It's A Wrap

The holidays have come and gone. The week before was spent wrapping gifts, last minute shopping trips and online browsing while nursing two sick kids back to heath after a nasty croup bug invaded their little bodies. In the quest to avoid traveling this year, I pushed to host Christmas Eve dinner at our house. There was a menu now to plan and everything needed cleaning. 

We were blessed with a very white Christmas this year. The storm delivered about a foot of snow just three days before festivities. The temperatures stayed chilly leaving a white blanket for days. It was beautiful.

The horses were snuggled up in the barn, thankful to be out of the wind.

Hosting dinner gave me an opportunity to pull out our wedding dishes, remove price tags and give them all their first bath. We got married in 2006. My fancy dishes have lived a solitary life. They have only been viewed by the human eye twice since being adopted - once when unwrapped from their boxes and again this weekend as I unearthed them from my hope chest.

Plates, serving platter, serving bowl...

I was a little disappointed I hadn't chosen to make a turkey this weekend.

I really wanted to try the gravy boat!

Family arrived and festivities were in full swing. The awkward conversations and melding of vastly different personalities from two families were over shadowed by the light in our Brown Eyed Girl's eyes as she clearly explained her version of Santa Claus. She amused us with her wants and desires for gifts. She wanted a Barbie (check), princess clothes (check), and new 'under-wears' (she is a practical kind of girl - check). She then informed us that Santa would be bringing her a new bike - ummm un-check!?!?

(Note to Mom and Dad: Wants bike. Get for Birthday - check)

Dinner was delicious.

My dishes sparkled.

I poured another a glass of wine for a job well done.

We huddled around the tree and dispensed the colorful packages and little treasures from under the overflowing tree. When the inventory was tallied, even before the opening began, it was clear that the kids had made out like bandits!

Handy Man and I exchanged silent glances that clearly read, "What the hell are we going to do with all of this stuff?"

Brown Eyed Girl could hardly contain herself. There was no waiting, no pause button, she was like a rabid animal devouring her gifts. Five adults tried to catch glimpses of gift tags from every angle in order to mentally note who had gifted what to this wild child. However after a while, it was hopeless. Paper was flying, there was no stopping this hurricane. She engulfed her gifts. We were however amused that she did manage to take at least 2.5 seconds to comment on each one, "Oh wow! a shirt!" before discarding the shirt in a pile and moving on to the next gift like it was last weeks new paper.

As paper flew, our sweet Mr Blue Eyes just sat there soaking it all in.

 We kept him up way past his bedtime. Yet he was content to just watch and play with a small turtle toy from Aunt Christi. He was such a good boy!

With the attention span of 2.5 seconds, we strategically quarantined all the known fun toys for the end. We were afraid that opening a Barbie in round one would be the end to gift opening for the evening. As the clothing boxes dwindled to an end, it was time to bring out the big guns!

A plethora of dress up clothes!

Mommy doesn't even have fancy dress up shoes like those.

  

The aftermath was a wrapping paper engulfing tsunami that threatened to swallow my children whole!

After a little zebra cake, our guests said good night and the kids were tucked into their beds.

Santa came and did his thing. 

Our Brown Eyed Girl was up by 6:00 am to check out her additional loot. 

No, we did not let her sleep in her dress up clothes. She woke up and before she even asked for milk she wanted to be dressed as a princess. 

All mentions of the bike were forgotten when she set her eyes on her new easel. She absolutely loves to draw and color!

We now have complete wardrobe additions, new toys scattered about. And since we spent Christmas day home, just as a family, I did very little cleaning. 

In fact, on Monday our house still looked like this.

First Christmas

It's Christmas Eve! My little Mr Blue Eyes is celebrating his first Christmas this year, the first of many.

I found the cutest little sweater and he has finally grown into a pair of blue corduroy pants. It's not a Christmas dress, but it sure is cute!

I proudly walk out of his room with my little man all dressed for the holidays and the first words out of Daddy's mouth are not, "Oh, he looks so cute."

No, instead Daddy says, "What is he wearing? A sweater?!?! Are you kidding me? He looks ridiculous."

What does Daddy know anyways?

A few self explanatory hand gestures later...

Picture time!

Good grief! It's hard to take a 7 month old's picture!

Merry Christmas!

Deck The Halls

I love Christmas!

I have at least 7 large, very large, storage tubs filled with holiday decorations (and a few random boxes as well.) I started acquiring decorations as soon as I rented my very first house in college. With the exception of last year because we went to Iowa for Christmas, I have always decorated the inside of my house, put up a tree and soaked up the holiday cheer. I used to spend a whole weekend hanging lights outside as well. Once we moved to the country however, I didn't get the same pleasure I did from the outside lights - the only people living creatures that got to appreciate them have were the horses and the hundreds of little cotton tail rabbits that scurry around the yard at night. I have not hung lights since 2005.

But now we have kids!!!

Our Brown Eyed Girl absolutely L-O-V-E-S to find the "pretties" on our way home each evening. Some nights, I will even take the long way home through several neighborhoods to look at all the lights. I cherish those longer drives home.

So I told our Handy Man to get ready because we were doing the tree, the decorations and by-golly, we were hanging lights this year!

This was my inspiration. This is a house in my in-laws' neighborhood.

I was determined to transform our little house on the prairie into a mirror image of this house. I have millions of lights. I can do this!

I put the kids down for a nap and told my Handy Man to get ready, it was time for lights - he might have looked in my direction as I walked out of the house but I am pretty sure that was the only muscle he moved.

I went to the cat house and dug out an old box I knew had all most of my outdoor lights.

Yikes! It had been a while since I had looked in that box. The box had been compromised - in other words, it was no longer sealed, and what I found inside was more than just lights. Wasp cocoons, dirt, cat hair and some one had used it as a littler box for lord knows how long!!!

Miss Kitty, I pray it was that old tomcat that used to hang around or you are in trouble.

What to do now???

These were all of my ice-cycle type lights. I spent a lot of money on these babies when I was a poor college student.

I think I can get the hose out and still make this work.

And rubber gloves...

One down and a whole lot of yuck left to go.

After flooding the frozen yard with the hose, spraying petrified cat poop and rock hard wasp cocoons, I was finally getting somewhere. My fingers were numb and I needed a break from the hose before we had a skating pond out front.

Off to get the ladder.

Hanging lights really involves a lot of crap.

Time to test the first string. They still work!

Get those hung just like that... perfect.

Strand number two, test her to make sure she works...Bzzzzzzzz

Yow-zer! That stung a little.

I think I just got shocked.

Let's just try this one again...Bzzzzzz

Yep! That's hot! Okay... hmmmmm

Let me tray another strand... Bzzzzzzzzz

Holy Mother of.... Wow! That has quite a little punch to it.

I think my fingers are still numb.

Crap.

After further examination, it appears the years of cat pee had eaten away at the wires and caused the plug-ins to turn this green-ish color that I assumed was an equivalent of rust. The fact that they were still wet from the hose probably didn't help matters much either when I plugged them in to the outlet.

What to do?

Plan B.

Thank goodness I have a million strands of lights.

I spent the next hour or so hanging plain old clear lights on the house. Handy Man helped reach the tall peaks of the roof line and suggested I decorate a couple of our trees with colored lights. I was so excited for it to get dark!

After I was all finished and I had put away my mess, I realized one more small hiccup. I was just be-bopping away to my iPod and wasn't very strategic in how I placed my lights. The pug-in was at one end of the house, the outlet was in the middle by the door.

Good Lord!

Off to find an extension cord.

The only extension cord we had left that wasn't being used to power one of four water tank heaters was about 10 feet too short.

Son of a....

Standing on the porch looking for answers to fall from the sky another proverbial light bulb went off. How the heck am I supposed to light the trees in the yard that are now adorned in lights?

I quit!

About that time, Handy Man pops his head out from the house and asked me how it was coming. After delivering the news, he just chuckled and walked back inside.

"Shut up Richard!" (from the movie Tommy Boy)

A week later we finally had at least one extension cord that could reach the outlet.

I have given up on trying to light the trees.

They still have lights hanging from their branches. I have no motivations to remove them at this point.

Here are the fruits of my labors.

We sure aren't the Griswolds, but our Brown Eyed Girl thinks that they are pretty!

Self Worth

Working with youth, especially girls in that 14-19 year old range, can be challenging. I find myself wearing multiple hats on a daily basis. I serve as a big sister, sometimes a mother figure, teacher, mentor and beyond.

I am always an advocate.

I enjoy being called a friend.

I cherish the times we laugh together. I live for the days I can relate to little moments and milestones they are experiencing  - these are the days I forget about the gray hair, stretch marks and aching back.

I feel accomplished when I can guide them to great successes. One of the greatest rewards has been the ability to follow some of these young individuals through their college years and even watch their first baby steps into adulthood. (Thank you social networking!)

Some of my more challenging days are the days when I have to step in and act as the mother figure.

They have mothers, they like me better when I am their sister/friend.

However, I feel a large part of my job obligation in being involved with youth is to serve as a mentor. 

This generation of girls confuses and frustrates me.

Self worth
Self respect
Self image

There are so many young ladies in today's generation that really lack the true meaning to all three of those phrases.

It's really hard to pinpoint where the loss of translation originated. Regardless, I believe it needs changed. It's nothing new that the media plays a huge role in all three statements. Airbrushed models have been gracing the covers of popular magazines for years. This is nothing new.

I think fashion has taken a spin in the wrong direction. As a mother of a 2 year old girl, do you know how hard it is to find conservative shorts even for a toddler? This summer I was flabbergasted at the "short-short" designs for sale in the baby section. Hello! Do you know how bulky a diaper is?

I have had friends with older kids who have expressed what a nightmare shopping is for their tween/teen daughters. It's hard to find anything that doesn't show a lot of leg, a lot of chest and sometimes lacks in the in-between areas as well. Many schools are enforcing dress code policies in response to the scantily clothed young ladies that grace their halls on a daily basis. I applaud them.

I can relate. I have witnessed a few of my youth kids wearing shorts that leave little to the imagination - I would give anything to have legs like a few of those young girls in my lifetime; however, I would never have been caught dead outside of the house with the possibility that my butt cheeks might peek out from below.   

There are a few of the other "clueless" parents I know that buy whatever their kids want in the pitiful hopes of remaining "cool" in their child's eyes. I am sorry. I will never buy a twelve year old version of my Brown Eyed Girl a "bar maid" costume for Halloween. I don't care if every other kid in her school is going to be wearing the exact same costume. Brown Eyed Girl is wearing a gunny sack with a turtle neck and sweatpants.

End of story!

I think college is specifically hard for girls these days. Campus is huge. Acceptance is seems to be the most important thing. There is a lack of parental guidance. These girls are sort of just floundering around the first two years trying to identify themselves as individuals scholastically and socially. That's a lot of pressure. I actually think social media has placed even more pressure on these girls.

When I was in college, if I wore a hideous outfit to a party one night I didn't have to worry about it haunting me. Sure my roommate might have taken a photo of me, but I didn't have to worry about it being posted all over Facebook in the morning. My embarrassment lived in her scrap book, not the internet.

Who's idea was it that taking a picture of yourself in the mirror wearing a black lace bra and a sheer excuse for a tank top, angled perfectly at your cleavage, was the ideal profile picture? Especially when you are 13...

Since when does being comfortable wearing a teddy and hooker over-the-knee boots to a Halloween costume party really mean that you are just very comfortable with your body? The argument - "Well it's actually more fabric than what my bikini is made with."

True.

However, the photo of you in front of the swimming pool in your bikini expresses an implied message of "Yeah! It's summer. I am at the pool!" The photo of you in the teddy says, "I am under age, all sexed up and looking for attention!" - And not the good kind of attention you should be looking for.

Being comfortable in your body is huge!

Very few young girls are.

Very few grown women are.

To achieve comfort in your own skin, you have to dig a lot deeper. Comfort comes from having Self Worth, Self Image and Self Respect.

When you respect yourself to present yourself for what you are worth - you truly know yourSELF!

Chicky

This is Chicky.

She is our one and only Chicken. Her sister went missing this summer. Since flying solo, Chicky has taken to living in our barn rather than the hen house this fall. She roosts at night above the stalls. Handy Man even brought her heat lamp in for her for the winter. If it is cold enough, she will roost in the haystack at night under her light.

We often wonder if she is lonely now. But reminiscing about our chick raising days of the past, I think I can safely say, "Chicky, Miss Kitty and Boji are your new sister and brother."


Once upon a time we had many, many chickens who lived with us at our little house on the prairie. We brought a few chickens with us when we moved out to the country including our old roosters Red and his son, Sweet Rusty. Red was a pretty level headed dude for a rooster. We had an established understanding - leave Red alone and he won't chase you with his two-inch spurs. I could respect that. Rusty was a product of gathering a couple of eggs from my hen house and allowing an old farrier of mine to experiment with his new incubator he had bought off some old farmer. Out of four eggs, we got Rusty and his two sisters. Rusty was like a little lap dog. He liked to be held, pet, and scratched behind the ear.

We also inherited two hens as house warming gifts left by the previous owners. They pretty much kept to themselves - they sure had a thing for Red back in the day.

Farm life can be tough for chickens. There are a lot of big critters out there that really like chicken nuggets! We learned a lot those first couple years out on the prairie. Unfortunately, the skunks, neighbor's stray dogs, and mostly the raccoons eventually got the best of Red, Rusty and the other ladies in the hen house.

Raccoons... they are merciless. What they can do to a hen house is nothing short of a massacre.


We love fresh eggs.

As our chicken population dwindled in 2007, we decided we had better raise some replacement chicks, reinforce our hen house and discourage those gnarly critters from coming back.

At one time I think we had around 8-10 hens and the two dudes. We were usually up to our eyeballs in eggs. We decided six chicks might be a little more realistic.

Off to the feed store!

Did you know you can pay extra for pre-sexed chicks? What a deal!

Raising chicks is pretty easy. You need something to hold them in until all their mature feathers come in and they are old enough to be placed outside in a hen house. They need to be kept very warm and protected those first couple months. An old stock tank works perfect! You can clip the heat lamp on the rim of the tank, the tank can easily be cleaned, and it is deep enough you don't have to worry about a jail breaks in those early days. We typically still place chicken wire or a thicker gauge fencing over the top as a lid, while allowing plenty of fresh air to circulate.

Typically you would want to raise the chicks in a secure building, like a garage. Some place where you know cats and other gnarly critters can't come in at night and think you have provided a lovely buffet for the taking. Unfortunately, we don't have a garage. Our barn is less than secure, we have a few feral cats that sneak a peek in our barn from time to time, not to mention the other critters like raccoons.

Our only option... "Make yourselves at home ladies! Can I offer you a glass of water? How about some fresh scratch?"

Of course this was BC - Before Children.

We had the room, and no other distractions. We took a small tank and stuck it in the spare bathroom's tub. Water was accessible and we could close the door to their little bedroom.

Having chickens in your bathtub is quite the conversation piece.

Once the chicks got a little bigger, they needed a bigger hotel room. I had bigger stock tanks, they just didn't fit in the bathtub any longer. So the chicks moved to the penthouse suite, aka our spare bedroom (which is now our Brown Eyed Girls room.)

Boji loved the chicks. He rushed into the room and assumed a watchful position at every feeding or inspection. I am sure it was loving - okay maybe he was hoping for one of them jail break so he could offer to 'retrieve' it.

After almost three months of raising chicks in our home I realized I would probably NEVER do it again. Chickens are dirty. Our bathroom and spare bedroom were covered with a film of chicken dander and down feathers. Hello Shop Vac!

As the chicks got older, you would be sitting in the next room watching television and hear this little "tink-tink-tink...tink...tink-tink-tink." They could sit there for hours, pecking the side of the tank. As soon as you thought one finally tired of her endless, obsessive pecking, her sister would assume the duty of annoyance.

The older they got, the louder they got.

Once their big girl feathers came in and the weather warmed up, we were all too happy to move them to their new outside house.

All six of our girls provided us with wonderful, flavor rich eggs.

Maybe I can talk Handy Man into spending a little extra this spring to get a couple more, outside ready, hens to keep our Chicky company.

Go the F$#@ to Sleep!

Earlier this year, a new, illustrated book reached number one on Amazon's best seller list a month before it even was released. Exhausted and exasperated by his two year old daughter, Adam Mansbach wrote the tongue and cheek children's book for adults, Go the F$#@ to Sleep. A book for all parents out there who are saddled with a child who either refuses to go to bed, wakes in the middle of the night or feels that 4:00 am is an appropriate time to start the day - this is my situation.

Transitioning our Brown Eyed Girl into her big girl toddler bed was by far to BIGGEST mistake I have yet to make as a parent. Allowing her the freedom to get out of her own bed haunts me every day. I am developing a new found addiction to caffeine. I lug around a couple of suit cases under my eyes each day. I am running out of make-up tricks to cover the dark circles and soon will have to result to just wearing sunglasses throughout the day in public. My co-workers are going to start asking if I am a victim of domestic abuse. In a way, I will have to answer "Yes." My two year old daughter is depriving me of sleep. Sleep is a vital necessity just as air, food, and water are for survival. So in that case, yes, my two year old daughter is abusing me!

I am already up twice during the night with Mr Blue Eyes. He wants to nurse at around 11:30 pm and again at 3:00 am nightly. I know the pediatrician said I needed to "start getting mean with him" and refusing to nurse him at night, but I am sleep deprived.

He knows the pacifier is crap.

Nursing is better than crying. 

I think my kids are speeding up the aging process. I am pretty sure I am completely salt and pepper gray right now.

Thank you hair dye.

After fumbling with the remote control to turn on cartoons in my underwear, - thank you Disney Channel for always having cartoon options at 4:00 am - I get her set up in the recliner with a sippy full of milk, her blanket, stuffed puppy, three rubber duckies, a second sippy cup with water, wallet, paint brush, purse, baby doll and her calculator - I am not exaggerating. She sleeps with all of these items. She can tell in 2.5 seconds, in the dark, what is missing from her list.

She is possibly developing hoarding characteristics.

That is another story for another time.

Seeing we are up, Boji politely suggests that now might be a good time to let him out to do his business. Oh and by the way, he's hungry too. Of course!

I have to stand in my underwear to wait for him to finish his business outside.

It is cold and dark outside and the draft coming in is freezing.

I hate 4:00 am.

My Handy Man is of course fast asleep, sprawled out looking so comfortable. I should spray him with a water bottle. But then, he would wake the baby, who is also sleeping soundly in my bed.

Life can be cruel to mothers. 


Everyone is situated, I am off to take my shower. The warm water feels awesome after standing at the door waiting for the dog to return. Slowly I start waking up. I get out, do my make-up (hahaha), comb my hair, get dressed, and walk back out to the living room to check on our Brown Eyed Girl.

Of course...

I shake my head and leave the room to finish getting ready.

Boji, I expected more from you!

When I wake up our Brown Eyed Girl to get her dressed, Oscar the Grouch has possessed her small body. Every task is a challenge. There is a lot of crying, whining and back talk.

"Give me your foot so I can put your sock on."

"I DON'T WAAAANT A SOCK!"

"Come on, we need to get our jacket on"

"I DON'T WAAAANT A JACKET ON"

"Get your blanket, we need to leave. Hurry up, we are running late now"

"I DON'T WAAAANT TO GO!"

Before I completely lose my mind and become "that mother" you can hear from down the street yelling at her kids in a fit of hysteric rage set off my losing her patients and control, I walk away to get the baby. I scoop up Mr Blue Eyes and get him into his car seat. He just sits there smiling from his baby carrier. I am sure he thinks this is all quite humorous.

I grab the diaper bag and carry him to the back door.

"Mommy, I soooo tired."

(Well then tonight maybe you should just Go the F$#@ to Sleep!)

Wiper Woes

We had another snow storm hit the Denver area. The day before we had 60' degree weather, today we are looking at a high if 22'. It's just down right cold outside.

As I may have mentioned before, my commute is about 80 miles round trip every day. It takes me a good hour to get to work every morning. Of course there are many variables to slow me down each day - not including what the kids throw at me even before we step foot out the door.

On snow days, I really am better off just staying home, in my pajamas and working from home.

We aren't exactly on the snow plow rout out here in our little house on the prairie.

There aren't a lot of trees out here to slow down the wind either. Wind and snow can create some pretty nasty drifting snow. Busting through snow drifts, in the dark, with two young kids in the car, in the middle of no where is not exactly the way I like to start my day off.

I'd rather stay in my pajamas, at home.

Today, I was brave. We really hadn't gotten a lot of accumulation yet. But it sure was windy and cold.

We pulled out if the drive way in record time - how is that possible? I got up at the exact same times I do every morning, completed all of the same routines, I even mucked a stall this morning and yet we left the house fifteen minutes early. I can try to do this any other day of the week and I end up leaving twenty minutes late. I don't understand...

The paved roads were very icy. I have seen worse. I tootled along never maxing 30 miles per hour. It was slow, uneventful (always good) but very steady.

It was smooth (slow) sailing until we got closer to town. As more and more cars started joining my drive in, I started getting that gradual spray from the car in front of me due to all the moisture. It's gradual, but eventually makes your whole windshield cloudy.

Wiper blades on.

Son of a monkey's uncle! (there were small children still in the car)

I just replace my wiper blades last year. Additionally, I had to replace the driver side wiper blade this fall because it sucked. It didn't work. It left a trail if water right smack dab in the middle if my window.

It made me cuss, and I have small children in the car.

So this morning, I am stuck behind a convoy of slow moving cars who obviously are transplant Californians that have most likely lived here for fifteen years and still can't figure out how to drive when the white stuff starts to fly.

And my wiper blades suck!

I have bought expensive ones, cheap ones - I give up.

I should have bought stocks in a wiper blade company years ago along with water tank heaters for the horses. I would be a millionaire. I would be able to stay home, in my pajamas, sipping hot coffee, with my slippers on, and never have to worry about commuting 80 miles every day in the snow.