Medical Terminology

Last Tuesday Husband put a gate in the goat fence so that I could drive in there with the tractor and shovel...stuff...out.  Handy.  When he came up to the house to tell me it was done he mentioned that Stella looked funny.  Well what he actually said was, "Stella has something gross hanging out of her butt."  Rather than something lovely and magical hanging out of her butt, I suppose.  "Gross" and "hanging out of butt" are pretty much synonymous in my opinion.  


Since she had just had two kids in November and we no longer have a buck, I figured she was just in heat.    I meandered down to the goat house and out into the field to find her.  Lo and behold she indeed had something gross hanging out of her butt.  I took her by the collar and led her into the barn, put her in the little stall and closed the door.  She promptly lay down and had three babies.  One little girl and two little boys. 

On the day I sold Pip, I led him through the barn where Stella's stall was open.  I can only surmise that he said his goodbye to Stella in a VERY special way on the way through.  Which makes me nervous because I don't think I've seen Dottie go into heat in a while.  Madness. 

Also, I think Husband's gynecological assessments, though correct.... may need a little polishing. 

Smiles from the farm,
Lisa

Sigh....

Well...

ummmm...

see....

yeahhhh....

I got nothing.  

Welcome to my world...

Smiles from the (very open minded) farm,
Lisa

Gittin' Some Gumption...

Sorry for the general neglect of this blog.  I'm just not feeling that bloggy lately.  I feel like I've told all the stories.  Goats, chickens, children, "Oh look I made something", blah-blah-blah.  How self absorbed can one person be anyway? 

I started to clean the house, got bored.  Started a diet, hate it.  I started to write a book, it's really hard to do that.  Oh,  I DID get a new duck. 

Her name is Violet and I can't decide if Stanley loves her or hates her.  Stanley think's he's a goat, so he may just be confused.  Violet's farmer had an emu.  I think I would like an emu. 

Disclaimer: Stolen from the internets and not the actual emu that I met.

Right?  I think that's just what I need to get me out of this funk.  An emu. 

But Husand said emu's kill more people each year than cancer.  I'm pretty sure he's making that up. 

Smiles from the farm,
Lisa

Art or Craft?

What is the difference between arts and crafts?  Art is snooty and refined and inaccesible to the common folk, whereas crafts are utilitarian and homey.  Sometimes there is a fine line between the two and I have spent the last few weeks trying to figure this out.  Well, the last few hours.  Ok, 15 minutes ago I thought about it. Jeesh.

So, here I am trying to figure out my life and my purpose and I decided that I wanted to be artsy.  Not craftsy.  Just artsy.  So I decided to start a line of jewlery.  This line of jewlery will be handsculpted and of the finest quality.  I started with these roses.

Oh, how lovely.  Yes, I will stick with this line of refinement.  I won't slip back into my craftsy ways.  Not everything has to be funny.

 'Cept pop tarts are funny.  BUT cute and sweet too.

Oh and cupcakes!

Ahhh and whoopie pies!!

No, no, no!  Stop it.  (giggle-giggle)  How about roasted chickens!

OR steaks!  BAH! hehehehehehe

SAUSAGE LINKS!  DANGILY SAUSAGE LINK EARRINGS!

No wait.  That's not classy.  Are peas classy?  Yes, I'm pretty sure they are.

Oh and toast is classy.  Well what do they give at the beginning of classy parties?  Yeah, that's right.   Toast(s). 

Though I'd prefer Doritos.

Ummm.  Ok. I give up.  I ain't got no class.  Do you? 

**Note:  All of these classic pieces are available on my Etsy page.  They're wicked nice...and classy. 

Smiles from the farm,

Lisa

No such thing as junk...

Sometimes one of the most interesting things about auctioning is not the things that you buy, but the things that you don't.  Let me explain.  Sometimes you have to buy a lot.  Well you always have to buy a lot.  I mean you have to buy a LOT, as in a group of things.  You may just HAVE to have that broken, cracked thing with the damaged but repairable part-but in addition you have to take three left footed boots,  box of Barbie doll heads and a collection of telephone books from 1982.  Usually you cull the really bad stuff when you get home. 

Well, I have had this gun case floating around my shop for a year.  It is about three feet long, made of wood and I just couldn't throw it out.  Husband suggested that I convert it into luggage.  But seeing as we don't go anywhere and if we did, I don't think airport security would appreciate my crafty DYI-ishness concerning a carry-on shaped like a gun case.  That's just asking for trouble.

I don't have before pictures, because I wasn't sure this was going to work.  I painted it green, added some shelves and lined it with a piece of vintage barkcloth.   I converted it into a shelf for my thread.  Wow, I have a lot of thread.  (Note:  most of thread also bought at auction)

Pretty clever, huh?  Now can you tell me what I should do with this lovely piece of......art?  

Smiles from the farm,
Lisa

Ridiculous....

Duck chases dog.  Really, do things like this happen at other people's houses? 

Surely, it's not just me.  Surely.

Smiles from the farm,

Lisa

Then there's this guy...

Who sometimes smiles so hard we worry that he'll hurt himself...

He is the cream in our cofee, the frosting on our pop tarts, the laces in our boots... If he could talk it would sound like a song, if he could walk, blue birds and butterflies would follow...

You know the James Taylor song that goes, "Whenever I see your smiling face, I've got to smile myself..." well that's Liam.

Every day is the Fourth of July, Christmas and the first day of Spring for him.  Thanks Little Bud, for the perspective.  We couldn't do this without ya'...

Matthew

I am credited a lot for being strong. 

Most of the time, I am. 

But sometimes, I look at the angle of his jaw and the way the muscles in his neck stretch when he turns his head.  I wonder what he would be like if things were different.  Would he be funny or serious?  Would he be naughty, but so damn charming that you couldn't stay mad at him?  What would his voice sound like when he needed me?  Would he call me mama or mommy or mother?  Would he be artistic?  Would he play the guitar, like his father?  What would a Kool-Aid mustache look like on his upper lip?  What kind of young man would he be?  What kind of girl would he bring home?  What would he want to be when he grows up? 

Most of the time, I am strong.  But sometimes I mourn the man he will never be.  I curse the fragile organization of DNA.  When I hold him tight as his body convulses in seizure, as he falls asleep, exhausted from the exertion...my back sore from carrying him,  I am not strong.  Sometimes I wonder if I will ever find my strength again. 

Pink...

Pink Typewriter

Pink Sewing Machine

Pink Cowboy Boots

Pink Stove

Even though I can not afford any of these things...it just makes me happy that they exist.  More things should be pink. 

Smiles,

Lisa

MOVE THAT.......goat?

In the middle of the chaos, right smack dab in the middle of it...the boy's physical therapist nominated our family for Extreme Makeover Home Edition.  Which is an honor, truly.  Although I don't know if  I want them to knock my little house down. 

There are a lot of things that I don't over share on this blog.  I have mentioned that my boys have special needs, but I try not to focus on that.  I never want my children to be defined by their disability-though it is the first thing you notice about them.  If you spend any time with them at all, you see so much more.  They are amazingly sweet kids and I am blessed that someone up there thought that I had the fortitude and strength to parent them.  But the fact is that they are sick.  They have a very rare metabolic condition that has only been diagnosed in about 60 cases worldwide.  We have two.  This condition affects their vision, their physical development and their cognitive development.  Essentially they reached about a five or six month old level and stopped.  They will never walk or feed themselves or swear or throw rocks at the UPS truck and the doctors have given them a lifespan of mid to late teens.   That part sucks.  Bad. 

I like our house, and I have shown you the pretty parts of it.  I have never shown you the rotting sills or the leaking roof or the fact that we have two bedrooms and there are six people living here or the fact that we have one bathroom and it is not wheelchair accessible.  Our little house is 900 square feet and 111 years old.  We can't fit two wheelchairs into the house even if we could get them through the door.  So, yes, a handicapped accessible house would be AMAZING.  I'm just leery of opening up our weird little life to the world to maybe get it... 

So anyway, that's whats going on there.  If you want to, and please don't feel pressured to, here is the facebook link that the physical therapist set up.   TWOMBLY FAMILY

I appreciate any support you can show our boys, but please know that we won't be devastated if we don't get this.  It's just such an honor to see how many people truly care. 

Smiles from the farm,

Lisa