The Farm 2012

We made our annual pilgrimage to The Farm this week.  Unlike most years, it was NOT a straight-forward drive.  There were 3 (count 'em, 3!) different detours.  On the third detour, we made a turn (I ignored the GPS, "Maggi Ellen", when she tried to tell me to turn down a DIRT road and simply followed the detour signs on this one) and there in front of me was a very s-l-o-w moving coal train.  I'm pretty sure I cursed.  I decided to suck it up and count the cars with the kids.  There were only maybe 4 or 5 cars left when I noticed...something.  I turned to my sister who was riding shotgun and said, "What the heck am I supposed to do now?!?!  LOOK!"  On the other side of the tracks was a combine harvester which took up both lanes of the road (it being a two-lane road is extremely questionable) and then some.  I ended up having to back up into a random driveway and wait it out.  At least the farmer dude in the truck in front waved at me!

But.  We made it.  I took photos of the train and the combine but they're on my phone and I'm just not that savvy.  My Youngest Boy saw me taking pictures and got out his trusty camera and started snapping shots...of houses we passed and I think the occasional tree and/or cell phone tower (sidenote:  I don't think they were cell phone towers as that is the only place I have ever been where I get NO SERVICE.).

 There were kittens for everyone to hold.  Grandma is saying, "Honey!  You're being a little heavy-handed with that 10-day-old kitty!!":

 This kitty and her sisters were in the 6-week-old range.  Old enough to come home with us, but, alas, Mr. MOTH isn't convinced we need a pet.  Yet.

 The kids played a rousing game of hide-n-seek while we caught up with my Aunt E.  Little One's "hiding" spot:

 This photo just cracks me up.  They look like they're about to head out on an African safari, especially with the camera!

We followed Maggi Ellen's (it's a Magellan GPS) route home with no major detours or delays.  And now Baby Girl has embarked on a unique strategy to convince her daddy that she needs a kitten.  It's called "whine, beg, plead" and it's worked for other things so I'm convinced we'll be buying Tidy Cat by the end of the summer. ;)

My Version

Growing up, I had several children in my class whose families owned a business. Because of the obvious affiliation, we made a field trip to those family businesses as a class every.single.year. Field trips are awesome, right? Well, sure, they get you out of class and all, but these field trips were...smelly.

First we would head to a chicken farm known around the area for egg production. Do you know what chickens smell like? Let's just say it's NOT like Chicken Parmesan or even nuggets. It's more like...uh...farm. I don't remember a single other thing aside from the aroma. Oh, and I remember several of my classmates losing their lunch. And I'm not talking about the brown bag we were required to bring along.

Next up was the cheese factory. Now, this one might not be as obvious to those who have never been to one but again, it does NOT smell like cheddar! It's more like fermenting milk with a side of curd thrown in. Not.Good.

A child in my Oldest Boy's class (one of his best buds, as a matter of fact) is the son of a baker. Guess where his class gets to go for a field trip? That's right. A bakery. (This bakery, if you're in the area)I would have given my right arm to get the chance to go some place that smelled like baked goods instead of the god-forsaken aroma that we were made to endure.

And I had to walk up-hill to school. Both ways. In snow up to my eyeballs. Through blistering heat. I was lucky to have shoes!

Now, get off my lawn!

It's Official

I'm an idiot.

After my debacle on Tuesday, I should have just called it a week and assumed I would continue to make a fool of myself. Yesterday topped the dress mess, though.

I was cooking dinner (chicken soup from leftover crockpot chicken, since you asked) and I had to empty the garbage can. Sidenote: the garbage was full of food products, including scraps from the soup and the entire meal from the night before (tuna cakes. Not good. If you know how my MIL made tuna cakes can you call me RIGHT NOW because my husband is making me crazy requesting them). I opened the garage door, tossed the kitchen bag into the large cans with black bags in them - empty, I might add, since it was garbage day - and went about finishing dinner and feeding the kids (who, turns out, hate chicken noodle soup).

I then decided I would put the bag of clothes I was giving to a family at the school into the Space Shuttle because I knew I would see them at Mass this morning (the priest is being re-assigned and Youngest Boy made sure to ask me to be there. I think he was afraid he would be sad and wanted to make sure I would be able to comfort him.). I opened the garage door and started to walk around to the back of the van when I noticed a white kitchen bag on the floor of the garage with scratch marks on the side. This bag had not been there when we got home from school. The only bag I knew of in the garage was the one I had just thrown into the big, black can. Hmmmm. I freaked the frickety frack out. I mean, it had to be something REALLY FRICKIN' BIG to be able to get that bag out. I bolted into the house and called Mr. MOTH. He just loves when I call him in a panic. Especially when I'm using my super-loud, super-squeaky voice. I could NOT make him understand what had happened. He was not grasping that there was a HUGE MONSTROUS BEAST in the garage - maybe a bear! Or a panther! At LEAST a mountain lion! COME HOME RIGHT NOW OMG WE'RE GOING TO BE EATEN! ACK! HURRRRRYYYYY!

I finally decided I would just call my dad and have him tell me what it most likely was (my husband? He's not much of an outdoorsman. Or an animal lover. Or a country boy.). Problem? Dad's not home. Called his sister - Aunt E - because she can put any outdoorsman I know to shame. She said most likely a racoon would do something like that. I suggested maybe a cat? Possible. I was going with cat. Cute. Furry. Kitty cat. Phew! Much better than HUGE MONSTROUS BEAST!

Mr. MOTH called back and we formulated a plan. He would park in the driveway and open the door. I would come out through the front door and act as back-up (read: hide behind him ready to run for help at the first sign of trouble). He opened the door and saw the bag. We stared at it for awhile. I said, "Honey, something is IN that bag! I can see black at the top! I KNOW I put the celery on the top! AAACCCKKK!"

But the bag was oddly still considering it had a racoon in it. Or a kitty cat. Or a HUGE MONSTROUS BEAST! We inched closer. A bit closer. I said, "Are you SURE you didn't throw a white bag away this morning? Or maybe last night after you bagged every thing up? Was there anything else in a bag in the garage?" Mr. MOTH said, "Well, just that bag of Christmas wreaths and lights that you left out there. I tossed it up on top of the shelves and..."

The lightbulb came on. Yes, my friends, I was afraid of a bag of Christmas lights. I'm scarred for life. We'll never be able to decorate the outside of our house again. Maybe it would've been better if it had been a HUGE MONSTROUS BEAST! Because I love Christmas.

Training to...Catch the Garbage Truck?

You all know that I started running last January in the hopes of completing a 5K. I am still running even after my varicose vein treatments (follow-up post coming soon!) although I haven't committed to any more races yet (read: I haven't ponied up the funds). But yesterday my training came in very, very handy!

We live on a small cul-de-sac. Four houses total (currently only 3 are occupied since the crazy, irresponsible, annoying neighbors suffered a foreclosure). Our little road is part of a plan of homes made up of six of the exact same cul-de-sacs. Five of the six are relatively level (the sixth is that big hill I conquer at the start of my run). We live on one of the level roads.

Since we built our home in 2002 we have been required by our garbage collection agency to place our trash at the end of the cul-de-sac by the "big road" (that's what my kids call it). A few years ago I noticed that the garbage truck goes the whole way down the next cul-de-sac over and picked up the trash in front of the homes. So I called the company. They explained that the homeowners must have a disability (which is true) and that's why they made the exception. Fair enough. I wasn't going to begrudge them this perk when they have other woes.

About a year ago our favorite neighbors (across the street) were told that not only did they have to put their trash at the end of the road but they had to cart it across to our side. This was annoying to them but a bit more annoying to us because, well, we live in the country. There are nocturnal creatures who feast on our trash, ripping the bags wide open and spewing it...across our lawn. We dealt with it because, well, what choice did we have?

Over Christmas break I just happened to be driving home during trash pick-up time and I saw the garbage truck go down every.other.road in our plan. Come to think of it, I've never seen the other roads with trash at the end. NEVER. I called again and was promptly told that, yes, indeed, they would pick up our garbage at the end of our driveway and we no longer had to cart it down the street, effective immediately. WOOT! This was great news for all as it's getting chilly around these parts.

Trash day was yesterday. There was approximately 1/4 inch of snow left on the ground (we got maybe 2" during the week). I knew the chances were slim that the garbage collectors were going to voluntarily drive down our road as this would require a good 3-4 extra minutes of work for them (sidenote: I know garbage men work very hard. I also know that I pay more than I should for this service.). I was watching. They went down the other roads. They stopped for the house across the big road. They briefly considered driving down our road. And then they didn't. Poor, poor souls.

I already had my shoes on (ala Flylady) and I was standing next to Mr. MOTH's jacket. I was out the door in a flash with instructions to the girls to stay put and not get into any trouble (yeah, right). I chased them, on foot, wearing Sketchers flats, in the snow. And I caught them on the next cul-de-sac. We exchanged pleasantries (read: I wanted to know why in the %$#@ they hadn't picked up my garbage. They told me it was "too icy". Pishaw!). My neighbors already think I'm nuts and this proved it. BUT. One well-placed phone call (thank GOD I got the original Customer Service person) and I was promised they would pick it up - where it was - by the end of the day. Less than an hour later it was gone. Must've been elves. Maybe flying garbage squirrels. Don't know. Don't care.

Next week I'll be wearing my Nike.

Use Your Manners

Before we go to an event (party, shower, wedding, etc.), I try to go over my expectations for the kids. It helps the most if I do it RIGHT before, but if it's really big (like a wedding at a fancy country club) I will practice more than once the week before. Recently, we were invited to a graduation party for our neighbor's daughter. They're the best neighbors and their daughters just love our kids. We dog-sit for them whenever they go out of town (which the kids LOVE to do). In general, we really like their whole family. However, we were worried about taking our kids to a party like this where they were likely to be the only small children in a group of (mostly) strangers so we went over "The Rules" on manners just before we left:

What do you say when you want something? "May I have some, please?"

Do we use potty words when we're eating? "NO, Mommy!" *giggles*

What do we say when we try something that we DON'T like? "It's not my favorite..." This one threw me for a loop. I would have said maybe, "No, thank you." but I figured this could work. And then I started thinking...a few days before I had made a soup and, per usual, everyone was required to at least try it. Youngest Boy had replied with, "You know, Mommy, it's not my favorite..." {SIGH} *******

Completely unrelated, but I wanted to post about this little tidbit because I find it unbelievably puzzling. Last week during Oldest Boy's cross country practice I had the opportunity to go for a run all by myself. The little kids were home with Daddy and I had planned to just circle around the school area until I reached my goal. As I'm running on one of the side streets I came up behind a walker. She was dressed for exercise. And she was holding a book at arm's length and just above chin-level. Now that would have been strange enough, but she was also smoking a cigarette. I.don't.get.it. The only thing missing was a hat with straws that holds two beers!

MOO!

We made our annual pilgrimage to "the farm" this week. Seriously, how did it get to be near the end of July already? August is a mere two weeks away! Of course, with August comes sports practice (our first year for that), trying to cram every last ounce of fun into the summer, scheduling doctor physicals for munchkins and buying school clothes and supplies. In other words, TOTAL CHAOS!! We took the day, unplugged, and went to one of the few places on planet Earth where there's no cell service.
After we tortured visited the cows, we took a little tour of the cornfield on the tractor/wagon. It had rained buckets the night before so the path that Aunt E had cleared just for us was flooded. If you know Aunt E, you'll know that she was hardly dissuaded.
That was one of those moment when I was supremely glad that neither my mother nor my husband was with us (my sister was, but as she kept saying, we always survived!).
And then of course, there were kittens. Three of them. And we somehow managed to come home with zero. But, alas, the seed has been planted. Mr. MOTH is on guard. There will be a pet in the house by Christmas. He just doesn't know it yet...

I don't have a picture of the classic moment from the day so I'll just have to relate the story. While the boys were getting a tractor drivin' lesson, Little One spotted a tiny toad jumping around on the lawn. She was fascinated! She watched closely and then said, "I jump like a froggy! Jump! Jump! Jump!" Followed by more squatting to watch and more jumping. All seemed fine until she picked up her little foot and SQUASH! down on the teeny, tiny toad. She picked her foot up off of the little hopper and he quickly started jumping for his life. Retreat!! Retreat!! We're pretty sure he's going to make it...

Sometimes Competition Is A Good Thing

Have you ever heard of a Punch Bug (some might say "Slug Bug")? How about a parking boot? That's where it all began, folks...

Mr. MOTH and I were on one of our first dates (you know, where you're still counting them) and we were cruising around the Strip District (if you're not local, that's NOT what it sounds like) looking for a parking space when I spotted a brand-spankin' new VW Bug. So, I did what any mature adult would do: I leaned over and punched him in the arm (HARD!) and shouted, "Punch Bug!" After he corrected his steering and got us back on the road he looked at me like I had completely lost my mind and said, "What the hell was that for?!?!" "Um, I saw a Punch Bug." Then he said something that nearly ended our relationship: "What's a Punch Bug?!?!" Seriously? I had to explain. It didn't go well. He seemed to think maybe I just wanted to hit him for no reason or something...Needless to say, he had never heard of one. He proceeded to explain that it must be some kind of "hick" thing and that I was such a country girl. Yeah, well, this "country girl" just got in a free punch!

Fast forward to the next weekend. We were again cruising around the metro area when he said, "That guy's got TWO parking boots! Must be pretty bad..." "Um, what's a parking boot?" (I probably said this while twirling my hair. I am SUCH a girl.) Again the incredulous look. "Don't they have those out in the sticks?" Apparently not, or I WOULDN'T BE ASKING!

We decided to stage a friendly competition. We were working together at the time so we would conduct independent surveys to see who had heard of which one, Parking Boot or Punch Bug. Winner take all!

Things were definitely favoring him (we worked in the city NOT out in the sticks) when he came to my desk armed with a newspaper: The headline read something about a new generation of "Punch Bugs". Victory was mine! He conceded the contest and we have now officially been together 12 years, as of today.

Happy Anniversay (of our 1st date), City Boy!

(Believe it or not, he didn't know what a padiddle was, either...)

E-I-E-I-OOOOOO!

Yesterday we made our annual pilgrimage to the farm, otherwise known as my aunt's house. The kids absolutely love it! This year was no exception.

Baby Girl had a great time chewing on the gate watching the cows, but she wanted to be just a bit closer.

Now this was more like it! This calf was approximately 2 days old. Let me hear ya now - Awww!

Youngest Boy just wanted to love them...

Oldest Boy, however, was a bit overwhelmed by the stench farm fresh scent! (notice the fingers up the nose)

After scaring the crap out of checking out the babies, we were ready to move up to the "big" cows.

As Youngest Boy said, "It's a cow party in here!!"

There were probably close to 200 cows this size (100 on each side or so) and they were held back by that oh-so-sturdy metal rod. They were eating when we strolled by with their heads underneath the bar. Apparently, when Baby Girl was told that she would have to leave she pitched an absolute ear-splitting fit - and nearly caused a stampede as the cows jerked their heads away from the offending noise and made off! Fan-freakin'-tastic!

The day was topped of with a ride in the cart, the highlight of every trip...

But this year the best thing for the boys was seeing the "dinosaur" skeleton in the weeds. When Aunt Elaine said, "Can you see the dinosaur bones over there?" Youngest Boy said, "You have got to be kidding me!!!" All in all it was a lot of fun. I managed to come home with all four kids in one piece...and no kittens!! I should mention that the cows were actually on a neighbor's farm. My aunt no longer keeps farm animals - only dogs, cats, and turtles!

I Hate It When He's Right

I've mentioned before that Mr. MOTH is a city boy. He doesn't hunt, fish, or do any of that redneck stuff that goes on out here in the country. And he most certainly does not want members of the woodland creature family coming into our home. For as long as we have lived in this house he has been adamant about keeping the doors closed. You MUST close them AS SOON AS your foot is inside lest a little varmit decides to scurry in. I think he's nuts, but I do my best. I hate it when he's right.

Friday morning while Mr. MOTH was watching the kids, I was walking down the hallway towards a much-anticipated shower when an aforementioned woodland creature scurried ACROSS MY EVER-LOVING FOOT!! I screamed like a school girl and tried to speak a coherent sentence to let my DH know what the hell was going on. Once I started breathing again, I explained that it had run into the living room. Mind you, I am still in my pajamas at this point as is Mr. MOTH. Our living room was not exactly neat - and even when it is there is all manner of trappings associated with having a house full of small children - blankets, car seats, diapers (2 different sizes), toys, etc. There is a plethora of places for a teeny, tiny mouse (and I'm the first to admit it was teeny, tiny) to hide. {SIGH} We (OK, mostly he) began systematically moving stuff out - using a yardstick. What the heck we thought we were going to do once we spotted it I have no idea, but that's how it started.

I went upstairs to deal with the screaming baby (who had been sleeping soundly until her mother freaked out), to close the doors to all of the rooms upstairs and also to put on some shoes. By the time I came back, my husband was starting to doubt my sanity. "Are you sure you saw it go into the living room?" Uh, yes! Yes! I am! We both knew where we would go if we were a mouse. We have a sectional and behind the corner piece we store blankets and old comforters that we use for the kids to play on and to snuggle with when we watch a movie. {SIGH}. But just to be sure, he was flipping over individual sections as he went. On the far side he flipped up the section and he freaked out (in his defense, there was no school girl screaming). Now the critter is on the run - "He's over there! He's on the end table! DO SOMETHING! He's under the TV stand! GET SOMETHING! (at one point Mr. MOTH said we looked like something out of Christmas Vacation:-)" Meanwhile, the kids are all sitting at the kitchen table - clearly entertained. This was better than Playhouse Disney! (Youngest Boy now tells everyone he Finally! Saw! A real! Live! Mouse!).

I had closed the upstairs doors and all of the downstairs doors...except the one to the pantry. So of course it runs into the pantry - and I shut it in. Now the genius that is my husband (and I mean that literally not sarcastically) decides to block the exit with an empty box and we start systematically removing everything from the floor of the pantry - the breadmaker, the wine chiller, the stand mixer, the juice boxes, and then nothing is left...and no mouse. I am starting to freak out. IT'S A PANTRY!! All of our food is in there!

Mr. MOTH: "Well, maybe it ran into the box."

The Mommy: "Yeah, right. Don't you think we would have seen it? Surely we would be able to hear it trying to get out!"

Mr. MOTH: "What, you think it's having a party in there? Will you just look when I flip the damn box over?"

The Mommy: "AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH! IT'S IN THERE!!!"

Mr. MOTH: *smirk*

I hate it when he's right.

Now we have to dispose of it. He asks me what to do with it. My version involved a shovel and the critter's head. His version...not so much. He said it just looked so scared in there! So he poisoned it. Nice.

Although when Mr. MOTH asked what to do with it, Youngest Boy said, "Feed it some cheese?"

And to top off this little adventure, we decide to set traps around the perimeter of the house. Baby Girl promptly snapped her fingers in one this afternoon. This time, I was right.