Birthday week

Last Tuesday was Jakob's 17th birthday, so we took him to Joseppi's for dinner with Mom, Bill, Uncle Buck and Aunt Lisa. I ate too much, as usual. When we got in the car after dinner I asked D if there was anywhere else that we needed to go before heading home and he said no because he'd just want to spend money. From the back seat, "I want to go spend some money!" Jakob was ready to unload some dough on a Macbook. So, we ventured to Best Buy and hooked the boy up.

On Friday night we went to the football game and froze our butts off. I wore a turtleneck, t-shirt, down coat, earmuffs, gloves, fleece lined boots and a huge doubled up blanket and I still froze. The fan turnout wasn't as good as I've seen it, but I assume the weather had a little bit to do with that. To add insult to injury, we lost. Since this was the "pink out" game, Jakob and one of the teachers had a booth selling breast cancer ribbons and painting pink mustaches on people. D bought a pink ribbon for my cheek and after an hour in the freezing cold it felt super stiff, like I'd drooled on my cheek and it had dried. I stuck it to my bathroom mirror when I got home.

After the game we picked up the birthday cakes for Jakob and Jimmy.

On Saturday we took a group of boys to play paintball in Sapulpa.

Our motley crew:  Keston, Jakob, Devion, D, Brady, Chuck, Dustin, Dale, Jake and Jimmy.

If you've never been to Paintball Adventure Games, I highly recommend that you go. Shawna and I just took pictures and laughed at the boys. We got to wear these lovely yellow masks.

I think one of the things I enjoyed the most about the day was just listening to a group of teenage boys talk and yell at each other as they "attacked". They all had a blast and can't wait to go back. Jakob managed to come home without any welps or injuries, but several of the boys and D all had "wounds".

Don't worry, I kissed all of his boo-boos and made it all better. :)

Mirror, mirror on the wall

I don't know if you watch the Today Show or not, but this morning they interviewed a young woman named Stella Boonshoft, an 18 year old New Yorker who writes a blog called The Body Love Blog. Recently, she posted a photo of herself in her underwear on her blog in an effort to further the body acceptance movement. I have to say, this is a subject close to my heart.

I have struggled with my body image since I was a preteen and some people have even said I was obsessed with it. I don't think "obsessed" is the right term, but it's definitely been something that has played a major role in my life. I remember being in the fifth grade and a group of girls were weighing and when I stepped on the scale, I weighed 20 pounds more than ALL of them. I was mortified, humiliated, embarassed and I hated myself for ever getting on that scale. I don't remember ever feeling gross, fat or disgusting before that day. One of the older girls made some remark about my weight; I don't remember what she said, only that it stung. The fact that I was quite a bit taller than most girls my age did not translate for me. Nor did the fact that I already had large breasts while many of them were still in training bras. All I knew was that I was much heavier than them and, to me, that meant that I was fat and that made me feel horrible and disgusting. Her comment just confirmed what I was already feeling. I've looked back at photos of myself at that age and I was by no means fat. I wasn't a beanpole, but I wasn't overweight. I was tall and strong; I worked horses, cleaned stalls, loaded sacks of feed, hauled hay and played sports on a daily basis. But, I still had a negative self-image.

Several boys would call me "red-headed woodpecker" which didn't just hurt, it infuriated me. And since I was a little more "well developed" than some girls my age, I also had to constantly deal with boys trying to touch my body - in the sixth grade! Warning, soapbox sermon coming - no girl should EVER have to deal with that! Parents need to teach their sons that this is unacceptable and is actually illegal. People chalk this kind of behavior up to "curious children" and think that it's harmless, but the truth is that it is an assault on another person. You are not allowed to grope someone just because you feel the urge to. The boys laughed about it and the more I told them to stop, the more they tried. So, once again, parents, teach your children to respect the bodies and personal space of others and to keep their hands to themselves. Thank you.

As I got older, my struggle continued. My friends wore a size 6, I was an 8. They had petite little feet and I wore a size 10. They had tiny hands and mine were huge like a sasquatch. My hair was red and fuzzy and chaotic and theirs was a pretty blonde or brunette and wavy and beautiful. My skin was beyond pale white and they all had a nice tan color. I don't tan. Ever. Under any circumstances. I had cellulite, they didn't. And if they did, tan fat was prettier than pasty white fat. These are just a few of the things that went through my head; I was constantly finding fault with my appearance and my body. And while I could find numerous faults with myself, I never saw those faults in my friends. I didn't even see faults in the girls who were mean to me. In some sick way, I wanted my body to look like theirs. Some older girls would make negative, bullying comments to me - these girls were not my friends, but because we are a small community and a small school, I had classes with them. Several of them told me that I had a fat a** and it slowed me down when we ran or made fun of my thighs or my hair or my pale skin color or even my clothes. When we would change into our gym clothes they would make fun of the underwear I had on, which weren't any different than the other girls. They would say something rude to me during class or even as I walked past them in the hall. And once one of the girls would say something, there would be one or two boys that would chime in, too. Their comments about my body made me feel worthless, which was something I was already feeling, they didn't need to point it out. But, these same kids would turn around and ask me for answers to tests and quizzes. So, they knew that I was smart, but still felt the need to insult my physical appearance. Once, when my hair was short, a boy remarked that my neck looked like an ostrich. Honestly, he was right, but his words still hurt. I have a long, slender neck and I agree with him that when I have short hair, it makes my neck look abnormally long. But, could he have found a nicer way to say it? Or did it need to be said at all? Or was he trying to be funny and I was just too sensitive? I don't even like my ankles because someone once called them "cankles". I'd never felt self-conscious about my ankles until then. Just think how much better people would feel about themselves if we'd all stop looking for faults and focus on each other's strengths. And how much happier would we be if we were looking for the good in others instead of finding ways to bring them down?

This morning, as I looked at Stella's photo and listened to her story I thought, what a wonderful thing that this young woman is doing! How brave she is to bare herself in such a way that makes her vulnerable and strong at the same time. I hope that many women - young, old or in between - hear the message she is sending about body acceptance (Parental alert: she does drop a few f-bombs on her blog). Body acceptance is an issue that I still struggle with and I pray that it's not something I pass on to the young women and girls around me. I have to remind myself every day that my self-worth is not based on my body size or what I think of it. I am loving. I am a Christian. I am smart. I am strong. I am giving. I am understanding. I am empathetic. I am kind. I am a wife. I am a friend. I am a sister. I am a daughter. I am a (soon-to-be) mother. I make sacrifices and provide for my family. I don't always make the right decision, but I try. I believe in righting wrongs and standing up for the little guy. There are many things that define me besides the number on the scale or on the tag of my pants. It's just hard to always remember that.

The new tree stand

My dude got a new tree stand. The booger of the deal is that it did not come assembled. The last hunting accessory he bought, a feeder, was also not assembled. The box said "Easy Assembly", which was a complete and total lie. So, when we pulled all of the pieces for the tree stand out of the box, I was not hopeful that this would be a quick job.

Here's our system:  I read the directions and get parts ready, he assembles.

The first few steps went fairly easily.

Heave, ho!

Start tightening the nuts!

Padding is necessary for tender behinds.

Got the ladder attached!

And this, my friends, is where the job got tricky. The instructions call for three people to upright and move the whole kit-n-caboodle. There were two of us and one of us was not in any condition to be lifting or moving anything heavy. Normally, I would charge full steam ahead and show off my she-muscles, but due to recent events, I'm doing none of the sort. Read instructions. Get parts ready. These are my jobs. Not uprighting tree stands. So, for the most part he uprighted the contraption himself, then walked it over to the tree. I cannot remember a time that made me so nervous. I was afraid that it would either fall apart or that he'd lose his leverage on it and the whole thing would fall down on top of him. He finally got it over to the tree and then we had to figure out how to secure it because the tree was not especially cooperative. Don't you hate trees with an attitude? At first, one of us was going to climb the tree and get behind the stand to secure it, but neither of us could get up high enough to get our foot into a notch. It was a tall tree. He got it wedged up against the tree and I held it steady and he climbed up the ladder while I yelled at him what a bad idea it was and that I didn't want to be a widow today. My concerns fell on deaf ears, or prideful male ears, I'm not sure which. He shimmied up the ladder and got the stand secured while I had a heart attack.

There's the daredevil.

In his camo, he'll be well concealed.

Time to disguise the ladder.

And don't forget to cut off the tag!

On a side note, while heading to the hunting hole, we drove past a snake working on his tan. I screamed like a girl and hammered down on the gas. D tried to get off and play with it. Men. *smh*

Ode to my dude

Oh, leaf covered man

Thou stealest my heart

I love thee so much

Even when you fart

You're the kind of man

From fairytale lore

Of thee, this is true

I could not love you more

You make my lips smile

And my heart gets a flutter

My fingers get tingly

You melt me like butter

I've loved you so long

We've been through so much

All it takes to calm me

Is your gentle touch

I call you my dude

My man or just "Hey!"

I'll take a moment now

Because I just want to say

I love you

I love you

I love you

I love you

Wasted days and wasted nights

Have you ever had one of those days where it seems like everything is going "the hard way"? That's how our Thursday went.

We were going to take Jakob to a cultural event in Tulsa and he wanted to get a laptop and some shoes, so we left early to do some shopping. We made the hour long trip to T-town and stopped at a shopping center. We went to the electronics store, but he decided not to buy a laptop and talk to his parents first. Then we went to a shoe store, they didn't have the shoes he wanted. We walked down to a clothing store to look for orange shirts for our family photos next weekend, they had none. We drove across the street and went to a department store and found the orange shirts we were looking for. However, there is another one of these particular department stores much closer to home and if we hadn't driven to Tulsa, we could have gotten our shirts in Stillwater next week. We drove to a sporting goods store and again, no shoes. Stop #1 = strikeout.

We drove to a mall that was about 20 minutes away where the store that had the shoes online was located. Five shoe stores later, no shoes. They were either out of stock or the store didn't carry them. And the store that had them advertised online said that his size was completely out of stock nationwide. We consoled ourselves with a cookie for me, a brownie for Jakob and coffee for D. Stop #2 - strikeout.

We drove another 20 minutes to the park where the cultural festival was to be held. We were super excited about going; D and I had never been before and Jakob would get to eat some food from his homeland, and this is supposed to be a premier event; known worldwide. Let me tell you about it - IT BLEW. All three of us were utterly disappointed and felt like it definitely did not live up to it's name. There were a few rides, which none of us were interested in. There were a few vendors selling knick-knacks and t-shirts, which none of us were interested in. There was lots of food, which we ate, even though it was overpriced. There were several bands, but the music was so loud inside that we couldn't even hear each other talk and had to use abbreviated sign language to communicate with each other. After we'd been there for about an hour, we'd had enough and decided to go to the football game. D asked if I knew where we were playing and I said that I thought it was in Dewey and Jakob agreed.  We wouldn't make it before kickoff, but we'd be there before the second quarter. Stop #3 = strikeout.

We left the park and headed north to get on the highway. However, the highway is under construction and we didn't take into account that every single entrance to the highway was shut down. So, we ended up in downtown Tulsa. We tried to take our normal route back to the highway, but it was blocked off. When we found another entrance to the highway, we didn't know if we were now east or west of US75, the highway we needed to get on to go to Dewey, so we got on US412 and headed west, thinking since the two highway intersect, we'd run into US75. Oh, no. We were still east of US75, so we ended up right back down at the park where we'd just left 15 minutes earlier. I think I might have uttered 1 or 20 bad words. So, once we were back at our starting point, we went south and found an entrance onto the highway and followed it around and 30 minutes after we'd started, we were finally where we needed to be. As we headed out of town, I asked, "The game is in Dewey, right?" and D and Jakob both said yes. D had been texting Shawna about the game, so we were positive that's where we needed to go.

We drove north for about an hour to Dewey and as we entered town I told D that I didn't know exactly where the stadium was, so he needed to start looking for stadium lights or I would have to stop and ask for directions. Then we saw the stadium. No lights on. No cars in the parking lot. No kids. No parents. No bands. No mascots. No teams. No cheerleaders. Nothing. From the back seat Jakob said, "How do you spell the name of this town?" "D-e-w-e-y," I said. "Oh, the game is in Depew." I think I said another bad word. We were at least 90 minutes away from Depew; there was no way were making the game. D texted Shawna again and she said that when she had received his text earlier, she thought that his phone had autocorrected "Depew" to "Dewey". If you're allowed 4 strikes, then this was #4 for us.

We wasted 8 hours of our lives driving to and around Tulsa, then to Dewey and then home, shopping for nothing and walking around a festival that we didn't enjoy. We wasted $35 in gas, $10 to park, $6 each to get into the festival and $50 in tickets that we had to purchase for use inside the festival. It wasn't anyone's fault, it's just the way things happened on a random Thursday. As Jakob said when we finally got home, "It was a bad day all around."

Poor pete

A few weeks ago D told me that one of the petes had died under our back porch. I logged the info in my brain and immediately forgot about it.

A few days later I stepped out onto the back porch and there was an awful, I mean AWFUL, smell - but I was only getting it in small whiffs. I knew it was a dead animal, but I couldn't tell where the smell was coming from.

The next day, the smell was worse and I couldn't even stay outside because it was so raunchy. As I stepped back inside, I remembered what I had forgotten - there's a dead pete out there! I went back out and took a look; sure enough, poor pete was there. I gagged and told D he needed to haul it off. Which he promptly refused to do, saying it wouldn't stink in a day or two. I hate to say it, but he was right. Two days later, poor pete's bones were still there, but the smell and any other remnants were gone.

We have no idea what happened to pete; it looks like he just laid down and passed away quietly. There were no obvious injuries and no blood. I'm not sure why he chose the area under our porch for his final resting place; generally wild rabbits run away from humans. A lot of animals will seek out a solitary place when they know they're dying, so I'm baffled as to why he would go under our porch. Maybe he felt close to us because we feed the birds and petes and he wanted to die close to his food source? And I want to know why he died. Did something scare him to death? Did he have a heart attack? Was he old and just die of natural causes? Did he eat some kind of poison? I don't know.....

This leaves me in the same quandry as the old woman who swallowed a fly, I don't know why she swallowed the fly.... been trying to figure that one out since I was five lol.

In the early morning...

5:15 am

1.  Step outside to see if there are any armadillos or other critters in the yard.

2.  Shoot said armadillo.

3.  Let the babies out to potty.

4.  Notice a super bright star in the eastern sky that you think must be a planet.

5.  Haul the telescope out to the front porch so you can investigate.

6.  Spend 10 minutes trying to find the "star" in the viewfinder because it's early and your brain is foggy.

7.  Find said "star", which is actually Venus, and marvel that you can actually see a planet so clearly and tear up a little bit at the majesty of the moment.

8.  Yell in a whisper, because you don't want to wake those who are still sleeping inside, at the babies as they chase after several petes. Run, pete, run!

9.  Watch the girls prance back pridefully as if they really got pete, when in reality he ran under the fence and the girls couldn't go any further.

10.  Haul the telescope back inside while trying to not trip over the babies as they run around your legs, fighting to get in the door first.

11.  Realize you're now running late, skip breakfast and forget your lunch on the counter as you rush out the door.

First game

Jakob played in a one day tournament in Berryhill on Saturday. Eight boys went, coached by two parents, and played three games. They won the first two and then Berryhill beat them by two points in the last game. Jakob said it was a lot of fun and he can't wait for basketball to officially start! We weren't able to go because we had to work, but Belinda was nice enough to take some photos! Look for #45!

Hydrate, hydrate, hydrate!

I can think of many captions for this photo, none of which have anything to do with basketball. Something like, "Strike a pose!" a la Madonna :)

Leap and block!

Nice!

Hustle!

Down our long dusty driveway....

I love walking down our driveway, whether it's just to retrieve the mail or to take the girls for a little outing. There's something comforting about walking down the driveway and not a sound can be heard except for the wind blowing across the tall grass and through the trees, the crunch of gravel under my feet and the pump jack moving up and down. It's such a peaceful place; some days I think I could just plop a lawn chair down in the middle of the driveway and stay there all day.

Part of our driveway was formerly the bed for the train tracks. The trains and the tracks are since long gone and now, in addition to being our driveway, the road that's left leads to the pasture and out to the pump jack and tanks. I can remember driving along the road to go check cattle or riding horses out here when I was a little girl. The road is bumpy and dusty and long and beautiful.

My babies like the driveway, too; sniffing, exploring and checking stuff out. There was a huge pile of cotey poo in the middle of the driveway, about halfway to the road. Biggest pile I've ever seen. I know you wanted to know that.

This is some sort of animal hair, I assume from a dead rabbit, that I found on the edge of the driveway. We call rabbits "petes", short for Peter Cottontail. I also assume he met a violent death from a cotey or some other predator. Poor pete. Also, fyi, quail are called "bobs", short for Bobwhite. It's important to know your terminology, so take out your pen and paper and write that down - add it to the definition of cotey from last week.

This is a funky looking plant and I have no idea what it is. The tall shoot came up several months ago and the smaller ones sprouted in the last couple of weeks. Any clue as to what it is?

This is a wad of metal, wood and barbed wire that I surmise are remnants of a feed trough and fence. See, I'm smart like that, I can just look at a pile of crap and figure out what it used to be. We found it bound up in the tall grass when we were plowing a food plot for the deer.

And these are bones of the old train tracks - broken, busted up and rotted out railroad ties. They also turned up when we plowed. It's amazing what you find abandoned and forgotten in the tall grass.

These are killdeer eggs. We watched the mama killdeer lay her eggs over the course of a few days, then she sat on them for the next 4 weeks and then poof! there were four baby killdeer running around. Rather than stay in the nest and wait for mom and pop to bring them food, baby killdeer can stand and run shortly after hatching. About a month later, they're on their own.

This is the mama killdeer pretending to be injured to distract me so that I wouldn't take pictures of her babies. I was not swayed.

This is a 4" x 4.5" cat track that I found in the driveway last year. We haven't seen the cat that made the tracks, but he must be a monster!

These are the things that entertain me - my babies, cotey poo, dead animal fur, funky plants, old rusty metal, rotten wood, hatching birds and big cat tracks. My husband is so lucky that I'm not high maintenance. And if you'd like to come relax and plop down in a lawn chair with me in my driveway and watch the day pass by, BYOC.

Picky eaters

I finally cooked something that Jakob didn't like ........... hominy. How can this be? I don't understand. It's so good and good for you! He didn't know what it was and quickly decided that it wasn't for him. I'm going to venture a guess that he probably wouldn't like grits, either. D doesn't like hominy, either. Picky, picky men folk! D ate about three bites and I think jakob had less than that. lol

I will admit that I don't care for plain hominy, but I drain off the liquid and melt cheese over it. And it's yummy! I wanted to make something we don't usually eat and I thought the hominy would be a nice alternative. Needless to say, the girls ate most of it. And they loved it.


Ode to Hominy
Oh, hominy, thou art so yummy,
I like it when you fill up my tummy!

You're big and come in yeller or white,
I eat you up in big ol' bites!

I don't like you plain, but like you with cheese,
My mouth says, "Can I have seconds, please?"

I don't understand why people call you icky,
I think that they're just too darn picky!

A poem for gloves

We took the boy to the farm and home store,
Where they had gloves and gloves galore!

He thought this pair looked really cool.
And with them, he can wield any tool.

They fit his hands nice and snug,
And keep them clean when smashing a bug.

Next on the list, he needs a pair of boots,
But, being a cowboy is not in his roots.

We'll get him converted to our country ways,
Before he goes back to Ger-ma-nay!

:)

Honey or vinegar?

In 1935, my Grandma was 11 years old; a preteen living in the dustbowl days, the fifth of 7 girls born to her parents, Martin and Minnie. Martin's parents were John and Susan and they operated a gas station. Susan was blind, but she kept the books because John didn't know how to add. He would read off the numbers from the pump, she would write them down, then at the end of the day he'd read off the numbers from the book and she'd add them in her head. It amazes me that this system worked for so many years.

That Christmas, John and Dora gave Grandma a small amount of change, she thinks it may have been about fifty cents, which went a lot further than it would today. She went to a local store and bought a small statue of a boy and girl holding hands. When she got home, her mother wanted to know where her fifty cents was, because she wanted it. When Grandma told her that she'd spent it, she got spanked and Minnie threw the statue in the trash. When Grandma took the trash out, she dug the statue out, stuffed it in her shirt and took it back inside. Minnie found it again, threw it away again, Grandma dug it out again and snuck it back in again. This scenario played out several times. I've heard some stories about my Great Grandmother Minnie and she was certainly not the nicest woman in the world. But, the fact that she continued to have Grandma take out the trash where she could dig the statue out again and again intrigues me. Was she trying to teach her a lesson of some sort? Was she just making her work to get what she wanted? Or was she just being a hag about it?

Minnie would also make Grandma do her sister's book reports; she was never allowed to read a book for herself, it was always so she could do someone else's homework. One day, she brought home the book "Tess of the Storm Country" by Grace White. When Minnie discovered the book and that Grandma wasn't reading it for her sister, she grabbed the book and threw it into the fire. Grandma said she never got to finish the book.

Minnie's mother, Laura, was also not a very nice woman. Several of her grandchildren have described her as mean and not the kind of grandma you could hug or who would let you sit in her lap. And you certainly didn't touch anything in her house. Part of me would like to blame the circumstances that they lived in - poor with lots of mouths to feed and probably without electricity or running water for the greater part of their lives - for their meanness. But, there are so many people who lived in that same situation who didn't have a sour disposition and weren't mean. So, it occurs to me that, like the rest of us, these two women had a choice and both of them chose to be mean and spiteful and play favorites with her children. I've tried many times to imagine what it was like to live in those hard times. How would it change me? Would I be able to do it, day after day after day? Would I let my emotions about the circumstances rule over me or would I rise above? What would my attitude be like if I didn't have a car, had to go to an outdoor spigot for water or to an outhouse to use the bathroom, had 14 children and stayed home with them every day? Would I be just as mean as these two women? Would living a different life in a different time make me a mean person? I would like to think that I would still show affection to those around me, that I would still be thankful for my family and my friends and any blessings I recieved. I would hope that I wouldn't let my circumstances control my attitude. But, until each of us has endured a life like that, how are we to know? How would we react if we suddenly lost many of the modern conveniences we have today? I realize that many of these things hadn't been invented by 1935, so maybe they didn't know what they were missing and thus, our situation would be different. But, it doesn't change the fact that we all have the freedom to choose how we behave.

So, today, I'd like to apply this line of thought to other situations we all face. I'm encouraging you to think before you react. Don't let your frustration with the situation before you rule over you. Don't let the circumstances control your attitude. Don't just blurt out the first thing that comes to mind - I will tell you from firsthand experience, this doesn't always go over well. You have the choice to either exercise some patience or scream, wave your hands, honk your horn and tailgate the pokey person in front of you. You have the choice to not act exasperated when the line at the store is slow and you're in a hurry. You have the choice to not yell at your spouse or children when you're frustrated about something else. You have the choice to not yell when someone is yelling at you. You have the choice to not throw a fit when things don't go your way. You have the choice to control your tone of voice and body language. You can make your point without being mean, belittling or disrespectful. Sometimes, this is hard to remember when our children, coworkers, spouses, friends or even strangers seem to be pushing our buttons and getting on our last nerve, but you always have a choice. Don't be disrespectful just because someone else is. Use your brain. Don't follow someone else's bad example just because it's easy to do so. Plow your own road. Think about what you're doing. Think about what you're saying. Be purposeful with your words and actions. You can diffuse a situation that's going south if you'll think before you react and choose your words and actions wisely. "It's easier to catch bees with honey than it is with vinegar." Think about what those words mean and how can you put that meaning to work in your life today?

P.S. This was not what I intended to write today, it just came to me as I was typing. So, maybe someone out there needed to hear it. Or maybe I'm the one who needed to hear it. Hopefully, someone got something out of it.

P.S.S.  Also, about 15 years ago, I found a copy of "Tess of the Storm Country", which had been out of print for a while, and gave it to Grandma. It totally made her day and she finally got to read the ending. :)

For our anniversary...

I got an email in the middle of the night a couple of weeks ago.

From my husband.

While he was in bed with me.

Does your husband do this? D swears he sent it before 11pm, but it didn't come through until about 3am. Thankfully, I had my phone on silent overnight so it didn't ding at me and wake me from my peaceful slumber.

The gist of the email was this, "What I want for our anniversary." Inside was a link to game call. For the non-hunting crowd, this is a speaker-like device that emanates different animal noises to "call" in nuisances like coyotes. Do you say ki-ote or ki-o-tee? I snub the norm and just call them coteys.

The next day was when the water well sprung a leak. The game call got put on hold until we knew what the damage was on the well. D was super disappointed. I told him not to get me anything, either, but he said it was too late, he'd already ordered it. I told him to cancel it, he refused and then he made some remark about me being spoiled and him making all the sacrifices around here. I stepped away in case lightening struck him.

Thankfully, the well fix turned out to be a DIY project and we were only out about fifty bucks. Amen! Hallelujah! Whew! However, I'm still waiting for him to fill in the hole. Before I could order the game call, we took a trip to town and ventured into a new Western store - which was not on our to-do list. Impulse shopping. Tsk, tsk.

Have I ever mentioned that my Dude L-O-V-E-S, and I mean LOVES, boots made of odd animal hides? His favorite pair is made of anteater and he's worn out the soles, but he loves all kinds of exotic skinned boots. I'm a traditional-functional-no-frills-kind-of-boot girl, myself - at least when it comes to cowboy boots. I like brown, brown or brown. It hides dirt and poop.

Whilst we was a-shoppin' he found a pair of boots made from alligator tail.

I think the socks really enhance the look. Meanwhile, I found these.

They weren't my size, but darn it, they sure were cute.

He was frothing at the mouth over the alligator boots, so I gave him his choice - the boots or the game call for our anniversary, because they were almost the same price. He had to stew on it for a while, but in the end, he chose the boots. I got a new pair, too. They were brown. Shocking, I know.

He also bought me jewelry; beautiful black diamond earrings and a necklace. He likes to spoil me with jewels and I love him for it. I'd love him if he didn't, but I love that he does. :)

A lesson on soccer

Over the weekend Jakob and I sat down to watch some soccer. This was the first soccer game I've ever watched. Ever. As in never before. Ever. Never ever. Does it make me weird that I've never watched a soccer game? Football ..... basketball ..... baseball ..... volleyball ..... these are the sports I grew up with. I've even learned the rules of golf since I got married. But, hockey and soccer are very foreign to me. I don't understand them, so I don't usually watch them. Here's what I learned, if I understood correctly:

1.  There are some hotties who play soccer. There are also some hotties who attend soccer games.

2.  There are 11 players on the field; usually 4 forwards, 4 midfielders, 2 defenders and 1 goalie.

3.  Players can have body contact, but not with their hands. Well, what fun is that?

4.  A player can receive 2 yellow cards for something similar to a flagrant foul. On the third offense, a red card is issued and the player is ejected. However, it didn't sound like there was a policy defining what a flagrant foul is. Maybe I misunderstood.

5.  There is no time limit for the team to move the ball down the field. It sounds like the game could last all day.

6.  The center circle is only used in the beginning for the kickoff. It sounds like a basketball tipoff; this familiar with I am (imagine Yoda said that, it'll make more sense).

7.  If they make a foul inside the secondary box (I don't know what else to call it), a penalty is issued and the other team gets a free kick.

8.  The home team is on the left side of the on-screen scoreboard. This must be a European thing.

9.  The fans are very passionate; in Jakob's words, there are many hooligans. lol

10.  There are two 45 minute halves, but the referees can add time. Add time? But, it's not overtime? I don't understand.

11.  Halftime is 15 minutes long.

12.  Like me, Jakob has no idea what the crowd is chanting.

13.  There are 3 referees. One on the field and two on the sideline who each work half of the field. Jakob said this makes it hard for the referees to see everything. So, I imagine the players might get away with some things, kind of like what happens underwater during a water polo game. Have you ever watched that sport? Violent it is (more Yoda, sorry). And for the record, I don't understand water polo, either.

I hope that this message was as informative for you as it was for me.

Black bean & corn salad

I am going to start this recipe off with a warning. A) It's so good that it's addictive. B) If beans give anyone in your house gas, you might want to prepare their living quarters outside in advance. I know people that will run you out of the county after eating this, but it's so good that it's worth it. :)

I got this recipe from a friend, who got it from a friend, who got it from ..... well, I don't know where. I've tweaked it a bit to better suit our palate.

Black Bean and Corn Salad

• 1 can black beans, drained and rinsed
• 1 can mexicorn, drained and rinsed
• 1 pint grape tomatoes, quartered
• 1/2 red onion, finely chopped
• 1 small bunch cilantro, roughly chopped, optional
• 1 Tbsp minced garlic, optional
• Colby Jack cheese, cubed, optional
• Ranch dressing
• Louisiana Hot Sauce
• Salt, to taste

Super simple directions: throw all of the veggies into a large bowl, pour in about 1/2 C of the dressing and as much of the hot sauce as you want. Mix well. If you need more dressing, give it a little squirt - but don't drown it. Then add a few splashes of hot sauce, and by "a few" I mean like 25. If that's not enough, add a few more, because more hot sauce is always a good idea. Sprinkle in a little salt and stir again. If you're going to eat it right away, go ahead and stir in the cheese cubes. If not, keep the cubes separate and just add what you need as you serve it, otherwise the cheese will get soggy if it sits in the salad for a couple of days. Mmmmhmmm! Yummy, yummy in my tummy!

Don't judge a book by it's cover

When I was in high school I read romance novels ALL the time. Romance novels and Cosmo magazine - teachers took them away from me on a regular basis. I would sometimes skip lunch so I could save up enough money to buy them - don't tell my Mom. One student teacher thought he was going to get the best of me by telling me I could read them while he talked, as long as any time he asked me a question I had the right answer. Unbeknownst to him, I could read and listen at the same time, so he was a little surprised when I answered his questions correctly. He still took my book away. lol

After high school, I stopped reading romance novels and got into mysteries, thrillers and spy/espionage type novels for several years. But, last year I got a Nook Color and there were quite a few romance novels that were free or extremely cheap, so I thought, "Why not?" and downloaded a few.

This was one of those books.

"When All My Dreams Come True" by Janelle Mowery

Part of the Colorado Runaway series

Or so I thought. I downloaded it months ago and when I got ready to read it earlier this week I couldn't remember what the description said. But, based on the cover and title, I thought it must be a period romance novel, something set in the Old West - my favorite kind of romance novel! It didn't take me long to figure out that this book was a little different.

It was definitely a period novel. And it was definitely a romantic novel. But, the minute the author brought faith into the mix, I knew I was in for a new ride. I've never read a Christian Romance novel before and I have to say, this book was VERY good! It had all of the romance and love a girl could want, but none of the in-depth intimacy (you know what I'm talking about) of, what I lovingly refer to as, "smut novels". I'm a real sinner - I went in expecting a smutty book and the Lord sent me one about faith and love. Maybe he was sending me a message?

If you're looking for a quick, easy, entertaining, hearfelt, make-you-drop-a-few-tears-and-make-you-feel-warm-and-fuzzy kind of read, then this book is for you! I can't wait to download the rest of the books in this series!

This is not a paid advertisement, just a country girl sharing with her friends about a book she liked.

P.S. Even though I no longer read Cosmo, I still love the way it smells when you open it up - like glossy paper and perfume! :)

Taboli

I had a "first" a few weeks ago - someone actually paid me to make food for them! One of my coworkers asked me how much I would charge to make her some taboli (or tabouli or tabouleh or however you spell it, it says taboli on the package I buy). She said she's tried taboli made by other people or at restaurants and she didn't like them, but she loves mine! Garsh ..... blush. Who knew I could make money by cooking for others?

Oh my goodness!! Doesn't that look delish?! I didn't like taboli until I was well into my 30's and I can't remember where I ate it, but I liked it so well that I learned how to make it at home. That happens to me a lot. If you see me at a restaurant and I'm staring at or examining my food, that means that I'm looking at every layer, every angle, trying to figure out exactly how they made it so I can replicate it at home. If I can't figure it out, I just ask my bff google. The first time I made taboli, I didn't have the right knife and it took me more than an hour and I almost never attempted it again because my hands were worn out. Then I switched to a larger, flat edged knife and voilà! We have success! Now, even if the package says you don't need to add lemon juice, I always adjust the liquid ingredients to add it. Here's my method, which is almost exactly as directed on the package:

Taboli

• 1 10-ounce package Taboli salad mix, I use Bishop Brothers, get the package that has dehydrated parsley and onions already in it, it may say "salad mix" on the package
• 1/3 Cup canola oil
• 1/2 Cup lemon juice
• 2 Cups cold water
• Salt, to taste, I like a lot of it, so I give a generous pour and I use sea salt
• Pepper, to taste
• 1 package Campari tomatoes, or whatever sweet tomato your store has
• 1 large cucumber, peeled and seeded
• 1-2 bunches of green onions, I cut off the green tops just past where it starts to split apart, but you can use the whole onion if you want

Dump the dry taboli mix into a bowl, pour in your salt-n-peppa then add the oil, lemon juice and water - in that order, this is different than the directions on the package. This gives the taboli the opportunity to absorb the lemon juice and oil before you add the water. While it's marinating in the liquid ingredients, chop the tomatoes, cucumbers and onions. Then stir in the veggies and mix 'em up! Cover and stick it in the fridge for about 4 hours and then it's done!

Note: Do not eat a large amount of the taboli before it's done plumping up. If you do, it will swell in your stomach and you will feel like ralphing and spend the rest of the night rolling around like a horse with colic. Take a little taste so you know if you need more salt, but stop yourself before you inhale half of the salad. This is the voice of experience talking.

 

Also, someone once asked me how to seed a cuke, so if you've never done it before, here's an easy method: After you peel the cucumber and slice off the ends, halve it lengthwise. Then halve each half. Use your knife to slice down the length of each piece, just under the row of seeds. It should peel off and stay together; if the seeds are spitting out all over the place, you're not slicing deep enough. Enjoy!!

Life lessons from a tea pitcher

This pitcher makes the best sweet tea this side of the Mississippi!

This was my Grandma's tea pitcher, one of them, anyway. She had two, a matching pair, and Mom now has the other one. Ever since I was a little girl, we made sweet tea in these pitchers every Sunday for dinner. I don't know that they've ever had anything but sweet tea in them. They were made by Frankhoma Pottery in Sapulpa, OK. I remember either taking a tour of the facility or maybe we just drove by it on a school field trip one time. I was so young that I didn't really realize the signifigance or importance.

I love this pitcher for so many reasons. It's a beautiful green and brown with a few golden hints here and there. It's sturdy and fragile all at the same time. I love that it has chips around the bottom because that means that it's used and appreciated and loved and not stuck on a shelf to gather dust and only be admired from afar. This pitcher is a wonderful metaphor of our lives as humans:

We all get filled up and we pour ourselves out.
We all have a job to do.
We are all beautiful.
We are all sturdy and fragile.
We all have a few scars, signs of the life we've lived.

The lesson I see in this pitcher is to not set yourself on a shelf, collecting dust and only experiencing life from behind a protective glass. To truly experience life, get involved in it! Get down and dirty. You may come out with a few chips and dings, but at least you can say you weren't afraid, you weren't frozen, you weren't stuck - you lived! Without the darkness, we wouldn't know light because everything would just be grey. Without the downs, we wouldn't know the ups because everything would just be flat. Without loss we wouldn't know happiness because everything would just be neutral. I have tried so many times to explain the meaning of these words to young people and I just don't think I can adequately do so. Life is full of experiences, good and bad, and much like the old theme song to The Facts of Life - "You take the good, you take the bad, you take them both and there you have the facts of life!" Don't sit back and watch life go by, get out there, get hurt, get happy, get up, get down, stick your right foot in and take your right foot out and do the hokey pokey! Oops, sorry, wrong message. But, you get what I'm saying, right?

P.S. Did you know that the theme song for season 1 of The Facts of Life was different than seasons 2-5? Wow, the things you can learn on the internet!

Ringtones

This morning I woke up at 4:11 am, sweating like a race horse and with a very urgent need to visit the bathroom. I had trouble going back to sleep after that, so I opened up my Nook and finished the last 100 pages of "Catching Fire". AWESOME READ, by the way, if you haven't read it, yet. Yes, I know I'm a little behind the times and most of you probably read it more than a year ago. Forgive me. I downloaded it months ago and just now got around to reading it. Finally, around 7:00 I went back to sleep and woke up again around 7:30. The last thing I remember dreaming was that I was in the office and Jakob's phone was plugged in, which I thought was strange because normally he does that in his bedroom, and then it started ringing. But, what caught me off guard was that the ringtone was the first few guitar strums of "Let's Get Together" from the original Parent Trap movie. I thought, "What boy has that for a ringtone?" Don't get me wrong, I love the song, but it just seems a little girly for a boy's ringtone. I wasn't altogether sure that it was ringing because I've never actually heard his phone ring. I think he keeps it set on silent or stun. Then Diamond shook as she woke up and her massive tail thundered against the wall and woke me up.

That got me to thinking, what do our ringtones say about us? What do mine say about me? Here's a quick rundown of past ringtones that I've had:

"How 'Bout Them Cowgirls" by George Strait
"She's Country" by Jason Aldean
"Wildfire" by Michael Martin Murphy
"Sex and the City" theme song
"Dallas" theme song
"Harry Potter" theme song
"Bells Tolling" this is my current ringtone, it's one that came on my phone and I chose it because it sounds like wedding bells

What do all of these songs tell you about me? Or does it matter? Perhaps you're not as judgemental about ringtones as I am? Maybe, my ringtone choice means nothing at all? Maybe, like my husband, you choose a ringtone because it's loud and gets your attention, not because it suits your personality? These are the haunting, daunting, I-need-an-answer-to questions that keep me up at night. Or infilitrate my dreams, anyway.

:)

Joe's and video games

We finally took the boy to Eskimo Joe's last week!

 

After the world famous bacon cheese fries, Jakob had the sweet peppered bacon and cheese hamburger. I'm glad he loves bacon as much as we do.

Afterward, we took him to the to the store so he could get the new FIFA game and then we had ice cream shakes. I felt like an overgrown, fat roly poly. Or a pot bellied pig. Or a tick that's been feeding on a fat dog for 3 days. Or Marilyn after we give her canned dog food. Too. Much. Food. Ugh.....

Jakob has since been glued to the Xbox lol :)

Easy spaghetti

I love spaghetti. I've been making it for for-ev-or (channeling a little "Sandlot" for ya). But, I hate, get it, I hate sauce from a jar. I have never had any kind of jarred sauce that I thought tasted good at all. Other than the light alfredo from Classico, but that's not spaghetti sauce. I'm talking about red sauce or meat sauce. I have a friend who puts sugar in her spaghetti sauce, which sounds gross and weird and just downright wrong, but it's actually pretty good. I ate it. If you're like me, and you despise the jarred variety, here's a super simple recipe to get your engine running for spaghetti! It's so easy you might slap yourself!

Easy Spaghetti

• 1 package thin spaghetti
• 1 pound lean ground beef
• 1 can diced tomatoes with basil, garlic and oregano
• 1 can tomato sauce
• 1 package thick & zesty spaghetti seasoning
• 1 package italian mushroom spaghetti seasoning

Cook the spaghetti noodles as directed on the package. Brown the ground beef, then drain. I rinse it under hot water, too. I like to get off as much grease as possible; drain well. Throw it back in the pan. Dump in your diced tomatoes, tomato sauce, and both packages of seasoning and cook it through. If it's too thick for you, thin it out with one small can of tomato sauce or some water. Add some garlic salt if you've got a hankering for it. Serve it on top of the cooked spaghetti noodles with garlic bread and some parmesan cheese.