My Swirling Vortex of Entropy

Well ....

Look at what it's doing again!

Isn't that special!

The upside?
I won't have to look at the vole damage for a few days.

It's not what it looks like -

This is NOT pet excrement - I promised.

As the snow melts we are discovering that we had a problem with voles this winter.

They have been tunneling under the sod and causing damage.

A VERY SERIOUS problem with voles. I think I want to cry.

A beautiful day

The weather on Saturday was lovely. We drove up to the farm (as usual).

In a month or so we'll be taking wood out of this shed and roasting marshmallows at the fire pit.

Once again there were no squirrels (or grizzly bears) in this tree.

He still doesn't believe it.

I promised not to talk about barf and poop for a while, so I won't tell you that he threw up a football sized wad of dried up long grasses and various other yucky stuff inside the car on our trip home... Yeah!

Harvest Party Hullabaloo

This one time … at a church group party … I got accused of cheating.

The Recliner was 14 months old. It was Halloween. Our Sunday school class was going to throw a party to be held at my sister’s house. As usual, with my sister in charge, the event was well planned and prepared for. A pumpkin carving contest to take place at the party had been announced in advance. Being excited about the event, I made The Recliner an adorable costume. I fashioned him a doctor’s white lab coat with his name embroidered on it in red. Just like his daddy. He had a stethoscope too. I prepared for the contest by pre-painting the pumpkin I planned to carve at the party. Pretty simple really – a clown face. I thought I was being creative, and efficient. After all, I imagined that they didn’t want to wait for me to paint the pumpkin at the party.

Cheerfully, we arrived, and partied like good churchgoers celebrating The Harvest. It was fun. The kids were having a blast. The Recliner, and his cousin only three weeks younger than he, toddled around, slobbered on toys and held some very deep and meaningful conversations in baby speak. It was adorable. I never would have thought that one year olds could have best friends until watching those two together. Games were played and everyone was having an all around good time.

The pumpkin carving contest commenced. We carved our pumpkins and put them on the table for judging. The grumbling began. An official protest was filed with the judges. Pre-painted pumpkins should be disqualified. WHAT? Oh seriously, please! Crying foul at a Sunday school class pumpkin-carving contest? You have GOT to be kidding. But they weren’t. And so my entry was disqualified. But it didn’t bother me.
Much.
Not 17 years ago, or now.
It didn’t matter to me.
Really.

What do you mean you’re not so sure about that? Get real, like why would I still be upset about a dumb old pumpkin contest that I LOST due to disqualification SEVENTEEN years ago.

The prize probably wasn’t that great anyway.
I only entered the contest to be polite.
I didn’t actually want to be in the contest.
Really.
And BTW - I didn’t cheat.
Dang, my pumpkin was cute!
And well carved.
If I cared I would have wanted to win the contest.
But I don’t care.
Didn’t care.
Seriously.

Why I thought of this today? Not sure.

Photo from thingsthatarefun.com - hope they don't mind. The only picture of I have of the dq'd pumpkin is in a scrapbook (remember the "obsessions" list) and so small it wasn't worth trying to scan. I must have been traumatized.

Ham Fat and Dog Butts

I promised.

The Man spoils the dogs. He gives them people food. I do too, sometimes, but only tiny little tid bits. The Man will occasionally indulge the dogs with a total bonanza of leftovers.

Rocket sits by his dish with drool flowing from the corners of his mouth and onto the floor, quivering with excitement. Sitka does the “Dance of the Husky”. Hip, hop, wiggle, squirm, jump, leap, BARK!

The Man gathers up the dog dishes and fills them.

Sitka says “IEEEE WAHHHHN SUMMMMM” in his best Siberian Husky Howleese. Translation - "I want some!" But you knew that. Never mind. Rocket emits supersonic high-pitched whines. "wheeeeeee! - wheeeeeeee!- wheeeeeee!"

The Man feels like a benevolent god. The dogs worship at his feet. The dishes filled, it’s time to present the bounty to the eager animals.

“Sit!” The dogs sit.
“Wait!” The dogs twitch, and shudder, and bounce up and down.
“No, WAIT!” They wait.

The Man sets down the dishes. Rocket turns on the Amazing Super Sucker in his mouth and inhales his food. It takes 2.7 seconds for him to empty the dish. Sitka sniffs, and daintily licks a lump of potato, and then a piece of ham, and actually savors his bowl full of Ham Fat Heaven. To each his own I guess. All is well. The left overs dispatched and the dogs sated. Ah, time for repose. Sleep, glorious sleep.

But wait – 12:45 am what is that noise? Why is Rocket whimpering? I try to fall back to sleep. Why won’t he stop whining? “Rocks! Do you need to go potty?” BARK! (In caps and bold!) Ugh! Okay! I let him out. Wow, he really needed to poop. “Good Boy now lets get some sleep”

2 am – whining again. Oh crud … “Rocks – let’s go” Super – he’s got the squirts. Just Super. “Good boy – you feel better now? Lets go back to bed”

3:55 am – WOOOOOOOO! WOOOOOOO! “Rocks! Seriously???” BARK! (caps, bold, and underline!) “Okay, let’s go”. Poor dog! From his back end, he ejects a quarter-sized dollop of brown foam onto the snow. The next eight minutes he spends straining in vain to evacuate the offending left overs from his intestinal tract. Unfortunately, not even the ratchet action tail pumping technique he was using with such fervor was helping him relieve himself of the oversized load of fatty ham bits. Poor guy. He looks at me standing in the window and his eyes cry out – “I don’t feel so good”. Poor, poor boy.

Finally his guts give him the all clear and we go back up to bed to sleep peacefully for the next hour and forty-five minutes. Whoopee!

And Sitka - he has cast iron intestines. He was fine. Hey - there's a post, 10 things that have passed through my Husky's Gut and out his Butt! See Below. You'll laugh, and be amazed.

The next day all seems well, except for the gas. Oh my goodness the gas. Smells like a mixture of rotten eggs and propane. Nobody light a match – with in a 5-mile radius. I’m serious – it’s AWFUL!!!

Now if you want to read more about dog poop you can click on the link below - or you can skip that and come back later if you've had enough of pet excrement for the day. Okay? 'cause it's up to you.

10 things: and a distraction

10 Goals for the month of April

1. Get my kitchen really, REALLY clean. Not just clean enough to be safe – Clean like I’m so proud of this clean kitchen that I want you to look at the floor in my pantry closet clean.

2. Get my laundry room clean. As in finally getting rid of all the kitty litter that collects in the corners clean. Wait – that may not work. ‘Cause I still have the cats. And cats need litter boxes. Well, how about clean behind the ginormous washer and dryer clean. Will that do?

3. Put in a valiant effort on my treadmill 5 days a week. I don’t have to go hog wild and end up running 35 miles a week again. That turned out badly – I broke a muscle. Did you know muscles could be broken? Well maybe they can’t, but my calf felt like it had a broken muscle in it. The ugly, swollen bruise that took over my ankle last year at this time sure made the muscle look broken. Frustrating to say the least.

4. Eat a little less. I’ve been a total HOG for the last few weeks. I get so tired of winter, and snow that I tend to self medicate with peanut m&m’s and cheez-its. Time to grow a little self-control.

5. Not have an anorexic episode. Even though a very large part of me would LOVE to get super skinny again.

6. Get a facial. Never done that before. Maybe I’ll end up looking fabulous.

7. Phew! Wait a second here. The dog just walked by and boy does he stink. He’s either leaking rotten egg gas from under his tail or he pooped somewhere – let me check that out. … ... ... It's okay. He’s just shooting stench from his butt. Must have something to do with all the ham fat that The Man fed him - Easter dinner left overs. Tomorrow's post – Ham Fat and Dog Butts. I promise. Okay – number seven goal. Clean Banshee Girl’s bathroom well enough to allow me to walk into it without a hazmat suit and ventilator. That’s going to be a tough one – wish me luck.

8. Continue to learn to use my new camera.

9. Buy Photoshop Elements 6 for Mac and learn to use it well. Yuck! There goes the dog gas again! Ewww!

10. Sit on a beach in Florida. Where I presume I will not need a clothes pin for my nose. Phew! Go away dog. I love you but you STINK!

I know, I know ...

Used elsewhere many, many times I know ...

I had an especially vivid dream about this little dog the other night. Been thinking of her ever since. Thanks for being part of my family growing up Ginger.

Ginger 1969-1983
You can bet her tail was wagging in this picture, it always was.

-The Rainbow Bridge -

Just this side of heaven is a place called Rainbow Bridge.
When an animal dies that has been especially close to someone here, that pet goes to Rainbow Bridge. There are meadows and hills for all of our special friends so they can run and play together. There is plenty of food, water and sunshine, and our friends are warm and comfortable.

All the animals who had been ill and old are restored to health and vigor. Those who were hurt or maimed are made whole and strong again, just as we remember them in our dreams of days and times gone by. The animals are happy and content, except for one small thing; they each miss someone very special to them, who had to be left behind.
They all run and play together, but the day comes when one suddenly stops and looks into the distance. His bright eyes are intent. His eager body quivers. Suddenly he begins to run from the group, flying over the green grass, his legs carrying him faster and faster.

You have been spotted, and when you and your special friend finally meet, you cling together in joyous reunion, never to be parted again. The happy kisses rain upon your face; your hands again caress the beloved head, and you look once more into the trusting eyes of your pet, so long gone from your life but never absent from your heart.

Then you cross Rainbow Bridge together....

Author unknown...

More than any pet should have to put up with. She was happy to participate in our play.

"Yeah, go ahead and take my picture ... I'm keepin' an eye on your little sister"

"Uh - Little Miss Photographer ... I think that's my poop you just stuck your elbow in. Way to go!"

The little chick in this picture ...

...is still my best friend - and one of my favorite people in the whole world to have a tea party with.

When I was little I got ear infections and strep throat in endless succession. I remember trying to act like I wasn't sick so that I wouldn't have to go to the doctor. I always ended up getting penicillin shots in my butt and then I wouldn't be able to walk for days. My whole rear end and leg would stiffen up. There were times I was so sore that the little chick in this picture had to set up chairs for me to use as "crutches" so we could make our way to the television to watch Saturday morning cartoons. The first time she did this for me she was only two and a half years old. What a pal, and loving little sister. Thanks Tuffy!

Love ya Sis!

The Birth of Princess Tutu Pink aka Banshee Girl

Birth Story Carnival

Frankly, I’m disappointed in all the space devoted to pregnancy horror stories in magazines for expectant mothers. I don’t think it possible that I am the only woman who’s had an easy pregnancy, labor and delivery. However, one might get that impression. It seems that women who don’t end up suffering terribly during pregnancy and those of us who don’t almost die giving birth are thought less worthy of listening to than women who have traumatic birthing experiences. So often when a group is together discussing the births of their children the conversation ends up turning into a contest. A contest that's winner is the woman with the most difficult pregnancy and the most painful and complicated delivery. I can’t tell you the number of times my contribution to these discussions of pregnancy and childbirth is dismissed with a shrug and a “you were lucky, but listen to what happened to me (my sister, my cousin, my friend, the woman I work with, etc.)!”

Well maybe I was lucky, but listen to what happened to me anyway, please. My first child had been delivered by planned C section due to breach presentation three years earlier. I had a pleasant first pregnancy, very easy recovery from the C section, and many positive memories of the birth of my son. I was almost hoping to avoid a vaginal delivery again this time. After nine months of another perfectly healthy pregnancy I entered the hospital on a Friday morning. My only symptoms were a bit of bleeding. I was almost one week overdue, and very Very VERY eager to be done with this pregnancy. I wasn’t extremely uncomfortable or huge. I’d only gained 24 pounds, but I was tired of being pregnant. Any excuse at all to report in to the hospital was welcome. Once there the staff monitored my condition. I was told that I’d probably be going home soon. Labor was not imminent. The bleeding wasn’t the type to be worried about this late in a pregnancy. To say I was disappointed would be an understatement. Nevertheless, because my uterine measurement was very small (and maybe even as an attempt to get me to quit pouting) the doctor ordered an ultrasound before she would send me home. During this ultrasound the technician found that there was very little amniotic fluid left surrounding my baby. That was cause for concern, and just the excuse I was looking for to beg the doctor to induce labor. Actually induction was the doctor’s idea, but I was willing to try it. I was thrilled is more like it. Now, I’d like to digress a moment. I am not one of those women who is able to be philosophical about the pain involved in childbirth. I can make a big deal out of a stubbed toe or a paper cut. Realistically I became so worried about the pain that I was a grouch the last few months of my pregnancy. Maybe I’d read one too may articles about some woman’s unendurable anguish during delivery. Nor am I one of those women who appear at first glance to be built for having babies. I am 5 foot tall, and weigh 102 pounds. So I was excited to have labor induced simply for the sheer relief of having it all over with. Saturday morning at 6:00 a.m. I was hooked up to a pitocin IV. Labor was intense but completely bearable. I used some breathing techniques, picked a different flower on the wallpaper to focus upon for each contraction, and had my husband rub my lower back. I did end up questioning if the contractions would become even more forceful. When pain medication was offered I accepted some. However, I didn’t end up needing the epidural that I’d planned to “insist” upon being given. I was a lot more comfortable than I had ever expected to be. In what seemed like no time at all I was dilated to ten. Before the nurse went to call my doctor she had me practice pushing a few times. She said I was a real champ. I was surviving! I wasn’t miserable! I felt powerful, and capable, and my baby was almost here! A few more pushes and the doctor said “the next one will be it if you really bear down.” Even when it seemed as if the contraction was ebbing I could feel how close the baby was and so I kept pushing. A few seconds later my daughter was born. I looked at the clock and it was only 11:00 a.m.! I AM a champ I thought. After I’d examined the blanket full of perfection lying on my tummy I asked the doctor how badly I’d ripped. (Several friends of mine had graphically described suffering a third degree tear in spite of having had an episiotomy. I was afraid of that too.) My doctor looked surprised and said, “you didn’t tear at all. The episiotomy did the job.” How thrilling! I was no mere champ. I was WONDER WOMAN!! After a few stitches to repair the episiotomy the nurses asked me if I could scoot my bottom back so they would be able to reassemble the end of the birthing room bed. I said “I can do ANYTHING!” They looked at each other and laughed. “Some women end up feeling like that” one of them said. I went home the next afternoon. That very day I took my three year old son and new daughter with me to go pick up a prescription at the drug store while my husband did some yard work.

I strongly believe in validating the emotions of couples who are disappointed in what transpired in the delivery room. It is perfectly legitimate to feel sad when things don’t go as planned. Furthermore, it is true that discussing a frightening and traumatic experience can be therapeutic. However, childbirth CAN be a magnificent event, and there are women who have an easy time of it. We do a disservice to all when we talk as if "real women" truly go through agony bringing their children into the world. It is upsetting to see panic appear on the face of a pregnant woman who is listening to conversation about how much somebody suffered during childbirth. I remember myself not feeling reassured at all with the famous line “but it was all worth it when I saw my baby.” There has been more than enough glorification of the war stories of pregnancy. Lets not forget that it is perfectly possible, although not mandatory, to end up being a champ.

As women, lets attempt to encourage mothers to be rather than scare the socks off them.

Thanks for “listening".

Happy Easter!

Bumper stickers both amuse and confuse me.

Some of them are simply funny – “Imagine Whirled Peas” for example. Clever, but why put a gooey sticker all over the bumper of something you devote such a large percentage of monetary resources to?

There are the mean and threatening stickers. Such as, “Back off or I’ll deploy your airbag.” Yikes! Backing off – even more than I usually do – just to avoid a misunderstanding – yes sir, backing off. There is simply too much testosterone behind the wheel of that pick up truck. WAY too much!

Lets not forget the lovey dovey hippy dippy bumper stickers telling us that there is no right or wrong in the world – just accept everyone and everything. “Dude – it’s all good – and don’t eat meat – it’s murder.”
‘kay, good luck with that.

Political bumper stickers are quite interesting. Especially those stating support for a candidate who lost an election that took place years ago. Is the driver deluded, lazy, or perhaps related by blood to the unsuccessful candidate? I can’t figure that one out. And I guess it seems a tad arrogant to me to be driving around shouting one’s political opinion from the tail end of one’s vehicle.

Dear opinionated driver,
Who asked you, I wonder?
Signed,
Me

I drove to Blockbuster yesterday. While waiting for the light to turn green I had an opportunity to read the bumper of the car in front of me. All but one of the stickers was statement of the typical political blah, blah, blah genre. However, the sticker not of a political nature caught my attention. It said
“Dear Jesus, please protect me from your followers”.
I wondered where THAT came from?
Had some well meaning Christian attempted to strong arm that young woman into compliance with his or her idea of what Christ requires from us?
Did it make her feel cool to issue that challenge each time she backed out of her driveway?
Was I supposed to laugh?
Should I feel sad, or perhaps offended?

I settled on a little of each. I laughed at the defiance of youth and hoped she would mature and find peace with Christ and his followers. I was a little offended to be lumped in with whomever had affronted her so. But mostly I was sad.