A Clear Mind Is A Good Thing

I did it.

I took the cards in and paid for them.

The kid at the register looked at me like I'd lost my mind and said, are you ready for this...... "Wow, that's like something my Mom would do."

I guess that's what I am, a Mom .

A Mom who won't be blogging from behind bars waiting for an iFile to break out of the joint.

Home Alone

Mike took the kids camping yesterday.
I hope they are having  a great time.
I'm not going to worry about that though because..... I DON'T HAVE TO!

I can eat whatever I want and not have to share.
I can go to bed whenever I want, even if it's 3:30 in the afternoon
I don't have to get dressed and I can cuss as loud I please, even the F word.
I can watch whatever I want on T.V for as long as I want without having to worry about what time SpongeBob comes on for the 27th time in a day.
I have to tell you, General Hospital looks SO good on the 65 inch screen and even better without someone asking if the dishwasher is clean or dirty.

So last night Wendy and I went to town for supplies.
We got chips and salsa, Ben and Jerry's, all the stuff for Rice Krispi treats and smores, peanut butter M&M's and movies.
We were up until 2:30 this morning eating crap and watching R rated movies.

Something happened when we were at the store last night though and I want you to tell me if I'm a bad person.
We had gone through the entire "Have Everything Store that isn't Wal-Mart".
We had looked at all the house stuff, all the garden stuff and all of the clothing department.
We went through and got our groceries and paid for them.
We even stopped by customer service to tell them how much we liked the kid who rang our groceries and laughed with those girls for awhile.

On our way out we swung into the video department to look at the movies thinking we may just buy a movie as opposed to going to the Red Box.
That's when things started to go bad.
Because it was in my mind that our intention was to make another purchase, I picked up a $3.99 set of Pokemon cards for Wyatt and set them in the cart.
We wheeled through looking at all the different movies, even asking for assistance in locating Mars Attacks (how dumb, NOBODY has that movie, I can't even rent it) We took our time browsing music and movies and then decided to stick with the original plan of Red Boxing it.

Here's when it happens.
The defining moment.
The line was about to be drawn between good and evil.

As I unloaded the groceries, I saw that the pack of Pokemon cards were still in the basket.
I had not paid for them.
Was that stealing?
Why yes, I believe it was.
Could I have gone back into the store and returned/paid for them?
Why yes I could.
Did I?
NO.
Will I go to Hell for this?
Possibly.

I have not stolen anything since I was in the third grade.
I was eating candy that was weighed by the pound while I was standing in line waiting to pay.
Mrs Williams who owned the store took me in the dungeon office and scared me straight.
I have not fallen off the wagon since that day.
Until last night.

What should I do?

I don't want to be a prison blogger.
Blogging Behind Bars.... When Good Moms Go Bad.

Ugh, my stomach hurts.
I can't believe I even told you this.
Don't tell anyone else.

Got Weed?

Here's how it all started.

It was around the time of the Kentucky Derby and all the talk was about mint juleps.

Who was drinking them, how to make them and the history surrounding them.

I decided I needed to find out what all this julep fuss was about, so I was off to the local "has it all" store and bought a small package of mint seeds.

I would grow mint for juleps on the deck.

Everyone supported my endeavour.

GK was excited because there's whiskey in juleps and Mike was excited because he is excited about anything I do.

I planted the seeds, I watered the seeds, I loved the seeds and it wasn't long until they started to sprout. Every day they would get a little taller lifting their tiny little heads towards the sun.

I would shelter them from the rain and fertilize every Tuesday.

I never stopped to think what an endearing attachment I was forming with this one little plant, but I needed that mint, just as much as that little Jr mint needed me.

When we lost GK at the end of June, I looked at my mint and felt sad because GK would never have a chance to savour the juleps that we looked forward to sharing together on the deck.

I knew it was up to Mike and I to see this Kentucky tradition through.

For Grampy.

About a week ago, Mike was commenting on how well the mint was doing.

How tall it was, how green an healthy the leaves were, but he also mentioned how curious it was that it didn't smell like mint.

I told him he was dumb and possibly congested.

How could it not smell like mint.

Duh.

That night as we sat on the deck, Maddy came out to sit a spell and commented on my lovely mint.

I told her how I had raised it from a tiny seed, watered it and fed it, and if she liked, she could take a small leaf and taste the wonderful minty freshness.

Her eyes lit up and her smile warmed my heart as she walked to my cherished plant.

She took one of the smaller leaves close to the bottom and gently laid it on her tongue.

Her eyes started to cross as she coughed up the noxious stem and looked at me and squealed "eeeeewwwwwww Marilyn, that tastes like weed"

What did she know I thought to myself.

She's just a child.

It's not a weed, it's MINT.

Let me just tell you, the kid was right.

It is a weed.

But it is MY weed that I have nurtured since the conception of it's weediness and I am committed to seeing it through to the very end. I will continue to pinch off the dead leaves and fertilize on Tuesdays.

Protect it from the rain and shelter it from the wind.

That's just how I roll.

In another week or so the weed will be ready for juleps, at which time you can expect to see me on the deck in a fancy hat and housecoat toasting my Grampy.

Cheers!

Fancy Fish Update

Mike went to town and bought a bubbler and some plastic tubing.

The now thirteen dollar five dollar fancy fish is fine.

Fancy Fish Watch 08'

I don't have much to say today.

Except this.

We got a new fancy five dollar gold fish and I put her "Bubbles" in a GIANT cognac glass with pretty shiny glass stones in the bottom.

Very cool.

Mike said that because there is no pump she would die without air.

I had an idea.

I took the can of air from Costco that I use to clean the keyboard and every time I walked by Bubbles bowl I gave her a shot of air.

Turns out there may be more than just air in the can and shooting canned air through a straw may not actually be the best way to oxygenate a fancy fish.

I'll keep you posted.

Sweetie (Repost)

My friend Val and her kids were here this weekend.

We haven't seen each other for close to five years, and I must say it was the best visit.

It was so good to sit and talk and smoke and drink coffee on the deck just like old times,

and it's amazing to me how fast other peoples kids grow up. It seems like Joe and Kate were just little kids last time I saw them and now, their like real people.

Very cool real people.

My friend Kenna and her boys were here too. 

While Val and the kids were away at the Motocross race, Kenna and the boys wheeled in for an afternoon visit.

How lucky am I!

I have been so lonely for my friends and then all of a sudden they just start rolling in the driveway!

Jarred, Kenna's oldest son (7) spent the night because he and Wyatt are best friends.

True, they have known each other since before they were even born, but I can count on one hand how many times they have played or talked. 

But really, who am I to judge the friendship.

They are "best friends."

I'm not sure how the following story came up in conversation over the weekend, but it did, and really it's too good not to share.

Go warm up your coffee, it may be a long one.

This is my friend Becky

About four years ago Becky decided a good pet for Wyatt would be a turtle.

A turtle I thought... Not much effort would go into the care and feeding of a turtle.

Turtles are quiet.

Turtles don't stink.

Becky said she knew someone who had a turtle that was like seventeen years old, so obviously they're a good return on your investment.

After very little thought, I agreed and Becky and I were off to our local Pet-Smart in anticipation of the best pet purchase ever!

We walked in, and there she was, quiet in her tank, looking at us with those big sad turtle eyes, begging us to choose her and take her home and love her forever. 

At that moment, I felt like the best Mother and biggest humanitarian. 

Giving this poor cold blooded creature a home, and giving my son what would surely be a childhood filled with wonderful memories of he and his turtle.

We would call her "Sweetie."

As we walked to the car I reached out to hand Becky the box that held Sweetie, and as I recall, it was there in the parking lot that Becky gave her first initial cringe of fear and maybe even a wince of disgust.

Hmm... I was confused.

I asked Becky why she would encourage my to buy Wyatt a turtle if she was, might I say, a little repulsed by the animal,

Becky looked at me and shrugged and replied, "Your Kid."

We returned home with Sweetie to what I assumed would be cries of joy.

Instead, I was met with stand offishness and reservation.

My children looked a me and said, "a turtle?"

Whatever.

I liked Sweetie.

It turned out, like it usually does with kids and pets, that I was the sole caregiver and companion to Sweetie. 

Wyatt would take her out to "play" but it didn't take long (usually between 31-33 seconds) for him to become bored and walk away forgetting to put her back in her house.

The search for Sweetie would then begin, with nobody wanting to be the one to find her as she would usually appear as a cold clammy surprise between the couch cushions under the cover of darkness. 

Even I was a little creeped out by that.

That Summer, Becky and we'll call him "Stan" were in the midst of buying and remodeling a new home. While they did they were staying in a camp trailer that they would move from campground to campground. 

They would often find  themselves a little shy of the comforts of home, so Becky would come to the house and use the washer and dryer.

On one of those evenings, while we waited for her wash to finish we had decided to surf the Internet. 

As I often did while relaxing around the house, I had tucked Sweetie neatly in the front of my bra where she found warmth and comfort instead of being alone in her bowl.

This was more than Becky could stand.

Too much.

Over the top.

A turtle in my bra.

I took it upon myself to decide that then was the perfect time for Becky to get passed her fear and loathing of Sweetie, after all, getting a turtle was her idea.

I took sweetie out of my bra and told Becky she couldn't have any more wine unless she held her.

I think I may have even called her names and tried to shame her into forming a relationship with Sweetie. 

She had no choice but to accept the challenge.

She held Sweetie high and at arms length as she started petting her shell.

Sweetie liked that and poked her head out and looked at Becky as if to say "thank you friend."

Becky was surprised to find she was not as repulsed as she had expected to be.

Sweetie wasn't so bad, in fact, I thought for a minute maybe Becky was beginning to like Sweetie as she started softly rubbing her her neck.

Before I knew it, Becky was holding Sweetie to her face, talking smoochy talk and caressing Sweeties neck as Sweetie was bobbing her head up and down, up and down, stretching her neck out as farrrr as she could.

That's when it happened.

Sweetie ejaculated on Becky.

Becky's neck and shoulder was instantly covered in a sticky gross, white, slimy, ooze.

The situation quickly grew out of control.

Madness ensued.

Becky was screaming, tears falling down her cheeks. 

I was laughing so hard I couldn't breathe.

Sweetie was on the kitchen table sound asleep.

I wanted to help Becky, I really did, but I couldn't.

I. Could. Not. Stop. Laughing.

I have tears in my eyes and I am laughing right now.

I don't remember what happened next, and really, who cares what happened next.

My friend Becky brought my turtle Sweetie to a happy place sitting at my kitchen table while I watched.

Good enough story for me.

Little Dogs

The dogs are washed, the laundry is done and the house smells fresh.

I was telling Mike yesterday it's amazing how the house doesn't stink anymore since the poodles moved out. Is it possible for two "little dogs" to stink sooo much. Apparently so.

Speaking of the poodles, it's funny how I don't miss them, but how much I do miss Grampy. I was afraid there would be a connection between letting the dogs go to letting Grampy go, but alas, again, apparently not.

I know that the poodles are in a loving home and came into someone else's life the same way they came into Grampys. They are a comfort to someone in need, and Grampy would have wanted that.

Here's a question.

How do I begin sorting things out in Grampy's room?

I mean I understand the "sorting" part, this isn't my first rodeo. It's just hard to take that first step and touch the memories. Everything in this house is Grammy and Grampy, it's forty years of happy memories and love to me.

So where do I begin?

When Grammy passed last year, Julie was here to help, and we were on a mission to get us moved in the house to take care of Grampy. We could each touch something, shoot the other a look and know the sentiments. When we packed up the 547th pair of casual yet sensible shoes there was a connection to her that we both felt.

Here's the difference.

Grampy was still here which meant a part of Grammy was still here.

Now they are both gone.

Where is the touchstone?

Who will be here to hold the past for us now?

This sounds so dumb, but I feel like my past, my history is being held in Grampy's room and as soon as I open that door all the memories will fall away.

So, for today, I will keep the door closed.

I will not pack anything away, I will not box anything up.

I will keep it all safe for myself and the rest of the family (they may not even realize what a huge favor I'm doing them ;)

Someday we will all be grown up enough to take care of our own history, but for now, it's better kept with people we trust.

Change of Plans

It's dog wash day!!!
George went in last week and today is Pooter and Gizmo's day : )
They go in for a profesional wash about three times a year and the rest of the time just look like fat dirty farm dogs.
My job today is to wash everything the dogs sleep on or play with so it smells springtime fresh instead of like dirty dog ass.

Oops.

The dogs just came running in the door with Mike following behind giving me the stink eye.
Tomorrow is dog wash day.
Oh well, call today a practice run and I don't have to do dog laundry until tomorrw.

I went to the doctor for my shoulder yesterday and of course, as I figured, there was nothing he was able to do for me other than a referal to an Orthopedist.
I have an appointment next monday for a full work up.
It makes me so F'n mad that I'm having shoulder problems again, because then I have to be so uber careful about anything I do with my right arm.
The shoulder issue is this.... it used to go out all the time and I had to have surgery in 2001.
It hasn't gone out since.
That is until two nights ago.
Whatever.

My Mom is bringing a friend out to visit this morning so I need to go brush my teeth.

Oh.
Well, my Mom just called and her friend is sick so they will not coming today.

I guess I'll go brush my teeth anyway.

Chow.

Bloggy Love

This is going to be short and sweet as I threw my Blog shoulder out last night while tossing garden debris over the fence :(

I got this show of affection from MamaHut this morning, thank you MH!

I want to pass it on tooooooo...

John Deere Mom

Mamas Losin It

Scargosun

From Talbots to Target

Captain Pork Chops

A Shelter From The Storm

Kinda Acts of Randomness

I love ALL the blogs I read, so it was a hard choosing just seven, and of course I would double up on Mama Hut if the rules allowed.

So, Take your bling and pass it on!

While you do that, I'm going to take a pain pill and wait for the doctor to call.

Ciao' Bellas

Random Thought

I wonder if SpongeBob watches Hannah Montana.

Shhhh.....

My house is quiet.

I forgot what quiet sounded like.

Mike is sleeping.

Wendy is at the Fair.

The kids are upstairs airbending 

(don't ask, I don't care, bending air is obviously a quiet sport)

The phone isn't ringing.

The dogs aren't barking.

The donkey's aren't meesh-mawing.

The ducks, turkeys, geese and chickens must all be in a meeting because I'm not hearing any commotion from the compound.

The television is OFF.

What should I do?

It's to early to sleep, and anyway, I would hate to waste good quiet on sleep.

I could take a box of wine to the deck...

No, because when the quiet ends in a screeching blaze of catastrophe I'd be laid out drunk in a garden chair. No good.

Maybe I could start reading a new book.

Maybe I could pick up on the the third page of the last book I started reading two months ago.

Forget the book, I just end up reading the same paragraph over and over because my mind wanders.

I could take a long relaxing bath.

No, I would have to clean the tub first ergo the relaxing part.

Maybe I'll just sit outside and watch the sun as it starts to go down.

It shouldn't be long till' quiet is gone, I might as well just relax and enjoy it.

Pea's Out

Big Blog Hug

Goes to John Deere Mom for figuring out my center color dilemma.

Thank you for taking the time to teach me "code," you rock my blog Sister!!

Pretty Paper Please

Today's post has been inspired by The Farmers Wife. She was explaining how her husband has issues with the amount of toilet paper on hand at any given moment and how she buys in bulk to supply that demand.

That brought to mind the burning question I've had for many years now. A question that has led me down many store aisles, kept me up late at night and has been the topic of many Google online searches.

What ever happened to scented and colored toilet paper?

You can no longer coordinate your bathroom to your tissue. No more delicate prints to tie in the wallpaper to the bath mat. No more comforting smell as the roll unwinds one sweet smelling square at a time.

WHAT IS WITH THAT!

What does this say about us as a society? Have we become nothing more than mere savages? 

No longer concerned about the one item that is so personal and self defining?

Also, it used to be when you walked into the bathroom there would always be a roll discreetly hidden on the back of the tank. It may have been a fancy lady holding a roll under her skirt or maybe even an obtrusive octopus, but by God you knew you were covered. No rummaging through the cupboards on the other side of the room, no searching under the sink, it was just there and knowing that was enough. 

I say it's time to take back the bathroom.

One house at a time all across this great land.

Do your part by beautifying this most important of all rooms, make your guests feel welcome with small soaps and towels. Start a movement one store at a time by demanding pretty prints and springtime fresh scents.

We can do it if we all work together.

                                                       *UPDATE*

Scargoson say's it's all due to Lady parts and douche.

**Under Construction**

I am trying very hard to decide on a new look for the blog. I need to get some color and kick in it somehow. So if you feel like every time you log in things look different, your right

Does This Make Me Look Fat?

My daughter asks me this question on a semi regular basis and because I'm her mother, not her husband, I have the right about twenty days out of the month to say yes.

I no longer ask that question myself, because I am a little (seventy pounds) overweight and I'm not dumb (just fat) so all I need is a quick look in the mirror or the extra pull of elastic around my middle to know, this outfit may be a little on the shy side and enhance my lady curves more than desired for just a grocery store run.

Ok, so back to Wendy. 

There are times when I am feeling especially close to her and will offer up my opinion as to how she looks in a certain outfit. That's what I refer to as "poking the bear" and anyone with good sense knows not to poke a bear (especially not  four to six days out of the month.) She will usually give me the "your so retarded look accompanied by a heavy sigh and slight roll of the eyes and explain to me once again how that is the "style."

Listen, I have style. My own style. 

Close friends and family members felt the need to do a personal intervention on my style about five years ago. According to them, stretch pants with over sized shirts and cute slip on shoes were "out" and I needed to slip into some w i d e leg pants and flowy hippy print shirts with chunky heeled sandals. Because I didn't want to be shipped away to some back woods fashion camp I went along with what these people were forcing on me, but I was never, not for one minute was I comfortable with what was happening to me. Day after day, I longed for my wide headbands and big t-shirts.

Now. 

Look around you.

What do you see?

Maybe it's just because I'm in Oregon, the farthest point from the fashion center of the earth, but every day I see people rockin my look.

I see short stretch pants under short skirts, long stretch pants under long skirts, I can honestly say I have even seen stretch pants accompanied by a loose white t-shirt and flat slip on shoes.

I no longer feel banned to the garden or tied behind a vacuum cleaner when I wear my stretch pants. 

I feel free and I feel proud.

Anyway, back to Wendy.

Now when she has her wide leg pants with some empire waisted funky shirt, three (?) bra straps showing and flip flop underpants riding high above her denim waistline, deep in my heart in my most private of places, I know I am really the one in fashion ( at least in the state of Oregon) so when she looks at me and asks...."do I look dumb in this?" I reflect back and remember what she said to me and say, "no Wen, you look great." 

Because there are two things I know.

One, a mother isn't stupid, and two that look should be back again in about fifteen to twenty years so she may as well just keep rockin it.

Of course there are those days when I tell her she looks like a dirty whore, but those are also the days I usually end up regretting.

Deep Thoughts

What are your family dynamics?

I think the passing of my Grampy will be a test of how our family handles tough situations.

It amazes me how two people (my Grammy and Grampy) who spent their lives working and giving to others can leave behind a family in crisis over who gets what and how much of it they are "entitled" to.

I feel like this farm is a gift and a legacy to our entire family and to bring it to a matter of money almost makes me ill.

One person was chosen to be an executor of the farm and feels the responsibility in making sure it remains in the manner they feel it was intended, yet another feels a financial need that would surely take away from that.

So how do you find a balance?

This is what I want to know.... why can't things just stay the same?

Why can't we just continue on with the way things were a month ago?

The farm financially supports itself and my family can continue with the daily chores that keep it going.

No one else in the family wants to live here, they just want to know it will always be here for them to come to and for our children to come to.

This farm was the one sure thing we had during our chaotic childhood. The one thing that always stayed the same. The same loving people were always there to meet you at the door when you arrived and then took your picture when you were pulling out of the driveway to go home.

The smell of my Grammy's cooking and my Grampy's barn clothes in the utility room.

I will always remember that.

It was the smell of closeness and the smell of love

So I guess in my heart, I wonder if money can replace any of that.

Can a vacation or a new t.v remind you of the feeling you get walking in these doors?

I hope I never have to ask anyone in my family that question.

LooK

Mamahut just gave me this!

I guess I'll try to think of more stuff to blog about, on the one condition that if you get bored or think what I say is dumb, don't let me just blather on, say something.

I don't want to be some crazy woman sitting in a housecoat all day blogging about cats and lunch meat.

All of our fish are dying, and we lost one more during the night.

The up side of this tragedy is it gives Maddy and Wyatt the uber important job of undertaker, and what with digging tiny fish graves and finding perfect rocks for tombstones they have kept quite busy.

The downside is that the garden by the pump house shall now be referred to as the pet cometary.

Mike is up and as you all know he sucks the creativity from my brain like my sisters suburban sucks unleaded.

Ciao for now!

I Think....

I may be done blogging.

Still Here

Just to busy to blog right now.
Everyone is doing better with every day that passes, and time together is good.
I think life will start slowing down a bit next week, I'll be back then.