Chicken Wranglin'

Question: How many Williams’ does it take to wrangle chickens?

Answer: Apparently more than three.

It all started with the garage chickens.  You know the ones; they laid their eggs on the work bench, the corner under the stairs and the hardware cabinet. 

The two hens co-parenting the nest on the bench had hatched another group.  I don’t like to say anything scandalous about them, but I’m pretty sure S. Truett Cathy would not serve them in his restaurants, if you get my drift.

Rosie, our Rhode Island Red, hatched hers under the stairs.  Poor Rosie isn’t the brightest chicken in the coop.  Last fall, she hatched a nest-full in the front yard and promptly left them to get some food.  They all died.  We almost called DCS (Department of Chicken Services) on her.  Thankfully, this time she stuck with it. 

Both Rosie and the other girls hatched dark black chickens with white chests.  They look exactly like penguins.  Now, the only black rooster we have is Oscar, the silkie.  And because he’s not as fast or as big as the other roosters, he doesn’t usually get to, ummm…socialize as much. So he’s naturally strutting around, beating his chest with his wings.  (Lesson for boys – you can be short and chubby and still get the girl!)

Finally, Drumstick was sitting in the cabinet.   And she was obviously sitting on rotten eggs.  I say obviously because it smelled like the inside of a sewage plant after a city-wide burrito festival.  Peee-ewww!  I couldn’t stand to walk it there.  Not to mention the fact that every time we needed a nail or screw, we had to look around on the floor to find it, since she’d knocked everything out of the cabinet.

All this is my round-about way of saying that we HAD to get those chickens out of there.  So we decided yesterday that we would just shoo them out.  Yeah…that was the plan.

Don started off this rodeo by trying to pick up the lovebirds and tossing them out the door. (Disclaimer: no chickens were hurt in the making of this blog.)  HOWEVER, these girls were not willing to go without their babies!  Nor would they let him pick up the chicks first and then move them.  No siree…they came flying back into the garage, talons first, and straight at Don.  They flogged and cackled, cackled and flogged.  It was a battle of epic proportions!  Finally he got the mommas out and one of the chicks.

If you don’t know it, chicks are fast. Not Olympic-level fast, but certainly college-level fast.  After about 15 minutes, we finally got two more cornered and sent out the door with their family.  The last one?  Well, it eluded us for a few hours.  I’ll get back to that one.

Next was Drumstick.  She was easy; he just reached in and grabbed her.  You see, she had been sitting in the cabinet for days and was practically comatose.  She hadn’t been out for food or water; her feathers were yellow from the eggs she had broken sitting on them; her comb was limp and falling over her face; and, best of all, she had a rotten egg stuck to her breast!  Underneath her was…nothing!  She had either knocked out or crushed all the eggs she had laid there.  All that smell for nothing!  I’m happy to say that she looks much better today.  The wild look is slowly leaving her eyes and the egg has been amputated.

Lastly, there was Rosie.  She was more willing to move, except that she moved into a different corner of the garage and barricaded herself in.  We had a chicken hostage situation on our hands.  Time to call in the hostage negotiators!  I got the skimmer from our luxurious blow-up pool.  Don shooed her out of the corner with it, then held her back while I got her three chicks.  Success!!  If only they all been that way.

The last chick – the one that escaped earlier – was the hardest.  Every time we’d get it close to the door, it would scurry back into some spot that we weren’t able to reach.  We would close the garage doors, wait until we heard it come close again, and then run after it.  The Keystone Cops had nothing on us!

Once Don finally got it shooed outside, it ran…straight into the dog lot.  Sigh…how was a tiny, one-inch chick getting the best of us?  After quite a few stressful minutes of hoping the dogs wouldn’t get it, we had it trapped under the grill.  Don stuck a broom underneath to push it towards the back, and I grabbed it from behind.  What a team!!

To make a long story even longer, all the hens and their chicks are outside and enjoying the bugs, grubs and feed they can find.  Right now, they are all under the giant fir tree next to our gazebo.  I’m sitting here watching them rest.  Some of the babies are up on their mom’s back.  The continual sound of cheeping can be heard.  It’s not a bad way to spend a Sunday afternoon.

We might not be chicken wranglers, but we sure are chicken lovers.

Oh, and by the way, we had KFC for lunch.  So there’s that.

P.S. The correct pronunciation of “wrangle” is rain-gull, with an extra-long “a” and a drawn-out “u.”

 

Rosie with a few of her penguins chicks!

The Year of Growing Older

I’ve had an epiphany of sorts.  Or maybe just a realization.  At the very least, a thought.

Here it is: this summer will be forever known as “The Summer of Growth.”  Actually, I’ll probably forget I called it that about two weeks from now, but since it’s in writing and ON THE INTERNET…because, of course, anything you read on the Internet is TRUE. Right?

Anyhoo…it has been made perfectly clear to me that my “little” girl is growing up.  Yes, I already knew that, but I mean REALLY growing up.  As in, making the transition from little girl to young lady.

And I don’t just mean physically, although that is definitely true.  She’s shooting up and out in all sorts of crazy ways.  I’m not even thinking about buying school uniforms until August, for fear she’ll outgrow them before school starts.  I was watching her in a bikini the other day and realized she has a figure!!  WTH???  When did THIS happen?!  At nine years old, I still looked like a little girl with the figure of a boy.

It’s also more than the emotional changes.  Yeah…the emotional.  You know what?  Let’s just skip that for today. You feel me? Word.

No, the thing I’ve noticed the most lately is the maturity.  The changing habits.  The new abilities.  For example, today she took a shower, dried off, got dressed, brushed her hair and teeth…basically got herself completely ready.  Now, I know this isn’t that big a deal; she IS nine, after all.  But usually I’m having to go behind her, reminding her to do this or do that, or prying her attention away from the television.  Today, she was ready in 20 minutes.  Folks, believe me when I say this is paramount to a bona fide miracle! 

She also has learned the joys of sleeping late during the summer.  Formerly known as “The Kid Who Never Sleeps,” she’s started staying up later at night and waking up around 9:00 or 10:00.  No more coming into Mommy’s room at 6:30 wanting breakfast!  No more loud talking before I’ve had my coffee!  I have time!  I have space!  Daddy and I actually get ADULT TIME!!!

One of the best things she’s started doing is feeding herself.  Which is great because I’m not always so willing to get my lazy butt off the sofa just to go fix popcorn.  Once I showed her how to put it in the microwave, how long to cook it, and how to get it out without burning herself, we were set!  She’s also learned how to use the washer and dryer and next I’m teaching her the finer points of the dishwasher!

Yes, watching them grow up is hard.  It’s always sad to see your babies become real people.  But anytime I start to feel that way, I remind myself that this is why I have a kid, especially a girl:  To do chores!!!

 

When did THIS happen?

My Day in Pictures

This was ONE. OF. THOSE. DAYS.  And so, ladies and gentlemen, I offer you this pictorial:



Today, I woke up feeling like this:

I would have stayed in bed, but I knew that I had this waiting:

And this:

After lunch, this happened:

Which made this jump the fence…again:

I was worried he would get in the road and cause this:

I about was ready to do this:

 

I realized that what I really need is more of this:

Without it, I may end up in this:

Or this:

Although the last one might not be so far-fetched, considering my new philosophy is this:

And that, my friends, is this:

Satan, Thy Name is Weed! (The garden variety type; not the smoking kind!)

I decided to work in the garden this morning.  I thought I would see what was growing, pull a few weeds, just take a look around.  I know, I know...it surprised me, too!  But let me tell you, friends...it's a jungle out there!  Witness Exhibit A:

Exhibit A

 

 

That isn't corn, people.  Our corn doesn't grow that well.  This the enemy; Satan's flower; the Green Menace.  These. Are. Weeds!!!

 

Wow.  I guess all the rain we've had this year has really made a difference.  I mean, they have taken over!  I could pull weeds for eight hours a day, seven days a week, and still not get to them all. 

 

We've always had trouble with this plot of land.  It used to be a hayfield.  I know nothing about these things, but apparently hay is hard to kill.  Looking at this photo, that seems like an understatement.

 

Poor Don has tried a lot of different techniques; he just hasn't found the one that will do the trick.  Don't get me wrong...he's a great farmer/gardener!  He's just never had to fight this tough of an enemy before. 

 

Another problem is time.  Hubs works all day, and it's so hot and muggy in the evenings, it's hard to go out there.  I'm busy fighting my own battles with the hormone beast.  Luckily, my little darling(?) has finally begun to sleep late, making it possible for me to get a little work done before the fighting begins.

 

The good news in all this is that we do actually have some vegetables growing!  I found a couple of radishes today, with squash, corn (yes, really), and okra coming along nicely.  It looks like we'll have enough to keep our little family happy for a few months.

 

Maybe there's a lesson here: Even though weeds crowd around us and take up our oxygen and space, we can continue to grow and survive!  We are tougher than those pesky weeds!!  We can persevere against all odds!!!

 

Or maybe they're just weeds.

 

Exhibit B - Proof that I actually did some work today!

 

Our Cup(s) Runneth Over

Being an older parent (I was almost 40 when Tessa was born) certainly has its benefits.  You’re calmer, smarter, more settled and have more income.  It also has a downside.  It’s what I like to call:

THE BATTLE OF THE HORMONES (Duhn, duhn, duuuuuuuhhhhhhn)

By luck or by curse, Tessa has entered into puberty at the same time I have entered into peri-menopause.  Poor Don.  This is similar to mixing oil with water, ammonia with bleach, fire with gasoline…you get the picture.  Things don’t mix, y’all. 

It’s a world of extremes this summer.  We’re either a well-tuned machine or spontaneous combustion – take your pick.  There’s no in-between.  NONE.  There are days I’m worried that one of us will land in jail.  Or at the bottom of a river.

Tessa has many years to go on the puberty train.  I’m getting close to the post-menopausal station, but we keep going back to pick up one more rider.  This is fine as long as we don’t have any stowaways hoping on board.  In any event, we’ve got a loooooooooong way to go before this situation gets better.

So hang on to your hats, folks; it’s gonna be a bumpy ride!

Me Time

I love my family.  I really do.  I enjoy their company and I would throw myself in front of a train for them.  But folks, let me say this straight: I. LOVE. TIME. ALONE.

Let me give you the details of the last 15 hours of my life, in all its glorious spectacularity:

1.       I took an hour-long bubble bath without any interruption;

2.       I finished the book I’ve been trying to read for two weeks;

3.       I was able to lay on the sofa and watch whatever I wanted on tv;

4.       I slept until 8:30 this morning;

5.       I had bacon for breakfast and didn’t have to share;

6.       I haven’t heard anyone ask me to do something, get something or “come here”;

7.       I’m getting ready to put on my swimsuit, grab the Sunday paper and lay in the sun without the hubs ogling me and the kid wanting me to get in the pool.

Ahhhhh….I told you it was spectacular!  Everyone needs alone time.  EVERYONE!  I even try to convince my daughter of that.  She needs time to spend in her room, playing or reading or watching TV without mean ole mom telling her to clean up.  I try to give Don alone time in the evenings when he gets home from work.  I try to catch my time at night after everyone has gone to bed. 

But I have to tell you, a whole night of just me and the cat??  YES!!!  I feel refreshed, happy and energized.  And now I’m ready for them to come home.  But check back with me about 5:00 this evening.  Cause you know I’m gonna be ready to kill them both by then.

Shame...

So this happened today...

I don't like to gossip, but I'm pretty sure this ole gal has been messing around with a penguin!  Tramp.

Best Friends For-evah!

I have a confession to make – I have more than one best friend.  In fact, I have quite a few.  More than two, but less than 10.  Sometimes is depends on the mood I’m in.  Right now, I’m in a grateful, loving mood.  And since I’m so blessed to have these wonderful friends, I want to share them with you, in no particular order.

1.       Laura Beth Bacon Rose:  Laura was my very first best friend.  She lived across the street from my grandparents until I was about five years old.  We don’t remember being thrown together to play before Kindergarten, but I’m sure we were.  The first week of Kindergarten, however, sealed the deal.  I cried; Laura consoled.  And our relationship has been like that ever since; me the needy drama queen and Laura the solid rock, ever present, and always a calming force.  Laura is a different kind of best friend; not the kind you call regularly or go shopping with, or  name your children after (although I really did think about it), but I know that, as long as we live, Laura will always be a part of my life.  She is the godliest of women; a strong, beautiful person inside and out.  A true best friend.

2.       Lisa Palmer Timbrook: Lisa and I became fast friends the first day she started working at the same CPA firm.  She was management; I was support.  But we had one very important thing in common – we don’t like people.  Seriously, if we had time alone to just sit and do whatever we want, we’d probably sit in a mall and make fun of what people were wearing!  We are the Stacy London and Clinton Kelly of the real world. (Don’t ask me who is who.)  Lisa was the Matron of Honor at my wedding and the first person I called when my mom died.  She flew from DC to be with me and stayed several days away from her small child just to get me through that time.  Since we live so far apart now, I don’t see her nearly enough and I miss her like crazy.  But who else could I count on to call me just to make fun of Kanye and Kim’s baby??  Only a best friend.

3.       Leigh Anne Watkins Henry: I like to say that, if I ever decide I’m a lesbian, I’m going to marry Leigh Anne.  She is my female soul mate.  And our love story is one made for the movies.  You see, Leigh Anne and I were friends in middle school and our first year of high school.  Then her mom re-married and she moved away.  I remember her going-away party so well.  I was heart-broken.  Fast forward 30 years later and through the magic that is Facebook, I find Leigh Anne!  Or she found me; I can’t really remember.  We’ve been inseparable ever since.  Leigh Anne is a true hero; someone who has fought more adversity than you could imagine, all with a grace and humor and optimism that anyone would envy.  She’s also one of the kindest, most caring people you could ever meet.  What kind of friend would drop everything and spend a Friday night at a 9-year-old’s birthday party, just to cheer her up?  A best friend, that’s who.

4.       Teri Byrd and Donna Weeks:  My sisters.  They’re listed together because how could I pick just one?  That’s like asking a parent who their favorite child is.  Sisters are people who you grow up having to like, but if you’re lucky, like I am, you actually do like in adulthood.  My sisters and I couldn’t be less alike.  We run the gambit from tattooed artist to Pentecostal teacher; first baby at 19 to first baby at 39; a compassionate nurturer to a sickness wienie (that would be me, by the way).  But even with our differences, we are friends.  We stick together no matter what; mess with one of us and you mess with all of us!  Even if we disagree, we always have the other’s back.  We might not spend a lot of time together, but I still consider them two of my very best friends.

5.       Sharon Williams: My sissy.  Not sisters by blood, but sisters by love.  Sharon and I have also known each other since early childhood.  We were never extremely close growing up, but we liked each other and talked sometimes.  In the past 10 years, however, I’ve learned what a spectacular person she is!  She was also there for me when my mom died, and through all my other dramas.  Funny, kind, fiercely loyal, Sharon is exactly the friend you want in your corner. My sister from another mister, and definitely a best friend.

6.       Renee Hart: Renee is new to my best friend world. In fact, she probably doesn’t even realize she is one!  Renee and I met last Fall when our kids were placed in the same room at school.  I had parked behind or beside Renee in the school pick-up line almost the entire previous year without knowing who she was.  When we finally realized our connection, we began talking.  I immediately knew she was going to be a friend.  I just didn’t realize how good of one!  Through our conversations, Renee and I discovered that we were born exactly four days apart.  Ah….another “mature mother!”  We also discovered our mutual vices, dislikes, and the desperate need for adult conversation!  We started getting to school 1-1/2 hours before the end of the day just so we could talk!  Since school is out for the Summer, I’ve realized how much I miss those talks and Renee herself.  But, since Tessa has proclaimed that she is going to marry Renee’s son, Spencer, one day, at least I know we’ll be life-long best friends!

7.       Tessa Merrilee Williams: That’s right; my daughter.  I know that parents aren’t supposed to be friends with their kids, and I realize that my kid is only nine.  But considering that I spend more time with her than anyone else, she is definitely a best friend!  Funny, smart-alecky, intelligent and extremely sarcastic (just like her mom), she is a pleasure to be with.  Oh sure…I complain about her dirty room and her dismissive eye rolls, but I also love to talk about her compassion, her maturity, and her complete love for her parents.  My mini-best friend and the light of my heart.  I’m proud to call her my daughter.

8.       Don Williams: My dear love.  No one in the world knows me better than this man.  It sounds cliché, but he truly knows me better than I know myself.  He often knows what I need or want before I do.  It’s a rare man with the intuition and knowledge to understand a woman!  More than that, he’s hilariously funny, incredibly romantic, highly intelligent, and crazy sexy.  There’s no one in the world I like to be with more than he.  Don is absolutely the love of my life and most certainly my best friend.

Now, I know this has been a long post and you probably got tired of reading after number 1 or 2, but I hope you read through them all.  These are amazing people; each special in their own way. Each of them has their own spot in my heart and in my life.  Like I said, I am BLESSED. 

 

I swear.....

I’ll admit it…I have a potty mouth.  I love to cuss.  A lot.  It makes me laugh.  And yes, I DO think a joke is funnier when you have a swear word in it.  So shoot me…I could do worse things.

*Disclaimer – I do not cuss in front of my child.  I have the mom ability to turn it off and on, depending on the audience.  I also try not to cuss in front of friends who don’t like it, strangers, and my dad.  Everyone else is fair game.

I don’t really know where I got this characteristic; my parents certainly didn’t cuss, at least in front of me.  I wasn’t a big swearer in school, either.  Come to think of it, I really only started using these words once I married.  Coincidence?  I think not!

My current husband** and I swear all the time when it’s just the two of us.  Our very favorite thing to do is to pretend the animals are cussing.  I promise it’s funnier than it sounds.  Just imagine sweet Mac calling his daddy a….well, you can insert your own swear word here.

He may look sweet, but boy, does

he have a potty mouth!

 As I said earlier, I try to behave in front of regular non-swearing folk.  Especially on social media sites such as Facebook.  And especially since some of my FB friends are moms and teachers from my daughter’s Christian school. Ahem… 

I know, I know…swearing isn’t always necessary or even funny.  But I’d bet my bottom dollar that some of you have had to bite your tongue when hitting your funny bone or dropping something for the millionth time.  Even my dear mom, who strived to be the ultimate Southern lady, was driven to cussing when told the news she was gravely ill.

So I’m gonna keep on keeping on and using my potty mouth when I can.  And if you don’t like it, you can you can *%&$^#*%)^*$&#^%(^)$*%*^)^)!!!!!

 

** I say “current” because you never know when I might snap and throw him under the bus; I’ll claim menopausal insanity and win female fans across the country!  BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!

Fresh Young Things

My husband has some fresh, young things hiding in his garage.  Beautiful girls, actually.  They sit quietly whenever I enter; trying to make sure I don’t hear them.  But I know they’re there. 

To expose these brazen women, I offer these photos:

 

This is the one we call Momma; it's her second time

brooding on the work bench.

 

This is Rosie.  She's one of our oldest hens.  As a

"mature mom" myself, I'm rooting for her!

 

Finally, Drumstick (yes, that's her name).  She's in the

hardware cabinet.  When the door is shut, she's

completely hidden.

 

We don’t know why they have chosen the garage to lay their eggs.  We have very few hens, actually, that use the laying boxes in the coop.  We have chickens in the goat house, chickens in the garage, and chickens under the pecan tree; only the “old-school” hens and rooster sleep in the coop.  I guess you could call us an open chicken commune.

So we should have a lot more chicks soon.  That will put us somewhere around 40.  I can see it now; when I get older and crazier and living in this old house, I will be known as the chicken lady.  I guess it’s better than the crazy cat lady.

The crazy cat lady (aka Lisa) with Tessa.

You're welcome. :-D

 

Cinderella - The Middle-Aged Years

Have you ever had one of those days when you feel like you’re swimming through pudding?  You know what I mean – one step forward, fifteen steps back?  Rowing against the flow, swimming against the tide, spitting in the wind…However you want to say it, I’ve had one of those days. 

Cleaning house around here is just plain stupid.  Two people who live here, let’s call them “Ron” and “Vessa”, are messy.  Unclean.  Dirty, even.  They, in turn, think I’m OCD, a neat freak, or just plain mean.  Moi????  Mean?????  I think not!

C’mon folks, it’s not that hard.  There is one major rule (which never gets enforced) that I live by: everything has a place.  Laundry goes in the laundry basket.  Dirty dishes go in the sink.  Trash goes in the trash can!  Really, how hard is that?

Don, I mean RON, gets a pass.  As head of the household and a M.A.N., I don’t expect him to change.  I knew he was this way from the beginning and I accept that.  Vessa, on the other hand…she’s half mine, right?  She does have some of my genes, correct?  My mother was neat; I’m neat…for the love of God, WHY CAN’T SHE BE NEAT?????????

Sigh…I guess there could be worse things than a messy house and dirty floors.  I’ll just lie here on my watermelon-stained, cupcake crumb-filled bed and try to think of what that could be.

 

Father's Day

Today is Father’s Day.  A day to honor those men (or single moms) that bore us, raised us, or somehow inspired us.  Those who gave of themselves to make us the people we are today; whether in a positive or negative way; through hard work and good example, or through absence and heartbreak.

I was one of the lucky ones.  I have an awesome father.  A devout Christian man who loves unconditionally.  Someone who worked hard throughout my childhood and beyond to provide for those whom depended on him.  Someone who I know will be at my side without any hesitation, if I should ask.  I’m grateful to still have him in my life.

Not everyone is as lucky.  Some have lost their fathers to illness, tragedy or simply advanced age.  As I get older, this is happening in a more frequent basis.  Others lose their fathers emotionally.  I’ve seen this happen, too.  This is even more heartbreaking.  Families are being ripped apart.  Children are losing their childhood and fathers are losing their children and their children and their children.

It’s a sad world out there, my friends.  Our children are going to face things we never imagined.  I’m so grateful that my daughter has a father who is here, who shows her unconditional love, and who loves to be with her.  He reminds me so much of my own father. Because of this, I know our daughter will be fine.  She is loved.

Hug your loved ones.  Tell them often how much you love them.  Be present, not just there.  Love hard and love often.

Happy Father’s Day, Daddy.  I love you.  Happy Father’s Day, Don.  Thank you for being the perfect father for our daughter.  Happy Father’s Day, friends.  Be blessed.

Small-town Crime

I was mugged last night.   Accosted, even.  Blindsided.  At the least, bullied.  And by a much younger, and much bigger girl.  A friend.  Someone I’ve cared for and nurtured.  And for no apparent reason!  I’m physically hurt, yes; but even more, my heart is hurt.  Shelby, how could you do this????

Shelby behaving properly for Don.  Of course.

Ok, so may it wasn’t exactly like I said.  But it still hurt!  You see, the hubs had to work late last night.  Me, being the ever-helpful, wonderful, caring wife that I am (ahem), decided to feed the horses for him.  I’ve done it many, many times, with no incident.  I’ve lugged feed, hauled hay, slogged through mud and rain, just to feed these “gentle” giants of ours.  Last night started out much the same.  It had rained earlier, so the ground was muddy.  I had the Pavlovian red bucket filled with feed and had ventured inside the pasture to get their feed pans.  (The horses are notorious for kicking the bucket, if you will, and strewing them around the field.) 

When I stepped inside the gate, the horses came running.  They have gotten greedy with their food, and were past ready to eat.  I shooed them away so I could get past them, and they moved obligingly.  After that is a blur.  I had walked about ½-way down the fence line when Jesse, the gelding, took off to the left of me, far out of reach and danger.  The next thing I knew, Shelby, the mare, crashed into my right shoulder, sending me flying through the air, landing face down in the mud with my right arm under my ribs.  I immediately covered my head, anticipating the 1,000 pounds of muscle that I expected to land on me.  THANK GOD, she didn’t trample me!

I knew I wasn’t hurt bad, but my ribs were hurting like mad!  Eventually, I realized I had just had the breath knocked out of me, but I was still in pain.  I limped into the house, where my daughter helped me undress and I climbed into the shower.  I had mud plastered to my knees, my arms, and was spitting mud out of my mouth.  Yuck…pasture mud…you see what I’m saying here??

Anyhoo…I stayed on the sofa last night and then crawled into bed, trying to get as comfortable as possible.  This morning, my neck  stiff and my right arm is basically useless.  It’s not broken; where she hit my shoulder and I landed on that arm, it’s just really stiff and sore.  Today has been a mix of Aleve, heating pad, and whining.

My problem is this – I have no visible injuries except an elbow with road rash.  Or mud rash.  Whatever.  All my injuries are muscular.  So my complaining seems like exaggeration and my family has already tired of me.  So I will bite my tongue, ignore the EXCRUIATING pain (see…no exaggeration here); and resume my duties as house slave.  No, no…don’t worry – I’ll be FINE*.

 

*FINE – a woman’s way of saying, “Things are totally NOT fine, but I will martyr myself for the good of the family.” 

 

True Love

On June 13, 2002, eleven years ago if you’re counting, I met the love of my life.  Well, “met” might be the wrong verb.  “Read” is a more appropriate word, although I don’t know how you can read someone, unless you’re Theresa Caputo from TLC’s Long Island Medium.  But I digress.

You see, Don and I met online.  Yes, it’s true.  We were two of those lonely, desperate, can’t-attract-the-other-sex kind of people that you see on the commercials.  Except that we’re not.

We were both in the midst of divorce at the time, reaching middle-age (me a little faster than he), and neither one of us was a bar/night club/singles type of person.  My attempt at finding love online was helped along by a glass of wine and boredom.  I haven’t asked Don what made him look there, and I don’t need to know.  What I do know is that two people, living 500 miles apart, yet growing up within 45 minutes of each other, found love.  True love.  Good, strong, lasting love.  I mean, c’mon…we haven’t killed each other yet, have we??

Don’t think we haven’t considered it!  We disagree about numerous things; too many to list here.  But we don’t fight.  “Never,” you might ask?  “Never,” I would reply.  I can count the true fight-fights we’ve have on one hand.  We might discuss things, or ignore each other for an hour or so.  But Don’s pretty laid back about those sorts of things and I have a terrible memory, so we forget about it and go on our merry way.

What attracted me to him?  I can’t quite explain it.  Maybe it was his matter-of-fact writing.  Or his humble description of himself. (Everything he said turned out to be true.  Bonus!!)  Or the fact that he wasn’t a pervert wanting an extra-marital affair or a three-way.  (To our dearest friends – I know he’s a pervert now, but I’m afraid I’ve made him that way.)  Whatever the reason, we began corresponding.  Within two days, we were speaking by phone.  Within two weeks, we were madly in love.  Two months after that, we met in person.  We’ve been together in heart and soul since.

A year after we met, I moved to his location to be with him.  A year later, we welcomed our daughter, Tessa.  We married in 2006 (in no small part to pacify my Southern Baptist parents).  We had a few rough years, but we made it through them and now I can honestly say I’ve never been happier and have never loved anyone as much as I do this man.  He is still my knight in shining armor, and my heart still beats faster when I see him.  He makes me laugh more than anyone else I know and he's the person I run to when I need a shoulder to lean on.

So if we started out under unusual circumstances, so what?  It worked.  And I am forever blessed.

Let me close with these words from the song “True Love” by the artist Pink: “You’re an ass-hole, but I love you.”  I love you, Goober.  <3

 

 

P.S.  See, honey – I told you quoting Pink would work for me one day!

I Am One Hot Momma!

I am hot.  Yep, I said it.  Hot.  H-O-T.  HOT!!!  Unfortunately, I don’t mean the kind of hot that makes men stop in their tracks or women hate me.  I mean hot.  As in temperature.  As in grumpy, sweaty, miserable hot.

If a movie was to be made about the condition of my boobs right now, it would be called, “A River Runs Through It.”  I have sweat on my brow, sweat on my upper lip, sweat running down my front and down the back of my pants.  I feel icky and sticky. Ugh!!

I used to love Summer.  Hours spent in the sun; the ability to work in the yard no matter what time of day; leaving the A/C off until the end of June.  Now I need the A/C year-round, I don’t venture outside after 10:00 a.m. and it cannot be cold enough in the house.

Such are the trials of a middle-aged woman in the South.  My hair has gone from sleek and smooth to white-girl afro at the first sign of humidity.  I went from shiny, oily skin to dry, cracked, itchy skin.  All the things I loved about the heat of Summer in my youth have turned into the banes of my old, irritable self.

So here I sit, in the middle of June, with the long Summer stretched out in front of me, thinking of ways to keep cool when the heat really hits.  At which time you will not want to be within 300 miles of me. 

Check back with me in October.  At that time, I’ll be starting my complaining about the cold weather.  You’re welcome, America.

Be It Ever So Humble..

We’re home.  Six days and five nights of togetherness.   Around 1200 miles in an automobile.  Restaurant meals and snacks from 7-11.  Gas station bathrooms.  Blistered feet and sore backs.   I have never been gladder to be home!

I have a ton of stories I could tell you.  I’ll share some of them over the next few days.  But for now, let me share what I learned on this trip.  To do so, I offer you this chart:

PRO	CON
I got to see Lisa.	Lisa fueled the Tessa fire, making her act like a 19-year-old and begging me to buy, buy, buy.  Thanks, Lisa. :-P
We got to visit with Pat, Casie and her beautiful boy, Ben.	I wasn’t able to sneak him into my purse and take him with me.
We stayed in a great hotel with marvelous views.	One bathroom. Need I say more?
The weather in DC was cooler than normal for June.	It was cooler because it rained. Every. Single. Day.
We got lots of exercise walking around the town.	Wait, that last one was a con, not a pro. Duh.
We took an extra night and stopped in Richmond to look around.	We were too damn tired to leave the hotel room.  Oh, and it rained. Of course.
We were able to take a much needed break from farm work.	The grass was ass high, the litter box was full, and the A/C had stopped working.

 

I know, I know…I should be grateful that we are able to travel.  And I am.  But I’m even more grateful that we have a home to come back to.  And I learned the most important lesson of all – next year, we’re buying a pool and staying home!

The Washington Monument in the rain. Sums up our vacation pretty nicely...