Monday, November 30, 2009

Pile it on...

For everyone who is graciously following my stumbling, bumbling life...please bear with me, it seems I've fallen face first and damn it if I can't get up.

Last Saturday Big Bud had a seizure.  I remember when I was about seven years old a kid punched me on the bus, right in the stomach.  I couldn't draw a breath.  This is just about how I felt on Saturday.  The entire world shrunk to fit on the head of a pin and seconds were hours, minutes were months.  The rest of the day was spent at the emergency room and all I could think of was next week, next month, next year.  All I could do was cry.  I cannot put a band-aid on this, kiss it and make it better, I cannot change this. 

For days I have held my breath waiting for another one and when they come I still cry.  I have begged God to stop them, I have bargained with him.  I have hated him.  But as time and experience does, I have learned and adapted and adjusted.  I don't cry as much now. 

In fact, we've taken to calling them "episodes".  Episodes aren't as scary.  Episodes are like when Elaine needed a Square to Spare, and Saturday morning reruns of Johnny Quest.  Episodes are our new normal.  Like the one where we tried to keep a portable EEG machine attached to a very active 6 year old for 48 hours.  And during the said 48 hours there was, of course, no recordable episodes.  Shortly after ripping all the wires off of his head, they started again.

I'm tired and my stomach hurts and I'm trying really hard to find some solid ground.  For a chick who was obviously chasing butterflies when they handed out the patience and grace, not so easy.  Do-able, just not easy.

Still smiling,

Friday, November 20, 2009

The sacrifices we make as parents...

As I waited in line with my child, I cautiously stole glances at the other people here.  Some looked perfectly healthy, and some were pale and tired. 

There was no guarantee that once we got to the front of the line that we would be able to proceed.  It seemed as if there had been a miscalculation and not everyone would get through.  I wondered if they would come pick the lethargic ones out of the crowd and move them to the front.  Afterall, they seemed to need this more than us. 

I could have waited for this, or done without it entirely.  However, I had to think of my child.  It was for her that we were here.  No line was too long for her. 

My back straightened and I held my breath at every sneeze, cough and raspy intake of breath.  Certainly the military precision of the employees could have afforded a moment to pass out surgical masks, especially in this environment.  I stifled my reflex to cover my baby's face.  She smiled up at me and I reassuredly squeezed her shoulder.  "It won't be long now." I whispered.  She nodded and leaned closer to me.  Loud, firm voices directed the lines and kept order amongst the masses. 

Just last week there had been a flu clinic at the auditorium and the line had snaked around the building and down the street.  Then this week the middle school had held a clinic in the gym.  We had attended neither. 

We finally reached the front of our line, the nice young man in the crisp uniform held out his hand for our paperwork and as I handed him our "New Moon" tickets,  I fervently hoped that the rest of these idiots had gotten their shots, 'cause not only did I have to suffer through this ridiculous movie, I really didn't want to end up with the stupid flu. 

Smiles from the (Mom of the Year) farm,

Thursday, November 19, 2009


Oh no, MacJunker!  Your husband brought home some scrap lumber to use as kindling in the woodstove!  It's just sitting there, it's wood.  AND IT'S JUST SITTING THERE!  What are you going to do MacJunker!

Quick, get me a can of gloss white spray paint, HURRY!
Here you go MacJunker!

Good, now I need those little half tea cup thingamabobs we got at the Goodwill a few weeks ago, HURRY!
Okay, MacJunker!

Perfect, now print out some text on the computer, large, that says Coffee .25!  I DON'T CARE IF THERE'S NO BLACK INK IN THE PRINTER!  USE YOUR BLOOD!  Or just change the color on the font page to blue or something. 
Yeah, whatever MacJunker.

Wow, you need therapy MacJunker. 

Now I need a spoon, a couple of screws and a transparent rose decal!  Come ON!  We're almost out of time!
Umm, out of time for what MacJunker?

Forget it!  I'll do it myself!  Jeesh. 
Hey did you watch the season finale of Mad Men, MacJunker? 

What!  Can't you see I'm in the middle...oh yeah!  I did, can you believe Betty left Don for that old guy?   I mean...hey, now quit that.  I have to finish this, almost done...just--this--last--screw.  There, done!

Phew, that was a close one.  
Yeah, you're my hero MacJunker.  yay. 

Smiles from the (wackadoodle) farm,

Tuesday, November 17, 2009

Goth Chicken

It's late.  I'm tired.  I'm sorry.  But I'M NOT SICK.

Smiles from the (please don't have the swine flu) farm,

Monday, November 16, 2009

Dottie's Rendezvous

The wind swept over the moors as the young queen ran, unaware of the rain soaking her heaving bosom.  Struggling through the thorns and jagged stones,  she ignored her aching lungs and screaming muscles, she needed to reach the rocky peak.  Slowly she pulled herself up and stood, the raging storm was no match for her fierce stare.  He was out there somewhere.  In her very heart she could sense him, see him, smell him. 

Suddenly she threw back her head, baring her long, snowy white neck to the sky.  "West!", she laughed.  It was so obvious. 

Stella, the handmaiden, waited at the bottom of the peak.  Terrifed at her queen's sudden transformation, she wept uncontrollably, and loudly. 

The queen knew what had to be done.  She rushed past the blubbering Stella and into the manor house.  She needed to get ready!  Tearing apart her chamber in frustration and need, Stella meakly quivered in the corner. 

"My queen." she whispered.  "What are you looking for?"

The queen stopped her destruction and glared at the handmaiden, she strode across the room in a fury and head butted Stella quite efficiently.  "I need perfume, musk...something to call my beloved to me!"  Unable to decide between Chanel No. 5 and White Diamonds, Queen Dottie, just peed all over herself.  Satisfied with the result, she again began knocking down the wall.

Bursting through the door came the serving wench.  Dottie stopped her attack and stood silently, seething with contempt. 

The serving wench looked concerned.  Dottie noted that the concern seemed to be directed more at the leaning wall that it did with her desperate condition.

"What the heck is going on in here?"  Unfortunately good help is hard to find and although the serving wench administered to her dietary needs and kept her chamber clean and comfortable, a high level of intelligence, she had not.

Dottie stared at her, willing her to understand the situation.  Suddenly a light went off in the serving wench's dim intellect.  "Oh, I see." she said, her cheeks blushing pink.  "I think I know what to do."  Gathering her skirts she ran to have a message delivered. 

Pacing and wincing the entire village waited for the message to be returned.  FINALLY it was determined that a clandestine meeting could be arranged and the queen was rushed from her chamber and into an awaiting carriage. 

Stella the handmaiden, was by now in a fit of hysterics.  She raced back and forth through the garden screaming in confusion.  The village smithy, who was also the serving wench's husband, was trying to replace the spark plugs in the royal carriage.  He finally put his hands over his ears and rocked back and forth.  "Find your happy place, find your happy place..." he muttered over and over. 

Erstwhile, the queen was collapsed in the back of the carriage.  In the melee of the departure, the serving wench had just started off west, forgetting to check Mapquest and also forgetting about the ease and advantage of the interstate transportation system.  Instead she set out using backroads that she had never transversed before.  Afterall, nothing says "pleasant" like a Sunday afternoon drive through the Maine woods with a horny goat in the back of your minivan. 

Passing Treworgy Farms, Dottie suddenly sprang from her stupor and threw herself against the slightly open carriage window.  A group of Swiss men who had been seasonally employed at the farm, sauntered and loitered in the petting zoo area.  Dottie momentarily forgot about her betrothed and begged the serving wench to stop so that she could meet them.  The serving wench steadfastly refused.  "Those are Oberhasli, Dottie.  You are a Nigerian, your love awaits elsewhere." 

Finally after an hour of reckless meandering the carriage pulled into the court of him.  Of the Count Romeo Valentino, born on Valentines day and a man among men.  His eyes were blue like the ocean.  His hair flowed in the breeze, except the locks saturated with his own pee.  His concubines and a silly eunich greeted the carriage, curious as to the drama.  Dottie however, wasted no time in insipid introductions, she jumped from the carriage and ran to find her man. 

Masking her bashfullness and coyness with wantoness and lust, she entered his chamber.  The 4.5 milliseconds they took getting to know each other seemed to take much less time.  Regardless of their lack of privacy, the couple embraced one another, and then again and again and then one more time.  Dottie wondered if she would ever tire from the affections of her Romeo.  Alas, after an hour his serving wench had to put a boiled dinner on the stove and Dottie was escorted out of his chamber.  Both still longed for more time.  Well, Dottie could have been convinced, but she was a little dazed at that point.  Looking over her shoulder, she hesitated but was prodded on by the serving wench. 

"I love you Dottie!"  Romeo screamed from the confines of his chamber, his tongue flapping suggestively. 

Iris, the concubine raised an eyebrow.  "Oh no, you did--ent!" For once upon a time,  she had been Romeo's beloved, like last week or something. 

Dottie was lifted back into the carriage.  Levity was made about getting her cigarette.  She found no humor in the peasant's jocularity. 

Wistfully she lay down and smiled, satisfied.  The journey home was uneventful, though Dottie wondered if perhaps the serving wench planned on a side career as a robber as she had her sweat shirt pulled up over the bottom part of her face.  It couldn't have been to mask the smell, for Romeo's perfume permeated the entire carriage and threatened to until time or  Febreeze dispersed it. 

It did not matter.  The queen was quiet, satisfied and cross your fingers...knocked right the heck up. 

The End

Smiles from the (chicka-chicka-mow-wow) farm,

Friday, November 13, 2009


Oh good.  This is just what we need!  I mean really how can we go another winter without one of these?  Oh it was free?  WONDER-freaken-FUL.  Lovely, just peachy.  What a great deal. 

I mean what could go wrong?  Oh, you're going to use it to RACE with.  Perfect.  Good idea.  Why didn't I think of that?  That's brilliant. 

But don't we already have one of those?  I mean it may be missing the windshield, and the handle bars, but it's still good right? 

Now remind me again how it came to be sans windshield and handlebars.  Jeesh, now what was it that happened?  Something about going really fast on a frozen pond and losing control and three hours in the ER and numerous stitches, fractured eye sockets, fear of brain damage (verdict's still out on that one) and swelling.  No, doesn't ring a bell?  Hmmmm....well maybe this will jog your memory...

Dear Lord, thank you for not making me a boy.  They are dumb.  Amen.

Smiles from the (well insured) farm,

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

If it wern't for you pesky kids...

So I fixed the goat fence on Sunday.  And then again on Monday.  On Tuesday I shook my fist and said bad words.  Now it is Wednesday and I let the goats out into the pasture and waited.  They looked at me.  I waited.  I shrugged my shoulders and went to the house and looked out the window and didn't see them in the yard.  That was because they were in the neighbor's yard. 

Their pasture is approximately two acres. They even have their own picnic table to play on.  They just don't seem to care.

At all.

So on Wednesday I fixed the goat fence and incurred some bodily injury. 

Any guesses where I'll be on Thursday? 

Smiles from the (blasted goats!) farm,

Monday, November 9, 2009


So this was an exciting weekend.  I temporarily fixed the goat fence ('cause goat fences are never permanently fixed-argh.)  I marked off my garden for next year and planted 50 cloves of garlic.  And I got a new addition to my little farm.  She's lovely.  So sweet and hard working.  Loyal, generous and intelligent. 

I wonder if there could be a more perfect companion?

I've decided to name her Bea.  She has many, many sisters.  I have named them all Bea too.  Except for that one up in the corner.  Her name is Judy. 

I have wanted bees for about 10 years.  At first I listened to everyone who told me that that was nuts. Then I was too busy.   Then I didn't have the money.  And then as if by fate or kizmit or devine providence I subscribed to a nice little blog called Mainely Ewes Farm.  After a few posts I realized that I had gone to bee school with Alex and Kelly and so we've chatted and shared some information and then I got an email last week from Kelly asking if I would be interested in their empty bee equipment because she was focusing more on her big animals.  I said YES, yes, why yes I would and she said all I had to do was come pick the empty hives and all of the equipment up and YEE HAW, I was going to be able to buy some bees this winter and have bees in the spring, EXCEPT she emailed me the day of the pickup and said that with the warm weather, she realized that the hives were not empty-in fact they were full of bees.  Now in hindsight I should have probably taken her advice to just pick them up in spring.  But, I wanted those bees right then.  So, long story short, I drove about 40 miles home with two live bee hives in the back of my van.  I kind of wanted to get stopped for speeding.  But I didn't and we all arrived home safely and I am so happy.  I love my bees.  Thank you Kelly, so much. 

Smiles from the (buzzing) farm,

Wednesday, November 4, 2009

Answer: Nacho Farm...

Question:  What do you call a farm that ain't yours...

Sorry, the time change thing has messed me up BAD.

Pigs that aren't mine...Nacho Pigs

I don't think Momma Pig would admit to belonging to anyone.  I'm not messing with her...Nacho Momma Pig.

A cow who would very much like to come home with me and be my friend. 'Cause judging from the lovely ear bauble, this cow is destined for ummm, well, supper...Nacho Beef Critter.

 Lot's of someone else's cows. (They look like they know don't they? Sorry cows, the circle of life man, the circle of life.)...Nacho Herd of Cows

I think every farm should have a claw foot water trough. Mine does not...Nacho Tub

However I do have these...

The rare and elusive, "Fences, we don't need no stinking fences" little tiny goats. 

Smiles from the (other people's) farm,