Categories
Life in general Ranch Life

Target Practice

* Disclaimer *  The following post contains simmering anger.  I’m not going to edit it, or try to make it witty.  But I’ve got to get it OUT.  Read at your own risk.

I was playing on the floor with Blythe when I heard a knock on the door.  Since I didn’t hear a car pull up, I figured it was one of our employees. 

Nope, it was code enforcement and a Sheriff.  Turns out, someone made a couple of complaints about us, and they were here to investigate.  Complaint #1: A diesel tank.  About a year ago, we had a diesel tank put on the edge of our property.  Before we could even start looking into installing it and having it filled, one of our neighbors (we have very few) threw a hissy fit about it.  We decided not to use it, and had it removed.  End of story, right?  Wrong.  But clearly it’s not even THERE anymore, so on to…

Complaint #2: Someone reportedly living in a motor home on our property.  Um, do you SEE anyone living in a motor home?  Yes, we do have an old motor home sitting over there in the corner, we used to use it for Jeremy’s softball tournaments.  The whole team would ride up in there.  But, clearly, it hasn’t been used in quite some time, and no, other than BUGS, there is no one living there.

So after they left, satisfied that no codes needed enforcing, I called Jeremy and was all, WTF is up with our neighbors?  It turns out, Jeremy HAD gone into the motor home that morning to take out anything he wanted to keep, because he was having someone pick it up and scrap it.  So, now we aren’t even allowed to STEP FOOT IN OUR OWN MOTOR HOME, on OUR OWN PROPERTY, without someone turning us into code enforcement for LIVING IN IT.

I probably would be able to just laugh it off if someone hadn’t turned us in a couple of weeks ago for “illegally installing a pool”.  I was out front, minding my own business, when the county inspector drove up.  But um, yeah, that pool’s been there for YEARS.  Turns out, though, we had a few other issues, now that WE WERE BEING PUT UNDER A MICROSCOPE. 

But, fortunately, that’s all being taken care of.  And, miracle of miracles, the people on the county side of things are being very nice and helpful.  And the inspector fell in love with Bella while he was here, and decided to adopt her, so that was an added bonus.

The thing is: why do our (very few) neighbors HATE US?  When we moved here, they told us to GO BACK TO THE CITY.  But we’re not even FROM the city, we’re from, like, a mile away.  So we fixed up what had been a condemned house, landscaped, cleaned the place up.  Installed nice fences, slowly accumulated cattle and farm equipment.  We keep our fields irrigated and cut.  When Jeremy’s out there, he even cuts and/or discs our neighbor’s property FOR FREE if they want. 

We also share a gravel road with a few people.  When we moved here, it was full of potholes and was down to dirt in a lot of places.  EVERY YEAR, we pay for more base rock to be delivered, and we (and by we I mean Jeremy, of course) smooth it out.  EVERY YEAR, they get their road repaired FOR FREE.

We’ve done nothing but bring their home values UP.  So what’s the problem?  Is it the fact that we have all our teeth?  Is it because we don’t have a yard full of junked up cars?  Is it because our animals are well taken care of, and we don’t live in a mobile home?  Is it because we don’t cook crystal meth in our barn?  Is it because we shower regularly?

Tell me, people.  TELL ME.

And a word of advice:  if ever you decide to move to a ranch for all that space and privacy, try to buy like a hundred acres, and put your house right in the middle.  Because apparently, 11 acres is NOT ENOUGH SPACE for people to get up out of your business. 

Categories
Life in general

Almost

Light crept through the windows this morning, announcing a new day.  As much as I tried to deny that it was time to get up, I knew the minutes were ticking by.  Soon enough, my kids would be awake and they would be the sole focus of my attention.

So I got up.  Made the bed, started a load of laundry.  Showered, cleaned the tub, the toilet, the sink.  Brushed my teeth, got dressed, swept the floor.  As I made breakfast I heard Blythe cry out from her room and I jumped, startled.  I hadn’t realized, until that moment, that I was still half asleep.  I smiled a little, in acknowledgment of how following my morning routine was almost like getting a half hour of extra sleep.  Almost.

It’s an interesting word, almost.  At once it can imply dodging a bullet or the beginning of deep regret.  Parents whose child almost didn’t make it live with the utmost respect for the word.  A doctor who loses a patient carries ‘almost‘ heavily upon her shoulders.

As the Olympics pervade our daily lives, there are constant instances of almost.  Occasionally as we watch, I steal a look at Jeremy and wonder if he is reliving the Olympic Trials of 1996.  He almost made the US Olympic Wrestling Team, losing two one point matches.  On the other hand, those who made it instead of him almost didn’t – it’s a matter of perspective.


He came so close to realizing every athlete’s dream.  Almost.  But if he had made the team, would he be here with me, now?  Taking turns sticking our arms, elbow-deep, into a laboring pig?  Going through the minutiae of our daily lives?  Or would he be somewhere else, still ensconced in the world of an Olympic-class athlete?


If he had made The Team of all Teams, he wouldn’t have moved back to his home town after the trials, or gone to college across the street from my office.  We wouldn’t have spent our lunch hours getting to know each other, never would have fallen in love. 

Almost.

Categories
Kids Life in general

Kindergarten *sob*

Well, it’s here.  The first day of Kindergarten.  We’ve talked about it and planned for it and had play dates with kids in her class.  We lovingly chose her uniform and put everything she needed on the shelf in her room.  We picked out special foods, and placed them in the shiny new lunch box.  Last night we practiced getting them out, and talked about eating the treat last.


But this morning, she didn’t want to brush her hair.  Or her teeth.  She didn’t want to get dressed, or take a first-day photo.  She didn’t want to carry her brand-new Hello Kitty bag.  She wanted to stay home with me, and play with Blythe.

I promised her a Popsicle when she got home, and that produced a smile.




Bribery – it works every time, I tell ya.



Her dad and I took her to school, and helped her put her lunch box and bag in the spot marked, “Alison”.  We reminded her of her friends, the playground, the crayons, the strawberries she’d get to eat at lunch. 



Look at that nice Kindergarten class room.  Doesn’t it look warm and inviting?  Not to Alison.  To her, it looks like a torture den.  A place where her heartless mom is willingly handing her over to strangers.




And here, people – here is where I had to peel my child off of me as she cried, and push her into the classroom.  Parents aren’t allowed past the door, see.  And then I had to turn and walk quickly away, lest she see the tears streaming down my face.

Categories
Life in general

Embarrassing Moments

I need some laughter to get me through this whole my-first-child-is-about-to-start-kindergarten anxiety that is living in my chest and wreaking havoc on my digestive system.

So.  I want to hear about your Most Embarrassing Moments.  If you’re like me and have too many to call a “MOST” just tell me one – any one.

——————

I don’t know about everybody else, but I have three panty drawers, filled according to style.  On the  day in question, I chose black bikini briefs over thong, because I didn’t want the seam of my gray wool pants falling into my butt crack all day. 

On my way to the car, I realized it was way too hot for wool pants, and ran back into the house to change.  I chose the only skirt in my closet that I knew looked good with the shirt I already had on, and hurried to work, trying not to be late. 

I went about my day – running all over the office, showing clients where to go, socializing.  You know, things people do at work, especially when they love their job and their co-workers.  At lunch, I was in the restroom washing my hands when I happened to glance at my reflection in the full length mirror to my left. 

At that moment I was faced with a decision: continue to wear my black, full-butt panties under my light cream skirt, or take them off and have everyone in the office know I wasn’t wearing panties the whole rest of the day.

Because there is no way that even one person in that office hadn’t seen me showing off my panties.  I couldn’t handle the idea of any of the older men I worked with knowing I was sans skivvies under my skirt, so I chose to keep them on, and try not to leave my desk.  For four hours.

Lesson learned: Always check the rear view, even when you’re in a hurry.

Categories
Kids Parenting

Do People Really Do This?

A youngish couple pushed a stroller through the grass, gazing this way and that as they slowly moved along.  A glance into the seat in front of them revealed to me a little girl, probably just shy of her first birthday.  She thoroughly ignored the pandemonium of the county fair around her. 

Instead, she focused her attention on the world inside her stroller.  Her curly brown hair bobbled over her forehead as she sucked fiercely on a straw, taking in gulp after gulp of dark liquid.  Her tan little legs were wrapped around the tall, 44-ounce clear plastic cup from which she drank.  Her hands, so tiny with their minuscule fingernails, were dwarfed by the sheer size of the cup they attempted to hold.

Her brow furrowed as the liquid stopped flowing.  She removed her lips from the straw and replaced them with her fingers.  Her hand rose and fell, poking the ice.  I marveled at her skill, knowing that if my own 15 month old daughter faced the same obstacle, poking ice with a straw would not be her first course of action.  

The stroller came to a stop next to my 4 year old daughter and I as we waited, ever so patiently, for our turn on the merry-go-round.  The little girl’s face lifted in acknowledgment of the stroller’s pause, and our eyes met.  A smile revealed four little teeth. 

She shifted the cup in her lap and returned to her task.  At last, the straw reached through the ice to the bottom.  The little girl happily sucked brown, bubbly liquid into her mouth once again.

As the stroller began to move, I spied the label on the side of the cup.  It read: PEPSI.