Farm Life's Hardest Lesson

If you read any "What I Wish I Would Have Known" articles written by modern homesteader types, one of the first items on their list is always going to be this:

You don't have to do it all at once.

Take it slow, they say. Give yourself grace, they say. Just a little bit at a time and don't overwhelm yourself.

I've read dozens of those articles. And I've always nodded in agreement, as though I've always known perfectly well that that one little bit of advice is absolutely correct.

Except that I didn't.

My best friend and I used to joke that whichever one of us ended up moving to a farm first was going to end up sitting in the middle of her pasture, crying the ugly cry, absolutely overwhelmed by what she had taken on and that the other friend was going to have to listen and comfort and try not to say "I told you so."

Turns out, I was the first one to move to a farm. And that prediction wasn't as far off as I'd like for you think it is. Except that it's snowy outside, so I was sobbing in my bedroom, while staring at my pasture. Which really isn't any better.

I haven't blogged regularly in almost a year. There's a reason for it though.

The past year has been seriously rough. My husband has been working out of town - sometimes out of state - for the past year. He's gone two weeks and then home for a week. That means that two thirds of the time, every responsibility of this property falls on my shoulders. In the past year I have raised a rather large garden, milked two goats and kept another 50 or so animals alive, homeschooled a first and fifth grader, kept a 4600 square foot house clean, raised 700 bales of hay on a 25 acre pasture using nothing but a shovel and some tarps. I've raised and butchered enough chickens to last a year, canned a year's worth of fruits and vegetables and dried or frozen what wasn't canned, cooked dinner every night,  run my kids around to their extra curricular activities, driven an hour each direction every time I needed groceries, hauled horses to 9 gymkhanas and rodeos, and hauled chickens to the county fair. And almost all of this with very little help from The Man of My Dreams, except for the weeks he was able to spend at home.

What I learned is that I really can do it all. I'm working from 5:30 in the morning until 9:30 at night, every single hour of the day, but I can get it all done. Until something goes wrong. As soon as the slightest little thing happens to upset my very rigid schedule, I lose it. I get so overwhelmed that I can't function and all I want to do is give up. Or cry.

The bad part of that, though, is that in this life, something happens to change your plans Every. Single. Day. Nothing ever goes the way you expect it to, or plan for it to. An animal gets sick. A kid misbehaves. A neighbor needs help. A fence needs fixed or a goat gets out or a deer dies in your front yard or your dog gets skunked or the well runs dry (again) and you have to spend an hour hauling water. The list of Things That Can Go Wrong is infinite. And each one of those things is guaranteed to happen when you least expect it. That is reality.

And with a schedule as packed as mine has been this year, and a brain so overwhelmed by constant mental to-do lists, there just isn't time to stop and enjoy all those little things that are supposed to bring me joy. I don't have time to watch my kids play with animals or build a fort or raise a puppy. I don't have time to relax with my husband and just sit and watch the sun go down. I've spent every waking moment just keeping up, keeping my head above water, that I've lost touch with every reason we moved up here in the first place. And that makes my heart hurt.

It's a lesson no one can just tell you and expect you to understand: You don't have to do it all at once.

You have to learn it, first hand. And it's painful. And it involves a lot of frustration and even more tears. But eventually, you take a step back, and you realize what you're doing to yourself, and you decide things have to change. Priorities have to be considered. You have to give yourself room to bend, and time to relax. You have to remember that there are so many years ahead of you to figure this all out and get it all done. And there will never be one single year when you actually accomplish everything you feel like you should. Living this life isn't something to mark off the to-do list. It's a process - a life long process - and it will never actually be finished.

And so, at a time when so many of my friends are moving out to the country and starting their homesteading lives, here is my advice:

You don't have to do it all at once.

Take it slow.

 Give yourself grace.

Just a little bit at a time.

Don't overwhelm yourself.

And when you are sobbing in the middle of your pasture, don't hesitate to give me a call. 

Have some respect. A rant.

Something's been weighing on my mind for awhile now, though I've avoided blogging about it because I didn't want to offend.

When did it become so acceptable for women to disrespect their husbands? It seems that this day in age, it's the accepted "norm" for conversation among women to involve husband bashing. It breaks my heart to think of how our men would feel if they heard these conversations about them. How disheartened and discouraged and hurt they would feel.

If I were to challenge you to think of something nice to say about your husband, could you? What about three things? Could you rave for an hour about the great things he's done, the way many women can rage for an hour about the things he hasn't?

I get that your husband isn't perfect. Neither is mine. I could opt to bitch about the fact that he has a serious problem with paper clutter, that he can spend four hours in front of the computer at one time, that he likes watching hunting shows on TV, that he works too much, that he's anal retentive and it can be hard to live with. And in fact, I have bitched about those things from time to time. But I certainly try not to make a habit of it. Instead, I make it my goal to simply choose to live with those things that make me crazy. Instead, I focus on the fact that he works hard to support us, he mows the lawn without complaining, he listens patiently to me when I'm in the mood to talk incessantly, and he does what he can to help around the house when he's home.

I'm not perfect either. In fact, I'm pretty sure I can be miserable to live with sometimes - I'm moody and demanding, I'm a perfectionist, and I don't iron. But I'm nearly positive that my husband doesn't sit around with his friends grumbling about wrinkled shirts and taking out the trash.

How does complaining about our husbands make anything better? Does nagging and griping really make them want to do better? How about instead of that, we thank them when something is done for us, we appreciate how hard they work to support our families. Maybe if they see a bit of gratitude instead of a wife who is never satisfied, they'd be more likely to improve in the areas where we think they need it.

What really gets me is the women who expect their husbands to respect them, but refuse to give their men the same respect. Women are NOT better than men! This whole feminist thing irks me to no end - this way of thinking encourages women to hold themselves on a pedestal above their men, and it's destroying relationships and self images everywhere. There's no shame in being a woman, doing woman's work, and being satisfied with it. Women do have a place in this world, and we would do well to take it instead of trying to fight it.

It's exhausting to listen to all of these women gripe about the men they are married to (or are living with, which is essentially the same thing.) Surely there is something good about this man, or you would not have chosen to spend your life with him. Do me a favor - focus on some of those good things. The next time you're ready to vent about what a jerk your man is, instead think of something fantastic that he has done, or about him as a person, and share that with your friend instead. See if you can get a conversation going about what great guys you have, how hard they work or how funny they are or how much you enjoy being with them or what great daddies they are... something, anything, that's positive. Let your daughters hear you rave about your husbands, so that they know how to speak about their own husbands when they are grown and married.

Or even better - tell your husband to his face those positive things. Let him know you love him. Let him know you respect him. Stop just expecting his respect - earn it by respecting him first.

Golden Hair vs. Brown Hair - a rant.

Remember in the Little House books* when Laura slaps Mary for saying "Golden hair is lots prettier than brown," and then she gets a spanking for it? And afterwards, Laura asks Pa if he thinks golden hair is prettier, and then all is made better when Pa points out that his hair is brown, too.

I totally get it. There's something alluring about little girls with blonde hair and blue eyes. And at the risk of sounding biased, I think she's pretty darn beautiful too. But for heaven's sake, brown hair and blue eyes are just as pretty!

People comment on babies and children. It's what they do - especially old people. They love to tell you how blessed you are, how cute they are, how much fun you must have. And I love that.

What I don't love is when someone sees Cora and says, "Oh! What a beautiful little girl you have! Just look at those eyes! And her pretty golden hair! Well, aren't you just a precious little doll!" and then they look at my seven year old and say, "And hi there."

I used to think it was a little bit rude. Then I found it slightly more annoying. Now it eats at me and I get pretty darn worked up about it.

Yes, The Toddler has rather striking features, and blue eyes and blonde hair are considered "beautiful" in our society. Add to that the fact that two is a very cute age, clothes made for two year olds are absolutely adorable, and my two year old in particular is very good at doing cute things to get the attention of old ladies standing in long lines.

The Older One is seven. Seven is not a particularly cute age, and anyone who has a picture of themselves at age seven should already be aware of that. Seven is the first year of the Awkward Stage. It's also just about the age that little girls begin to develop certain sensitivities and insecurities. In my opinion, she's gorgeous and beautiful and perfect. But there are some things that a mom can say that just don't take the place of when others say them.

I wish people would keep their opinions to themselves sometimes. I appreciate the compliments and all, but I hate the way it makes my precious Oldest girl feel, and I can see in her eyes that it hurts more than just a little.

*We're still reading the Little House books, so please forgive me the constant references to them. At the rate we're reading them, I'll keep on making these constant references for the next three years.

Taste of Home - the Anti-Healthy

My mom and I went to the Taste of Home Cooking School on Thursday night.

I'd love to tell you it was fantastic, inspirational, and informative.

Mostly though, it was frustrating and depressing. There were good points, little useful tips and hints, etc. so it wasn't a total waste. And I'll never pass up an opportunity to hang out with my mom, so it was worth the ten dollars spent.

But overall, it was a testament to all that home cooking has become in the last 50 years, since the years of the Industrial Revolution when our purpose became wrapped up in convenience and disposable everything.

Vegetables that you can purchase in the freezer section of the grocery store (probably grown in Guatemala or something) that are pre-cut, pre-washed, pre-packaged into a microwave safe package. Put the package into the microwave and when you take them out, they are perfectly steamed. Only two minutes' worth of work, and voila! Vegetables, microwaved to remove every possible nutrient the body could possibly glean from them, in plastic nonetheless, bringing every consumer that much closer to a cancer diagnosis.

Or there's the crock-pot liner. You can now purchase a (probably-cancer-inducing) plastic liner for your crock pot. Crock-pots are already the lazy mother's best friend (and I use mine frequently - no insult intended!) But to use a plastic liner? Now you don't even have to wash the contraption after it's done cooking your food. Then, you just toss that liner into the trash can where it will make it into the land fill, adding to the already disgusting amount of garbage our society produces. It's like killing two birds with one stone - you get to eat harmful chemicals leached into your food from the plastic, and then you get to add to the ever-growing pile of unnecessary household waste. Awesome!

And recipes aren't what they used to be. Many of the recipes call for things like "1 can of chili with beans" or "1 jar of spaghetti sauce" or, most commonly, "One package of frozen dinner roll/bread/biscuit dough.". It's assumed now that no one is going to take the time to actually make these foods. Our society would much rather purchase a can of something the company claims to be food, pressure cooked in a can along with a smattering of preservatives, MSG, and GMO's. If I'm looking for a recipe for a fancy breakfast pastry, I don't want to see "2 packages purchased frozen pastry sheets" in the list of ingredients.

And what bothers me most of all is that these Taste of Home people are sitting here evangelizing the greatness of all of these convenience foods and disposable products to thousands of women across the nation, playing on our addiction to consumerism and our genetic need for "more, bigger, better, newer". Women of today are brainwashed into thinking that "convenient" means "better" when in reality, we're becoming sicker and sicker and feeding the same crap to our husbands and children, causing mass epidemics of a whole host of illnesses that no one wants to take responsibility for.

And that ends my rant. Thanks for listening.
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Taking a 180 degree turn, I feel compelled to include this absolutely delicious recipe for a coffee cake from one of the free cooking magazines handed out from the show. You really should try it. It's easy, quick, and positively sinful.



Cinnamon Nut Coffee Cake

1.5 cups all purpose flour (or whole-wheat pastry flour)
1 cup sugar (or organic raw cane sugar)
2 tsp. baking powder (aluminum free is best)
1/4 tsp salt (I omitted this with success)
1/4 c. melter butter
2 eggs, lightly beaten
1/2 cup milk
1 tsp vanilla

Topping:
1 cup chopped walnuts
1 cup packed brown sugar (I would bet date powder would work well here)
2 tbsp. all purpose flour (or the whole wheat stuff)
3 tsp. cinnamon
2 tbsp. melted butter

Oven: 375

Combine the dry ingredients for the batter. In a separate bowl whisk together the butter, eggs, milk and vanilla. Stir into dry ingredients just until moistened. Set that aside. Combine the topping ingredients.

Grease a 9x13 pan. Spread half of the batter across the bottom of the pan. (It's going to be spread really thin, which surprised me but turned out great.) Sprinkle half the topping on top of the batter. Carefully spread the remaining batter on top (that's what the directions say. That's a joke. There is no spreading that stuff. Better to drop teaspoonfuls of dough across the top of the first layer of topping - close together, but they don't have to be touching. Trust me.) Top with the rest of the topping.

Bake at 375 for 25 minutes or so. You'll be able to smell it when it's done. :o) Yield: 12 servings

I froze these separately in ziploc bags with success.

Pure, unadulterated intelligence... NOT

I was at Wal-Mart today, already feeling mighty irritated with society and consumerism on several levels by the time I made it to the check out lines.

There was a young lad checking me out, probably 19 or 20 years old. He seemed to have a hard time mustering the courage to actually speak, which poses a slight problem when you're supposed to be providing customer service. Anyway...

I paid with my debit card. Upon doing so, I requested cash back. I asked the kid, "Can I specify the denominations when I ask for cash back?" His reply? "What's a denomination?" "Can I tell you what bills I want?" He answered affirmatively.

When it came time to give me said cash back, he asked how I would like the forty dollars I requested. I asked for three tens, a five, and five ones.

And ya know what he said?

He said, "Okay. Does that add up to forty?"

For the love of the Almighty, how on earth do people like this actually get jobs?

What are they eating?

I'm sure most of you have looked at the USDA Food Plans Guidelines before, but it's always interesting to go back and see what changes they've made. (Once you click on the link, you can choose a month and year to view.)

The estimated weekly food costs for our family - two adults and two small children - on the "Thrifty Plan" is $120.90. That's per week! Dear God, what are they expecting someone on a thrifty plan to eat - steak and lobster once a week? I can't imagine having to spend $120 per week on food.

Before our new tightened budget, I spent on average about $90 at the grocery store each week, sometimes more, sometimes less. And that includes toiletries, paper and plastic household goods, cleaning supplies and food. I didn't worry so much about what I spent, just bought the things on the list and a few extras, and I still didn't manage to spend a much as the government's "Thrifty Plan" says I should. Now that we're on a budget, I'm trying not to spend more than $65 per week and I'm doing a pretty good job of sticking to it. The only big difference in my shopping is that I'm more aware of sales and have been using coupons. Maybe someone needs to teach the people in this country how to shop, and how to cook so they aren't spending $120 per week on their groceries.

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On the same subject, if you have a Walgreen's near you be sure and check out their monthly "easy saver" catalog for in-store coupons that can be combined with manufacturer coupons for some good deals. A couple of weeks ago I bought my favorite shampoo and conditioner for .50 a bottle. This week I'm gonna pick up bags of Easter candy for .75 a bag and razor refills for $1 a package, regular about $9. It's worth having a look - and kind of fun when you walk out of a store and feel like you just robbed them. ;o)

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I've found some cool links lately that some of you might be interested in:

Econobusters

A fun monthly checklist

A free downloadable organizer page - it's pretty, too!

What really matters? Who really cares?

Do you ever go through these phases? The "who really gives a damn, anyway?" phases?

My life revolves around the most mundane things. Unloading the dishwasher, folding diapers, cooking child-friendly concoctions meant to nourish my little nestlings, and an unending supply of poop (kid poop, baby poop, dog poop, cat poop, seriously, we have more than enough poop to go around.)

I get stressed out about the stupidest things. "For Christ's sake, WHERE is that fluffy pink hair tie?!" "Do NOT throw another dried cherry on the floor or I will not feed you for the rest of your life!" I might be a little obsessive about some of those stupid things: I always clean the windows before my in-laws come over, for example, and I always scrub my sink before my mother stops by. And it always stresses me out, at least a little.

But for the love of God, who really cares? Why do *I care? Does it really matter that the hair ties in the bathroom cupboard aren't properly organized? (Well, okay, actually the bathroom cabinet is actually vomiting hair ties most days.) Does it really matter that the books on the bookshelf are never straight, my six year old's hair is always in her eyes, the laundry is NEVER completely caught up?

No, it doesn't matter. I know it doesn't matter. I know the world will still rotate on it's axis even if all of my silly little mundane chores don't get finished each day.

I deny myself much-beloved knitting time, story time, giggle time, so that I can make sure the floors are mopped (which I just did three days ago, and will have to do in another three days), the beds are made, the towels are clean and dinner is cooked. Okay well, I suppose dinner really *is sort of important. Can't let them starve, afterall... though maybe they'd prefer that to the recent bowls full of glop I've been serving.

Every so often, I do this. The "it doesn't really matter" phase. And I'll go on cleaning strike for awhile, doing only the most basic and necessary little things.

And then, in a week or two, I'll go crazy, I'll be overcome by the chaos and disorganization that is my life, and I'll spend another week or two cleaning, scrubbing, organizing and perfecting.... so that I can begin questioning again whether it really even matters.

For heaven's sake, I need something more important to do.

'Tis the Season...

...for impatience, anger, frustration, and general grumpiness.

The holiday season is upon us. Have you noticed how it keeps on moving up in the year? It used to be we waited until after Thanksgiving to start thinking about Christmas. Now it's Halloween. Five years from now, we'll start decorating in August.

Our town used to be a cozy, nice little town with one little shopping mall and a few other stores. But now, we're a big fancy town, with big fancy shopping centers and big fancy highways. And with all this "big fancy" comes lots of angry, rushed, rude people. It used to feel like we still had a little bit of country here... now, it just feels like a city.

I went to Michael's today to pick up some paints for a craft for Chloe. The only parking place I could find was about fifteen miles from the store entrance. In the process of finding this parking place I was flipped off once and honked at three times (how dare I let the poor people cross in front of me, instead of just running 'em down?)Oy vey. It just made me sad.

Everyone gets so worked up at the holidays. "Hurry! MUST SHOP! Must buy fancy expensive things for spoiled children. Must be in and out of store in less than five minutes. MUST BEAT EVERYONE to it!" It's horrible. People forget that everyone around them has feelings to, that they are real people and not just pawns in the simulation of their life. I pity the poor people who work customer-service jobs this time of year - people treat them terribly! What must it be like to deal with all of these irritable, rushed, frustrated shoppers for 8 or 10 hours every day?

If there's one thing I've learned in life, it's that there really is no rush. Things will get done. It won't hurt anyone if you have to wait an extra five minutes in line - and your time is no more important than anyone else's, believe it or not. NOTHING is so important that it's worth getting worked up over, or hurting another person for. Life's WAY too short to get your panties in a bundle over silly, stupid little things.

I think we should all make a pact with ourselves to BE NICE this holiday season. Even if you're one of those crazies that's out at 3 am on Black Friday - or perhaps I should say *especially if you are. Every single person you come in contact with has their own agenda, their own family, their own feelings, and they should always be considered. Take a deep breath when someone steals the only parking space for miles, and let it go. Remind yourself that you can use the exercise anyway. Smile and offer reassurance to the overworked, poorly treated store clerk, even when she screws up your order and you have to wait ten minutes to have it fixed. SHE DIDN'T DO IT ON PURPOSE. Drive the speed limit, stop for people to cross, smile and wave. Strike up a conversation when you're waiting for half an hour to buy that stupid widget that your kid absolutely insisted Santa bring them. LAUGH IT OFF. Life goes on, Christmas happens, no matter what happened in the weeks leading up to it. If it's not something that actually causes you harm, don't sweat it, and for heaven's sake, don't take it out on poor, defenseless other people.

Is it a deal? Are we gonna be nice? :o)

Happy "Holiday Shopping Season" to all!

Did you vote yet?...

...I did. We went through our mail-in ballots Thursday night and I dropped them off in person on Friday.

We read through our little State of Colorado book, discussed each amendment and formed opinions. I actually enjoyed it, probably because I don't usually get to actually think that much.

I'm just so irritated with this election. I hate that it always feel like I'm choosing the lesser of two evils, instead of really being excited about a particular candidate. I don't like one much, but I really don't like the other, so I made my decision that way. Andrew made a good point - if you vote for some other party, you're giving at least half a vote to the person you really DON'T want to win. Isn't that terrible? Instead of voting for a person I really want to lead our country for four years, I simply chose the only one that doesn't scare me.

On a side note - I found the book _George and Laura: Portrait of an American Marriage_ in my grandparents' yard sale stuff yesterday. I'm about a hundred pages in, and as much as I really don't like W., it's' proving to be an interesting read. It's funny though, at the end of each chapter there are quotes from different people that know the Bushes, from Laura, and from W. himself - and even in the quotes, he sounds like an uneducated twit. Can you believe he went to Andover? I'm shocked. I had no idea he'd ever received an education...

Now I'll sit back and wait to see what happens Tuesday night. If you haven't voted yet, go vote. Especially you girls - after reading all that pioneer-era women went through to earn us our right to vote, it seems like sacrilege not to.

I'm closing with a cute story of my very smart little five year old. Some people came to the door today from the Obama campaign, assumedly since I'm a registered democrat. Chloe was standing at my side when I answered the door. "We're from the Obama campaign. Have you voted yet, and can we count on your vote for Obama this year?"

"I've already voted." I told them. I was just about ready to shut the door when my darling daughter shouted after them, "My mommy voted for John McCain!"

Nosy Neighbors

The more I think about this, the more irritated I get.

Earlier today, Chloe and Isabel were playing in the front yard, which I only allow occasionally (usually they're in the back.) I let her go out there though while I did some things around the house. The front yard is fenced, so I feel safe letting her play out there alone, and I check on her no less than every 5 minutes - usually more often than that.

Some kids went by on skateboards, Izzy started barking at them. Chloe attempted to get her to stop barking by yelling "Izzy! Stop barking!" and then started throwing twigs at her. (Obviously, that didn't help. But whatever. It was over in 30 seconds.)

Immediately following the incident, I get a call from my husband. "Josie (the old lady across the street) just called me. She said she's concerned with how Chloe is treating Isabel outside." She told him Chloe was hitting and kicking Isabel.

This bothers me on a lot of levels. I'm nearly certain that Chloe wasn't doing that. She occasionally will hit at Izzy if she's being too rambunctious, but never would she (or could she) actually injure the dog. And she has never kicked her to my knowledge. I suppose that it is faintly possible that in the 45 seconds that had passed since I'd watched the twig throwing incident, she could have had a sudden outburst and began viciously abusing the dog, but I really, honestly doubt it.

Second, what on earth could make that woman think she has any right at all to call my HUSBAND while he is at WORK over something happening at home? I don't even get to call my husband at work! She has my phone number, she could have called me if she was really that concerned. It's almost like she wanted to tattle on me - she's made it clear in the past she thinks I'm a rotten mother (and that my husband is a saint), so maybe she was bored and saw an opportunity to tell on me for neglecting my kid by letting her play outside alone?

I'm not sure. But I'm irked. I've tried to be nice to her. I try to remind myself that she's a lonely old woman with nothing to do and no one to talk to. But calling my husband while he is at work over something so trivial and stupid is just going too far.

For the record, I did call Chloe inside, let her know it's not alright to throw anything at the dog, even if it is just twigs.

So yeah...

My premonition was correct - the day got worse before it got better.

I got all my laundry washed, first thing. The last load was in the washer. I mopped all the floors, which were pretty disgusting. My house was on it's way to spic n span by 9 am. It's a great feeling - the feeling of accomplishment. I sat and surveyed my mountains of fresh, clean folded laundry and shiny floors with pride.

Then Chloe woke up. Then Cora woke up. Chloe, Miss "I want my breakfast NOW", didn't want to wait for me to change Cora. She grabbed a chair from the living room (the floor was still a little wet in the kitchen) and somehow in the process of moving it from the living room to the kitchen, managed to dump my whole bucket of now-dirty mop water. It's amazing how far one bucket of water can reach into one home, really. Dirty mop water flowed into the dog food/cleaning supply closet. It seeped under the carpet in the living room. It gushed into the bathroom, pooling at the base of the bathtub and therefore causing water to start dripping into the basement. And it poured into the kitchen, where it made little rivers under my refrigerator and stove before puddling up right in front of the back door.

Our house isn't real level - it sort of tilts to the north. I never thought that would be much of a problem, but apparently when you have mop-bucket-spilling five year olds, it is.

I actually remained fairly calm. I told Chloe to go change her clothes, and I got the towels. I have 16 towels. Each and every one of them was nice and clean, mind you, since I'd just finished all the laundry. I managed to mop everything up. It involved, of course, moving the stove and refrigerator and then cleaning up under them (and practically pulling a muscle in my back while I did) and then I re-mopped everything since it was all grimy. I started a load of towels (there are still two more to go now.)

And then, I got breakfast.

Oy. I wanted to cry. I was kind of irritated with Chloe just because she didn't seem to even care that she'd just done that. She said something like "Sorry mom. I guess you'll have to clean that up now." And that was NOT what I wanted to hear. So I sort of snapped at her to go find something to do until I was done cleaning it up (which took the better part of half an hour.)

Ah well, I'm sure she's not permanently scarred.

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So then, Ashley invited us over to swim with Tori this afternoon, and grill hot dogs. Sounded good, so we agreed. I told Chloe we'd be going. Then this afternoon, she called to let me know "a few other people" might be there too. A few other people included 5 adults and like 15 kids. I don't like other people's kids, have I mentioned that?

But whatever, Chloe already thought we were going, so we did. What she failed to mention was that each of the other friends was pregnant. REALLY pregnant. Like, the kind of pregnant that doesn't find it so humorous when a girl shows up wearing a tank top that says "epidurals are for sissies". Yeah, so that was fun.

It was good for me though, to see other people parent their kids. It always makes me feel like a better mother. I was all down on myself for being cranky after my dog poop/mop water morning, and I was a little short with Chloe a few times. Not anymore. I'm doing just fine as a mother. This one poor little kid, maybe 2 years old? grabbed a cup of soda that was sitting on the ground, and his mother grabbed it, said "God Damn it D, put that fuckin' thing down." Ohhhhh my goodness. I cuss sometimes, but NOTHING like that chick did. And then, if any of them had anything to say to any of their children, they just screamed it across the yard. Couldn't get up to go speak to the children, apparently. It was insanity. I've never heard the Lord's name used in vain so many times in one hour in my whole life. This mom grabbing this kid, screaming at that one, this kid crying, that one screaming.... Oy vey. We left as soon as it seemed polite to.

I might not be a terrific mother, but I'm not a bad one either.

Trash Heap season

Do you remember the Trash Heap?

If you lived through the 80's and were at all exposed to Fraggle Rock, you will.

It's Trash Heap season here in Grand Junction, CO. The city likes to call it "Spring Clean Up Week". It's that week, occurring once each year, when every single family in the city is supposed to remove every ounce of garbage from their homes, and then pile it all on the curb. Amazingly, I think every family actually does this. City workers will be around sometime this week to haul it off.

It's a great idea. I won't complain. We have our own heap right out there in front of the house - the old lawn mower that stopped functioning altogether, a gigantic pile of branches and sticks and other debris from around the yard. There was a dog house out there for about an hour.

Which takes me to the part of Trash Heap week that kind of gets under my skin. It should be assumed that anything you put out in front of your house for the city to haul to the dump will be searched through, thoroughly inspected, and likely hauled off to take up space at someone else's house. I don't know why this bothers me. I have no problem with yard saling, and that's essentially what this is, only it's all free stuff. Last year we put a bunch of junk out. By the time the city guys came around, there were only a couple of branches left. A broken down decorative flower cart, entirely dismantled, now belongs to someone else. There may have been another lawn mower, I can't remember. The dog house wasn't there an hour before some guy came by, stuck it on the hood of his jeep, and drove away (he didn't tie it down or anything! It was rather odd looking.) Something about watching all these people come by and search through ours and our neighbors' trash just skeeves me out. And what start out as gigantic piles of discarded crap end up practically disappearing before Trash Heap Week even officially starts.

Not to mention the fact that people have NO PROBLEM stopping in the middle of the flippin' road to search trash heaps. On some streets the trash heaps consume so much of the street that two cars cannot drive past one another. One waits while other passes. Not a problem, until Jim Bob and his pickup, pulling a flat bed trailer, stops in the middle of the f-ing road to have him a gander at all that treasure. Then you're stuck just sitting there, waiting for him to pile more sh#$ into his trailer full of junk... err, treasure... and drive on.

I feel sorry for anyone that comes here from out of town during Trash Heap Week. They must think we're an awfully disgusting bunch of folks, having all that junk piled out on the curb. Or maybe it depends on where they're from. Some of 'em would probably think we're the coolest town in the world, holding a week-long free yard sale like that. I suppose it's all in the eye of the beholder.

Seriously, it's such a special occasion for this redneck town that the local newspaper ran a story on it on the front page of the local section.

It's just a shame our trash heaps aren't full of all the wisdom and sage advice like the Fraggles'. I have several questions I'd love to hear her answer to.

:o)

Snob Moms

So we were at the play area in the mall yesterday, where I was maintaining my sanity by letting other children entertain my four year old. There were plenty of other kids, which of course means plenty of other moms. I find that place a fascinating display of sociology.

There was a group of 'hippie' moms - dread locks, patchy clothes, slings, etc. Then there were the 'Snob' moms - pedicures, trendy clothes, babies in infant seats and strollers. It's almost like war - they line up on the benches on opposite sides of the play area to watch their children play. So I'm sitting there on the hippie mom side, off by myself, just watching everything going on. Two of the snob moms start talking crap about the dread locked mom - whom I happen to be acquainted with - you could see them talking about how gross they thought she was, etc. She of course is oblivious, playing with her toddler while carrying her 7 week old around in a sling. All the while, I'm sitting there nursing Cora, not letting it all hang out, but anyone who looked would be able to tell what we were doing. One of the moms pointed at me, then they made a few faces and chattered some more, obviously not approving of my feeding my daughter right there in front of them. As I sit here listening to how awful we are, one of the snob moms gets up, grabs her maybe 18 month old, drags him off into a corner, and spanks him for grabbing the hair of another small girl. Because, you know, beating a toddler is definitely the best way to teach him anything. Ugh. And then, the other snob mom proceeds to prop a bottle in the mouth of her baby who is crying in her carseat carrier thingy. WTF? They think they're so much better than us just because they have perfect flippin' toenails, and then do things like that?! Who's the better parent?

Arghh.

I hate snobs. Admittedly, I'm an attachment parenting snob in my own right. I just hate the typical, yuppie, preppy, holier-than-though manicured, high heel wearing snobs. I'm proud to be one of the wierd moms. :o)

"High Needs"

One of the most common terms I read on any area of the Mothering.com message boards is "high needs". Babies who cry often, toddlers who throw tantrums, older children who are hyper and rambunctious - these are what they deem "high needs" and, funny, every mother there seems to have high needs kids.

It just makes me laugh. Aren't all children 'high needs'? They need to be held constantly, engaged constantly, chased around and cleaned up after and diapers changed and yeah, a lot of babies are fussy till you figure out what's wrong. If I used their standards, Chloe would be a high needs child. But wait... isn't she just normal? Kids have needs, it's our job as parents to meet them.

I'm gonna say this at the risk of sounding like a bitch: The whole "high needs" thing is to me, a cop out. It's a pitiful excuse as to why being the parent of that particular child is just SO hard, much harder than other children. Poor me, life is so hard, wah.

Hmphh. And that's my brief little rant for the day.