on him he announced, "Miss G, my mom says I can only eat the orange goldfish 'cause the other ones make my poop come out different."

Oh boy.

Here comes the rain again....and again....and again.

Sing it Annie Lennox.

There isn't normally a stream running through our field. Yes, there is a small pond. You can see the edge of it on the left side of the picture...well, it's usually small. Today, not so much. In normal conditions (which I'm beginning to think we may never again see) it's about 50 feet across & around 5 feet deep in the middle. Last summer it was about 2 feet deep in the middle. Right now you'd just get swept back out the other side into the front field if you tried to wade out to check it's depth.

There is also not normally a small pond next to our driveway. At the moment it's coming over top of the drive as the culvert under the drive is slightly plugged & isn't letting the water flow through as fast as it needs to.

I think last spring I was considering building an Ark. Today I'm wishing we had a pontoon boat. Might save us on gas. I could probably make it all the way to Wal-Mart if I kept to the flooded ditches. I wonder if Husband could build us one out of the old washing machine he keeps stored in the shed.

And guess what! It's going to rain all day today, all night tonight, and probably all day tomorrow. Yippee. (Sarcasm doesn't exactly read well does it?)

I may be asking too much, but with the kids starting a full week of spring break today (oh, and I didn't realize it was a full week. For some reason I thought they had to go back on Monday), couldn't we just have a few dry days? A few sunny days? A few days when the entire yard isn't under water? What am I going to do with a group of hyper housebound over sugared ("Thank you, Easter Bunny") children for a full week?! It's even too wet to take them to Uncle E's to play tonight. They'd be soaked before they made it to the van.

I really should have planned better...we could have gone to Tennessee this week. Or at least floated there. Too bad QM & Art are headed to Florida. Now I'm just depressed.

I wonder if pregnant cows can swim...........

For the Record

Read this well. You may never again see it's like. Husband was right. I was wrong. Cherish it. This is the last time.

We were hit with a sleet storm Thursday...you remember, the day I wrestled my screaming daughter out the door for school only to have her sent home an hour & 35 minutes later due to impending ice (that, I must add, didn't hit until 3 and a half hours later). In the end we had almost an inch of sleet. It looks like snow on the hood of Little BIL's truck, but rest assured, these are not pretty little flakes. They are shiny, frozen globes of ice. It was (as QM would say) slick as snot.

Due to the sleet, my trip to town normally occuring on Friday was postponed. It was still icy but melting yesterday. I wasn't ready to brave the roads on my own, so trip to town would have to be a famliy affair (Husband the chaffuer). BabyGirl was even on board...for about 15 minutes. We were waiting for Bitsy to wake up from her nap & in that time things fell apart. BabyGirl decided she didn't want to go to town after all & began haggling for someone to stay home with her. The mutiny quickly spread & soon the boys were chanting, "Let's stay home," along with her.

Then came the clean-your-room-drama followed closely by me bagging up everything left on her floor & stashing it in my room. Not a pleasant 30 minutes to say the least. After this melt down, I was far from in the mood to drag all 4 kids & a sniffling, sick Husband to the grocery store to listen to them fight & bicker & beg for toys & candy while I fought the Saturday afternoon crowd. Husband wanted to go. I did not. He tried more than once to convince me otherwise. I was too irritated to attempt it. The roads were thawing, so I said I'd just wait until today & go on my own. Brilliant plan, right?

Well, it was....until we woke up this morning to this:

There was no warning. We had no clue snow was coming...perhaps because we watched nothing but movies, Nickelodian, and Spike TV yesterday. Should have at least checked the local news.

The snow is still falling. I'm running low on groceries. Husband has offered to make a run to town with a grocery list & his truck. Not to sound ungrateful, but no matter how detailed the list, he never gets quite what I want.

So for the record...for the annuls of history....for posterity I will now admit that Husband was right, we should have gone to town yesterday.

Seriously?!

Look closely. In the picture you may find a baby sleeper, a burp cloth, a lingere bag, a small bath towel, a bath sheet, two bath robes, a bath mat, a toilet training seat, all the tub toys my kids own, a geography coloring book, and the step stool. All courtesy of B.B.

Oh, and the boys were in the tub with all this. Oh yes, I was an unhappy mother. A screaming banshee of a mother. A "What. Were. You. Thinking?" mother. An "On what planet is this acceptable?" mother. A "Why exactly did you not call me when your brother began to pile everything not nailed down into the tub of water?" mother.

This after the screaming/clawing fight BabyGirl & #1 Son had over her new exercise ball while I was trying to talk to the OT on the phone this afternoon. For the first time when I heard my children scream, "He/She's trying to kill me!" I believed them.

And can I mention that B.B. will not stay out of Bitsy's play pen tonight?

Forget Calgon....Jose Cuervo, take me away.

Tom Petty is the Antichrist

I lurve me some Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers. Really, I do. But I think somewhere along the lines, they may have sold their souls to the devil. It's the only thing that makes any sense at this point. Tom Petty can be directly blamed for the Patriot's loss at the Super Bowl on Sunday.

We discovered, years ago, that Tom Petty music was a bad omen. It all began when I came home from college for Christmas break. Art & Did accosted me the first night I was home. They had made elaborate plans to take me out for my birthday (side note: my birthday is in May, not December). They came bearing gifts, dressed me up, and swept me off into the night. The plans included visiting local eataries & telling the server it was my birthday so we could gourge on free desert. Our night even had a theme song: You Don't Know How it Feels. We drove around town listening to the single (on casette...the B side was Girl on LSD) & singing at the top of our lungs. We made it to Ruby Tuesdays & then headed out of town when Art's car (a Toyota Corrola named 'Olla) overheated trapping us in town for the night.

Instead Art & Did decided to take me to Willy's house. Willy was a young man who'd been a friend of ours in high school. There had been a falling out between us the night of the infamous OJ Simpson car chase that resulted in Did's boyfriend, Roleg, getting arrested. I hadn't talked to Willy since. Art & Did assured me that all was well with him & it was safe to visit. Long story short....Willy & I reunited & dated for about 18 months. 18 horrible, deranged, stupid like a rock months that resulted in me having to move out of state. And it's all Tom Petty's fault!

Just over a year later, Art, Did & I made a trip back to my college to visit a friend of mine who was about to leave for 6 months in Indonesia. In my brilliance I decided to surprise him. Unfortunately that meant we drove 8 hours, 240 miles in a small snow storm to see him for about 20 minutes.

The friends we were supposed to bunk in with decided to have a Dungeons & Dragons all nighter leaving us no where to sleep...especially since one of the "gamers" was Art's ex-boyfriend. Not a pretty thing. So we dug into our dwindling funds & rented a circa 1972 hotel room from a very concerned old Chineese man who repeatedly said, "You have party? You no have party in room. We no want party here. You have party? You no have party in room. No loud music. No party," no matter how many times we told him we just wanted a place to sleep.

Having nothing to do in the tiny college town, the next night, Did decided we should go to St.Louis instead. We drove the 2+ hours & got there at about 3 in the morning. We were driving through a rather bad neighborhood (and arguing about whether it was a dangerous place to be. I kept insiting Did turn the car around & she kept saying, "This isn't a bad neighborhood. Look at the beautiful architecture!" I said I didn't care about the architecture, I cared about the hookers on the corner fighting with their pimp & the guy shooting up under the street lamp), when we were stopped by a fire truck. I kid you not. They pulled up next to us & motioned for us to roll down the window. The fireman looked at the three, obviously lost girls in a car covered in sparkly daisy stickers with 0ut-of-state plates & said, "Are you lost?" I yelled Yes! as Did was saying No. The fireman said, "Turn your car around right now & get back on the interstate." Did said, "We're just looking for a hotel." He said, "Turn this car around RIGHT NOW and get back on the interstate!"

When we finally made it back a hotel, Did said she was going to go in and get a room. I asked where she got the money (as at this point we all only had enough for food & gas to get home). She said, "You have the money." That was our emergency fund...in other words, my bill money for the rest of the month. I said that's not what it was for, so she got back in the car & we drove the 350 miles home in comparitive silence. It was the worst trip ever.

What does that have to do with Tom Petty? The theme song for that trip was Into the Great Wide Open.

Finally there was the night Art & I were taking visiting friends to Nashville to the Underground to go dancing. We spent all afternoon getting ready (including SP-Art's now ex-husband- who felt the need to wear not only eyeliner & an obscene shirt, but also an ankle lenght plaid skirt), loaded the car to capacity, and hit the road. We got as far as the north side of town when the car broke down & we ended up walking for help...the motley crew we were. That night also started out with Tom Petty.

Sunday I was cheering for the New England Patriots (because Green Bay didn't make it to the Super Bowl...they really need to win one. Those are some seriously hard core fans!). As soon as I found out Tom Petty was playing I knew in my heart there was no way my team would win.

All these problems were not caused by a lack of planning or common sense...they were all caused by the evil powers of Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers. I do not shudder at the sight of a crow. I shudder at the opening bars of Mary Jane's Last Dance.