Update Post (because you can never get enough of those)

So yeah, where the heck have I been?  Apparently not on here, updating all three of my followers who actually read this.  I will set that to rights immediately...

Master J:  Well, the child is his own worst enemy.  He's enjoying his new school and sixth grade immensely.  Homework however, is the bane of his existence.  If his grades were solely dependent on his test scores, he would be a straight A student.  Because they are at least 40% dependent on his homework, he has two Cs.  Which kind of sucks.  Because the kid is in 7th grade math and reads at a 12th grade level, but he struggles to get his homework turned in on time.  And the worst part?  It's not that he doesn't do the homework, it's that he doesn't remember to turn it in.  Yeah, my brilliant child can't pull it together long enough to turn in the homework he did so he takes a 25% deduction in the grade.  Part of the issue is he is visual like me, if he can't see it he doesn't think he has it.  So we're trying a new thing where instead of putting his completed homework into the "turn in" folder, we've paper clipped it to the outside of the folder.  Voila!  Friday's homework got turned in.  We'll see if it continues.

Mister C and I are trying to do a real estate deal with my parents.  We want to buy their home that sits on over an acre and sell them our home that's low maintenance and would be extremely cheap for them to live in once my dad retires in a few months.  It's a win-win for both of us, if it all works out (knock on wood.)

At this point we're just waiting for the appraisal to be returned in order to qualify for the loan.  I was really hoping to hear by Monday, but the lender sent Mister C an email yesterday saying she expects it around October 10th.  I'm not sure in what universe it requires a full three weeks to get an appraisal report back but that's her version of events. 

Our gardens from this most recent season worked out well in some respects, not so well in others.  I finally harvested the last of the cantaloupes and pulled the vines out.  It looks a lot bigger back there all of a sudden.  I got rid of the cucumbers a few weeks ago, they pretty much sucked.  I only got two cucumbers that were edible, the rest of them went huge and yellow almost from the moment they appeared.  The watermelons did well and produced quite a few melons, but the heat got to them and they started rotting on the vine before ripening.  I pulled them all out a few weeks ago, but one new plant has started coming back.  The cherry tomatoes did really well, and one of them even reseeded itself so we have a new plant growing.  The red and green peppers really took off once we removed the dying tomato plants.  So far we haven't had any harvest ready peppers but I'm hoping we will soon.  The strawberries got pretty well overwhelmed by the cantaloupe and stopped producing, but the plants themselves look good and are continuing to vine out and get stronger.  I'm hoping they'll start producing again soon.  Still no luck from the berry patch.  The blackberry plants look fantastic but they haven't produced but one actual berry.  The raspberry plants look less good, they've struggled the entire time they've been back there.  They did produce three rather sour berries that did not please Mister C.  The blueberry plants are mostly not robust.  I pulled one of them out and potted it in the hopes of saving it.  It seems to be surviving, but not thriving.  The two grape vines are growing like crazy, they're all the way up the trellis and starting to curve over the top of the pergola.  There are currently five tiny bunches of grapes on one of the vines.  They are so adorable I want to pinch them, but I suspect that will not be a good thing.  And finally, we went ahead and planted two apple trees and a peach tree.  They are too young yet to be producing anything but they seem strong and managed to survive our brutal summer so I have hope.

In anticipation of our next growing season down here, I have started a bunch of seeds in my kitchen.  I am highly disappointed with the green bean seeds I bought as they have yet to start growing.  Since it's been a few weeks, I'm pretty sure they're duds and I'm going to have to restart some different ones.  Having said that, everything else seems to be trying.  The peas are at least four inches tall and the spinach, romaine lettuce, cherry tomatoes and onions are several inches high.  I have high hopes for a productive season.

The Jeep diet is still working, slowly but steadily.  I've now lost fourteen pounds and after sitting at a plateau for at least six weeks, I think I'm back on track.  I did a six week challenge of push ups, dips, squats and crunches that wrapped up about a month ago.  I was aiming to hit 100 push ups, 150 dips, 150 crunches and 200 squats.  The last day I did the challenge I managed 125 push ups, 175 dips, 175 crunches and 300 squats.  And then I went and whimpered about my hip hurting for the next two days.  I now try to incorporate a more moderate 25 of each exercise into at least three days a week.  And I've just started a couch to 5k running program.  It's ugly.  I suck at running big time, but I've found a walking trail that runs in the greenbelt and dead ends.  Nobody is ever on it because it doesn't go anywhere and all the houses that line it are one story.  So basically, nobody can see me dragging along and stumbling on air while I make my pathetic attempt at running (think zombie on meth and you have the general picture.)  I'm pretty sure the running will be a boost to my fitness quest, no matter how I look doing it.

I think that about wraps it up, I'm heading into get some breakfast. 

It Was A Dark and Stormy Night...

It's monsoon here in the valley of the sun.  Yay for the monsoon!  So far this week we've had two really nice storms come through and dump a good amount of water on our exceedingly dry, scorched earth.  Although gutters are still a little ways off, I was able to collect about thirty gallons of water just in buckets from yesterday's downpour.  And it was a downpour...

The worst of yesterday's storm occurred in the late evening.  Just in time for me to go over to my parent's house to take care of their two dogs for the last time before they went to bed for the night.  I was hoping for a reprieve from the rain at least long enough to run the dogs out, but I was denied this basic request.  When I pulled up in the driveway, the rain was fairly light.  By the time I walked in the house, locked the door behind myself, got the first dog out and opened the back door it had increased tenfold.

The first dog I took out was Desi, who apparently had a clue last night.  He stepped out into the rain, realized it sucked and hurried up with his business.  We were out there less than a minute.  Good boy Desi!

The second dog was Lucy, who had a different take on the rain.  She stepped out into the rain, looked like she realized it sucked....and then blinked a lot.  She stood there, blinking in the rain, for eternity.  I tried encouraging her to "hurry up!" but she seemed more concerned with running in circles on her leash and blinking.  Five minutes later she finally decided that she should probably take care of business and get out of the rain.  Not so good girl Lucy (frowny face).

With both dogs back inside, I headed out to put my chickens up for the night.  The girls were pretty much sleeping on their roost when I walked out anyway so it was just a matter of shutting them in the coop.  As I was moving the rock that holds the door open a huge flash of lightning lit up the entire area.  And I realized that I was standing in a ten by twenty metal cage that surrounds the largest tree on the property.  And I'm standing in water.  Yay me!

I head back to the house and lock everything up for the night.  At this point I'm pretty wet, but not completely soaked to the skin and all I have to do is get to the Jeep.  Except as I'm locking the front door I realize that it's Tuesday.  And garbage pickup is really early Wednesday morning.  Which means I have to put the garbage and recycling cans out tonight.  The cans that are currently in the backyard.  Ugh! 

I stand there for a second to try and think things through.  Now I realize pretty quickly that the very first thing I need to do is get my gun into the vehicle so I don't accidentally drop it in a mud puddle (not that it would hurt it as it's a revolver, but still).  In case you're wondering why I feel the need to carry a weapon to my parent's house, I've been taking it with me on the last run over at night because my folks live out where there is open desert backing to their property.  At night is when the predators come out and for sure we know there are coyotes and bobcats out there.  I've heard and seen the coyotes myself and at least one of the close neighbors has had a bobcat attack her dog on the back patio.  And lets face it, if I get confronted by some wild animal I am 100% sure that neither of those dogs is going to defend me.  A best case scenario is if I can hang on to the leash long enough to get dragged back to the house as they're running in fear.  So anyway, the gun needs to get to the dry interior of the Jeep before I go about my last task.  And then I need to get the cans from the backyard to the street.  Well, nothing to do except start I guess...

I push the unlock button and run to the driveway.  Toss my gun into the passenger seat and slam the door shut.  Then I really start moving.  From where I'm at, it's about forty feet to the back gate, it doesn't take long to get there but once I do, the latch decides this is a fantastic time to get clingy.  It takes me more than few seconds to get the gate open.  After it finally gives in, I fling the gate open but before I can get the cans, I must remove the barricade that my dad has put there to keep the rabbits out of his yard.  With a clear path finally available, I grab the first can, drag it through the gate and then leave it a few feet beyond.  I repeat the procedure with the second can.  After I have both cans out, I shut the gate, grab one can's handle in each hand and start moving towards the street.

By this time the rain is coming down in torrents, I can barely see five feet in front of me.  And the street is at least 100 feet away.  So I start running as fast as I can.  Which, considering I'm wearing a pair of Tevas, dragging two huge garbage cans and sliding around in the water, isn't very fast.  And then I hit the end of the driveway.  Did I mention that my folk's driveway ends?  It does.  Rather abruptly when you can't see I might add.  So then I'm not so much running as scrambling through the muddy mess in my Tevas, dragging my now even more cumbersome huge garbage cans whose wheels apparently don't like mud at all.  And I still can't see.  And the rain is actually coming down harder.

Eventually I find what I believe to be "close enough" that the garbage trucks can pick up in the morning.  But I can't just drop the cans and run, because they are backwards to the street.  They need to face the street in order to get emptied.  I grab the garbage can first and by half dragging, half rolling it I am able to get it somewhat pointing in the correct direction.  But now it's too far back from the road.  So I tilt it back on it's wheels in order to push it forward.  And that's when  gust of wind comes up and lifts the lid, rather rapidly, and slams it directly into my face.  I have to say here that while my reaction time is generally pretty good, it slows substantially when the same wind that blew the lid into my face is busy holding it there.  It was a good ten seconds before I could peel that stupid lid off my face and force it down onto the can where it belonged.  Thankfully the recycling can didn't give me as much trouble and I'm soon on my way back to the driveway and the relative comfort of my Jeep.

By the time I get there I am soaked completely to the skin.  My hair is completely drenched and hanging in my face.  My jeans and shirt are stuck to me like glue.  And I'm having trouble seeing because my eyebrows and lashes have five gallons of water each in them that's now streaming into my eyes.  Oh and the window is fogging over.  Perfect.

So I blast the heat (yeah, it's August in Phoenix, it's all good) and head home.  I would really like to drive faster than ten miles an hour but unfortunately the roads suck big time.  The dirt and gravel roads are like a mud bog, but the paved roads are actually worse because there are huge puddles across most of them.  At first I was like "Hell, I drive a Jeep!  Jeeps are meant to drive through puddles!  Screw you puddles, I'm driving a Jeep!"  This was quickly followed by "What the hell?  I can't see a damn thing when the water comes crashing over my windshield!"  So yeah, that worked out well.  Ten miles an hour it is.  Eventually I arrived home, dripping wet and looking like a drowned rat.  I give Mister C credit for holding it together when he got a look at me.  But I don't kid myself, I could totally see the grin he was holding back and the gleam in his eyes. 

So that's the story of the monsoon in Arizona.  And it's supposed to rain again tonight and tomorrow again as well.  Hopefully not until after I get home from taking care of the dogs.  But that would require some sort of good luck that I seem to be lacking in.

Marked Woman

I need a less conspicuous vehicle, my Jeep is too easily identified.  Also, the drop off and pick up procedure at Master J's school completely sucks.  Big time.

On day one at the new school, I did what I have done for the past five years on school mornings, I tried to drop my child off at school.  For five years I have driven up, kicked my child at the curb and then continued on through to the exit.  For five years I have never had an issue with this.   The new school does not allow this.  The new school insists that you drive all the way to the end of the parking lot and ONLY drop your child in an area about ten feet long.  I did not know this.  So I pull up in line, kick my child out at the curb and try to continue driving only to see a lady running towards me frantically.  I roll down my window and she explains that I'm not allowed to drop my child off there, that I must instead drive way the eff down to the other end.  Okay, whatever, I'll do my best to follow the rules.  That's strike one.

On day one after school, I park in the parking zone and get out to wait for my child.  No problems.  On day two, I drop him off in the proper place in the morning and don't get in trouble.  After school I park in the parking zone and get out to go wait for my child.  No problem.  On day three, which was Friday, I drop him off with no issues.  After school, I park in the parking zone to wait for my child.  I see him coming towards me and then he disappears.  My thermometer is registering 118 degrees so I opt to wait in my car until I see him at the curb, with the intention of getting out of my vehicle to get him as soon as I see him.  I don't see him.  Ten minutes goes by and I'm still waiting.  Where the hell is my kid?  Another five minutes pass.  And then I see the principal making her way over to my car.  Uh oh, now what did Master J do?  Turns out, nothing.  One of the teachers saw him and sent him to wait at the end of the parking lot.  Why?  Because they assumed (incorrectly) that my intention was to wait in my car and allow my child to cross three lanes of cars to get into mine.  Um, no.  I was waiting until I saw him to get out of my car because it's miserable degrees out right now.  So now my child has been waiting at the end of the parking lot in the sun and heat for fifteen minutes.  Awesome.  That's strike two.

This morning I dropped Master J off at the end of the parking lot just like I was supposed to.  I had told him on Friday that if he didn't see my car parked, he was to go to the end of the parking lot so I could pick him up.  After school today I pulled into the lot about a minute after the bell rang.  I saw him standing on the curb but knew I would not be able to pick him up there so I rolled down my window and told him to go to the end and I would pick him up.  When I looked up from telling him this, I could see both of the parking demons at the end of the lot staring at me.  Obviously they were waiting to pounce on me should I make the tragic error of picking up my child from the wrong location.  I drove on through, under surveillance. 

At the end of the lot there was a traffic jam with about five cars parked along the "correct" curb and another two in front of me waiting to get there.  Master J was standing next to another child at the end.  The parents in the two cars ahead of me waved their children to them.  One of them was the kid standing next to Master J, so I also waved Master J over.  As the children were getting into the cars in front of me, and Master J was getting into my car, the parking police ran over and opened my front door to tell me that he couldn't get into my car there.  The reason?  Because there was a garbage can nearby and that was "gross".  I'm not even kidding.  And that's strike three.

I'm officially going to be a marked woman for the rest of the year.  You know damn well that every time I pull into that lot they're going to be watching me and waiting for me to make one wrong move.  And then they will pounce.  Folks, I am nothing if not a law abiding citizen.  I don't go out of my way to break the rules or cause problems, especially at my child's school.  But seriously, if you're going to let kids get into two cars in front of me, but get after me because my child is five feet closer to the garbage can, I'm going to have an issue.  And I'm going to start pushing the limits of rules to the very edge.  See ya tomorrow!

Speaking of the Jeep...

So there I was, minding my own business....

I took my dad over to the airport this morning so he could fly back out to the east coast for work.  Not that he was doing a whole lot a home anyway since my Mom is out of town already, but it's still kind of sad to have to fly for work on Father's Day.  But I digress...

Pretty much as soon as we hit the highway after I picked him up my gas light came on.  I knew it was low since Mister C and Master J had just gotten back from their camping trip late last night and hadn't filled the tank.  But I thought I had enough to get me there and back before the light came on.  Since I was kind of on a tight schedule, having arrived about ten minutes late to pick my dad up in the first place, I decided to get him to the airport and then stop for gas on the way back home.  But of course, once I dropped him off I knew I didn't want to get the gas right away since it's always more expensive the closer to the airport you are.  So I drove a little further down the road.  I finally saw a station that I figured was far enough away to have reasonable prices and stopped in.  This is not the interesting part of the story in case you're wondering.  No, that's the part that's next.

After I filled up I got back on the highway and continued driving towards home.  I was in the right hand lane, there was a beat up pickup truck in the middle lane in front of me, another car in the middle lane just slightly behind me and an on ramp on my right with traffic.  Up ahead, I see a huge tire tread, the kind that fall off of semi trucks on a regular basis, laying on the right side of the middle lane.  I'm thinking that it's certainly avoidable.  After all, the guy in the pickup has nobody on his left and the tire is all the way to the right side of the lane.  But no, he still proceeds dead ahead and manages to hit the tread at about 75 mph.  Which flings the tire tread up in the air and in a direct path for me.

In horrified slow motion I watch as the tread arcs towards me.  With cars on either side of me, I have nowhere to go but straight ahead.  I briefly debate slamming on my brakes but the thought occurs that maybe, just maybe it's trajectory is actually slightly over my roof.  I've been driving Mister C's Honda Civic all week.  It's low to the ground, I have clearance between my head and the tire in it.  Annnnd I'm not in that car.  I'm in my Jeep for the first time in ten days.  There's a whole lot more height in this vehicle and unfortunately for me, the trajectory of that tire tread is straight into my windshield.  

With a huge BOOM! the tread hits my windshield and goes flying over the roof.  The windshield is instantly a spiderweb of shattered glass with a basketball sized area punched in behind and just to the right of where the rear view mirror hangs.  The mirror that is now pointing at my lap.  My gps holder lands on the dashboard.  The passenger seat visor slams into the passenger door and bounces back halfway.  And tiny shards of glass rain down in my car.

And the beat up pickup truck continues on like nothing happened.  Asshat.

I immediately headed for the next exit, I had only been on the freeway for less than two miles when this happened.  As soon as I was at a stoplight, I phoned Mister C to let him know the good news of the day.  And then I drove on the surface streets all the way home to assess the damage.  

Broken windshield - check

Dented frame around windshield - check

Sadness reigning supreme - check and check

 A view from the inside....

And hey, I thought this was kind of pretty.  In a warped, sad, wtf kind of way...

And finally, it should be noted that usually Jeeps end up getting beat up on some off road trail, climbing rocks or crossing rivers.  There's no glory in getting a tire tread slammed into you at 75 mph on the highway.  Just sayin'.

Update post

Wow, look at me not posting for most of March! I guess this just became an update post...

My father in law spent the better part of March here at our home in Arizona. He and my mother in law had planned to spend a week at the very beginning of March but then he decided to try a laser spine surgery. While she went home, he ended up staying for three weeks. At first I was a little concerned about having him (or anyone) in my house for that long. Turns out my fears were unfounded. He and I had a really nice time together. Since he's a photographer (and a Realtor) and an avid people watcher, we had a lot in common. We managed to go out shooting pictures one day and would have liked to have done more but it just didn't seem to work. We enjoyed our days drinking coffee and talking on the patio. Just my kind of company. I was surprisingly sad to see him go when he finally did leave.

The Flockers are no longer at our property. They are now residing at Mamoo and Papa's acreage where they enjoy several snacks a day (instead of just one), bedtime stories and constant supervision by Mamoo. One of those things is a fib, I'm not saying which one. So basically one of our neighbors had a problem with the racket the girls were making on a daily basis. The singing about laying an egg routine was one particularly annoying factor apparently. So I begged Mamoo to please take them to her home so we didn't have to give them away. Eventually she and Papa gave in and said they would take them on. Mister C and I loaded up the coop in our neighbor's pickup truck (why yes, it was the same neighbor that complained, why do you ask?) and loaded the girls up in a kennel in the back of the jeep, and headed three miles over to my folks place.

Unfortunately, since they had been free-ranging for a majority of their day at our house, they were less than thrilled at being more cooped up (literally) in their new locale. You see, Mamoo and Papa live on a acreage that is in a little bit more natural setting that our home. They have coyotes running through their property regularly and hawks circling overhead daily. So the girls couldn't just be running around loose unsupervised. Additionally, while our yard is small, we have a substantial number of trees, shrubs and plants. If a hawk did fly over, the girls would dive under the nearest plant and get out of sight. While my folks property is about seven times larger than ours, they only have a few trees that are fairly far apart, and a couple of shrub-like plants. The girls would be sitting ducks, sort of.

Last week I started searching in earnest for fencing to put around the coop so they could be loose safely during the day. I tried Craigslist with no luck and finally decided I needed to buy new. I priced out Home Depot for their fencing and then decided to try Lowes. Lowes had a ten by ten dog kennel that was six feet tall. And it was going to cost me about 1/2 the price of the same sized fencing at Home Depot. Additionally, since this was a kennel and not a fence, there was no holes to be dug for the support poles. Perfect. So I got the go-ahead from Mister C to make the purchase and Papa and I went back after he got off work to pick it up. In the meantime, Mister C had suggested using the block wall surrounding my folks place as two sides and expanding the kennel from ten by ten to twenty by twenty. Good call Mister C! Papa and I put everything together and released the Flockers, who proceeded to get even dirtier than normal taking a sand bath in their new expanded space. I haven't spoken to my folks yet but I think I'm going to try and get a few plants in the fenced in area for my girls to chew on. I'll just casually sneak them in under the cover of darkness and claim ignorance when they ask me about it.

Moving on.

Everything is leafing out in my yard. My strawberries, blackberries, raspberries and blueberries are really putting out leaves and looking good. My grapevines both look really healthy and are growing daily. The cherry tomatoes have a bunch of green babies all over them and the peppers are starting to get little peppers. We have sprouts of cantaloupe, watermelon and cucumbers starting as well. The orange tree is finally finished flowering and if even half of the currently pea-sized fruit makes it to fruition it will be a banner year for oranges. I still haven't plucked the last of the lemons off the tree yet and Mister C is working his way through the grapefruit (which I don't love). Yeah, it's looking like there's going to be some awesome fresh food in our backyard this year.

And lastly, I am now on the "Jeep Diet". What the heck is that you might ask. Well, that's when your charming husband removes the doors from your jeep and you realize that all the world can now see exactly how much extra weight you're carrying so you decide to start keeping track of your food and trying to exercise. Miserable man.

Peaches, but not Cream

So I had to find Peaches a new home today. She had major issues with vocal volume control and I was afraid of offending the neighbors. After checking to see if I could pawn her off on my parents or their friends, I placed an ad on Craigslist.

About an hour later I got a response from a gal named Lori who lives less than ten miles from us. After speaking with her briefly I knew she would be the right home for one of my animals. You guys know all I have are weird, odd, unnatural acting animals in my household. Everything that comes into this house or yard is abnormal. I'm also one of those whose animals all seem to get along, cats and dogs sleeping together and the like. Even Izzy, who still tries to poke the cats into running so she can chase them, was supposedly not able to be homed with any other animals at all. I guess we're just lucky that the cats are too damned lazy to run. But I digress...

Well, I think I found my kindred spirit in Lori. I got to her home to drop off Peaches and was greeted out back by two sweet dogs, alpacas, emus, a miniature horse and a rather large flock of mixed chickens and turkeys. Which, total side note here, dang but it never occurred to me to have turkeys! Of course as much as Mister C loves turkey I suspect I'd have to keep a good eye on him to prevent any premature basting of them. I'd hate to come out and find my turkeys covered in butter. Yeah, I think I'll skip the turkeys for now. Having said that though, I think Peaches found the absolute perfect home at Lori's little farm and I'm glad for that.

After I got back home I made a point to go out to the coop where the rest of the gang was getting ready for bed. I did a head count and then explained to the girls how the new number was less than the previous number. I went on to mention how if we had any additional issues with loudness that the number would likely change again. So, if they like their living accommodations, my suggestion would be for them to quietly lay eggs and behave themselves.

I think they understood me, they cocked their heads at me a bunch. Several of the rebels gave me the stink eye though, I'll be watching them.

So anyway, thanks to Lori for taking on my problem child, I'm sure Peaches will fit in much better with her flock where she won't be in trouble for doing what's natural.

The ad is below...


Loud Hen, Low Price - $5

One exceedingly loud, obnoxious, domineering white leghorn hen needs to be re-homed today before the HOA comes and kicks the whole flock out. She is named "Peaches" but I'm fairly sure she has absolutely no clue what her name is. She will come running if she thinks you have oatmeal though.

For a few days I was concerned that "she" was a "he" because of the noise. But no, she's just the loudest damn hen I've ever run across. She complains about everything, it's constant and it's LOUD! Her gender was confirmed today when she laid her first egg. Her egg laying consisted of a long preamble about how she was going to lay an egg, five minutes of quiet while she did so, and then a loud and long broadcast about how awesome she was at laying an egg. I can't take this on a daily basis and I'm sure my neighbors are even less inclined to do so since they won't have the benefit of fresh eggs.

I raised her from a few days old so she is pretty easy to handle. She will come to me when called, and to anyone if they have food. Because of this, I would prefer she was being adopted for her egg laying abilities (or as a pet) and not as tonight's dinner. Having said that, as obnoxious as she is, she probably won't put up with wearing knitted sweaters or any such thing if you tend towards that.

Born on or about 9/2/2011 so she's just over five months old. Eats Purina brand Layena, most fruits or vegetables and, as mentioned above, adores oatmeal. Bugs, spiders and flying insects are also game. Leghorns are some of the best egg producers out there, they lay an average of 280 eggs per year (and can go as high as 320 eggs a year) so almost daily. Since she just laid her first egg today, she should have many years of laying in front of her.

This girl needs to find a new home, most likely on a farm or acreage and preferably one with no close neighbors to disturb. Producing hens generally cost at least $20, but she needs to go today so I'm only asking for a re-homing fee of $5 (cash). I need to get her out of here before the neighbors figure out which house has the chickens.

Bring a small kennel or some other method of transport.

Yet another episode of the Keystone Cops

So yesterday I went out to feed my chickens. A pretty straightforward task that doesn't take a whole lot of thought, effort or time. Usually.

I had filled their feeder and was putting it back in the coop when somehow, I'm not even sure how, I whacked my head on one of the boards that holds up the roof. And when I say "whacked" I truly mean I whacked that sucker hard. Like, seeing stars hard. Instant pain shooting through my head hard. Ah awesome.

So I finish setting the feeder down, grab my head and start stumbling out of the coop. Now, just outside of the coop, Mister C had put a trail of stepping stones so I could walk from the coop to the grass without stepping on the gravel. The only problem is that earlier in the day one of the dogs had run through the area and knocked some rocks onto the the stepping stones. And as I stumbled blindly out of the coop, holding my head in agony, I stepped directly onto one of those stones that were sitting on the stepping stone. Barefooted. And it was like stepping on a Lego on the kitchen floor, the pain shot up through my foot and my immediate reaction was to try and get away from that pain.

So now I'm holding my head, trying to lean away from the sharp rock in my foot, and trying to keep my balance while blinded by pain from head to toe. And of course it's me, so there's no balance on a good day without issues and I started to tip over. I reached out to grab the nearest thing to try and catch my balance. The nearest thing happened to be the top rail of one of our raised garden beds. I caught myself and immediately felt pain in my thumb because somehow, I had managed to catch the rail at just the right angle to shove a splinter of wood deep into my thumb.

So now, I'm holding my aching head, limping from the rock in my foot and bleeding from a splinter that's so deep in my thumb that I can barely see it. Oh and the chickens are fairly traumatized as well by the all the flailing about and whimpering. Good times.

It took two attempts by me and one by Mister C before I could dig that stupid splinter out. By the end I was bleeding pretty well and it still hurts today as does my head. On the bright side, my foot feels perfectly normal.

The best part of the whole incident is the that I've read enough and seen enough of what chickens can and will eat and there's no way I'm going down in their immediate area. That's all I need is to be pecked to death by my girls. I suspect there would be no glory in that ending.

So, there you have it, yet another reason why I shouldn't be allowed out without supervision.

And the award goes to...

A few days ago Mister C and I clipped the girls wings, literally, and they haven't been the same since. I'm not really sure that chickens have enough sense to "act" per se, but if they can, this flock is in solid position for their Academy award (category: best roles in a dramatic series.)

Immediately after the wing clipping the girls fluttered around the yard trying out their half wing cut. They figured out pretty quickly that there would be no flying. And that is when the theatrics began.

See, every day when I let them out previously they would get a few steps running start and fly over the garden beds on their way to the grassy area. The fences Mister C and I erected made them take a few more steps prior to takeoff, but they still came out in a rush and explosion of wing flapping.

Not so much lately. Now when I open the door to the coop, they step out carefully, giving me a reproachful glare as they each pass by. And then they march slowly and methodically down the path towards the grassy area. I swear to you I can hear the drum beating slowly as they make their way along. The sighs are nearly audible for the injustice that has been put upon them.

It should also be noted that even with one wing clipped those damn leghorns can get off the ground and fly a few feet. Which means that they are probably the best actors of all since they march stoically along with the rest of them.

The Awards...

Best look of disgust goes to Red



Best "I'm too depressed to eat so I'll stare at you over my food": Princess Laya



Best "How could you?": Rocky



Best Look of Reproach: Peaches (or Cream, I can't tell the difference)



Also, when the hell are my eggs gonna start showing up? You guys are teenagers now, start producing already.

New Years Day 2012

Can you believe 2011 is done and over with already? It's crazy how fast that went. I think I did stuff, I really don't remember all that much right now though. On the bright side, I think I've started out the year on a good note. My "Ta-Da!" list has a few things on it today, not the least of which is finally painting my bedroom.

I painted the ceiling in our bedroom almost a year ago. For at least ten months now we've had a very pretty ceiling next to walls that have an inch of ceiling paint along the top edge (I don't tape off anything) as well as approximately fifteen white patches of various size where I repaired holes from the previous owners. That's in addition to the very large patch where Mister C did some sort of wiring work around the same time as I originally painted the ceiling. That one was about two feet by three feet and situated directly across from the foot of our bed. So I could see it every morning as soon as I got out of bed. I think it will be nice to not wake up to that tomorrow. There wasn't a whole lot else going on today as the painting took up a good five hours of my day, not including the set up and clean up time.

Now, since I haven't been on here in a few days I never updated you on the great mallet incident of late 2011. Let me weave you a tale, a tale of pain and horror that will leave you speechless, unlike I was.

So on Friday Mister C and I were putting the chicken wire around our raised gardens. We didn't need to do this to keep the chickens out, although it will make that easier. No, we had to do that because our idiotic dog likes to dig. And bite strawberry plants off at the base. What dog does that? Just bites a strawberry plant off and eats it? That's not even normal. But anyway, in order to preserve the plants that survived her latest attack, we went ahead and put the wire around the gardens. As part of the project, we also wanted to put chicken wire around our back garden where the raspberry, blackberry and blueberry plants are. That is keep the chickens out because they keep going after my blueberry plants. I'm sure that as soon as the raspberry and blackberries start growing, they'll be after them too.

Mister C bought a bunch of wooden stakes to hold the chicken wire in the back garden. They'll also come in handy for brain pokes via the eye (yuck!) when the zombie apocalypse starts. But I digress. Where was I? Ah yes, wooden stakes, which needed to be put in the ground. Mister C put the first three stakes in using a standard hammer to pound them into our hard, calichi soil. Then he got distracted by having to make a run back to Home Depot for something or another and left the work to me.

Now, I know myself and I know that grace is not my middle name. Neither is accuracy. So I know that there is no way I'm going to attempt using a standard hammer to hit a one by one inch square of wood. Especially not repeatedly. So I came up with the great idea to use a rubber mallet in place of the hammer that Mister C had used. After all, I figured that with a larger hitting implement I would certainly stand a better chance of hitting the target. Additionally, if I did happen to miss the stake and hit myself, rubber has to hurt less than metal.

So with my completely logical choice of tool in hand, I head out to start the wooden stake project. And it goes really well. I was absolutely correct in my assessment of how the mallet would work and I have no problem getting the first nine stakes put in. At least as far as accuracy. Each stake takes between fifteen and twenty hits to get it into the ground to the right depth and it's definitely tiring to be swinging the mallet over and over again. With only two stakes left to install I was feeling pretty good about my getting done before Mister C got home from his shopping excursion. And that is when disaster struck.

I had hit the next to the last stake enough times that it was standing unaided, although I was still holding it for each hit to prevent any problems. I could feel that my arm was getting tired but I valiantly swung the mallet in a large arc towards the not so large target. Only I didn't hit the target. To be honest, I didn't even touch the target. No, I swung that mallet around with all my strength, directly onto the back of my left hand. And since I was hanging on to the stake with my left hand, it didn't even move when the mallet hit it. It just took the full brunt force of that swinging mallet and stopped it cold. The pain was instantaneous and intense. As was my language.

Once the air cleared and I could actually looked at my hand, I was amazed at how quickly a lump was forming. Within about thirty seconds, I had a grape sized lump growing up out of my hand and it was only getting bigger. To make it worse, the pain was radiating from the point of impact (which was about an inch directly below the knuckle of my pointer finger) up into my finger as well as into my thumb. Over the next thirty minutes or so the swelling got less grape-like and more spread out until it covered about half of the back of my hand. I decided at that point that I was done working for the day.

Today, two full days later, the swelling is down but still covering a full third of my hand. There's still a very hard lump the size of a grape at the point of impact, and the whole thing has a blueish tinge to it. The bruising goes above the knuckle as well. And it still hurts if I touch it. Also, note to self...hard rubber being swung at full speed hurts like hell. I'm almost sure it doesn't hurt any less than the metal hammer would have. As far as I can tell the difference was that the mallet spread the pain over a larger area.

So, overall, a tough end to 2011 and a good start to 2012. Hopefully things will continue to improve from here.

Happy New Year's Day!

Friday Night Special

This is what happens when somebody doesn't put the lid on tightly on their leftovers and I try to move it to make space for something else. Also, note that Tiberius has no issue with pushing his way to the front of the chow line even if it means going underneath the fifty pound dog. That cat has no pride whatsoever.

I really class up the joint...

So Mister C and I went out to dinner at a very nice sushi restaurant with another couple (D and L) tonight. We were enjoying ourselves immensely, both for the good food and the great company. It was a great time, other than our waitress.

Our waitress seemed to be either slow witted or simply unfocused because she would wander off and forget to come back. For instance, we arrived at the restaurant first and got seated. The waitress asked us what we wanted to drink and if we wanted an appetizer and we said we thought so but we hadn't looked at the menu yet so she said she would right back and then wandered off. Our friends arrived about five or ten minutes later and then had to wait another five minutes for the waitress to wander back and take their drink order. When she brought their drinks she asked about the appetizers and our friends said yes, but they hadn't looked at the menu yet. Our waitress said she'd be back and then wandered off. She eventually returned and got our appetizer order and then, taking into account her track record, we decided to go ahead and just order our entrees at the same time.

L asked a few questions about some entree or another and then, since we had ordered two large appetizers, decided to go with a seared tuna appetizer as her meal. She was very clear that she was having this for her meal, not the appetizer.

So of course, the first thing the waitress brought back was the tuna. L looked at it and decided it couldn't be what she ordered because first of all, it was being served before the other appetizers and secondly, because it wasn't seared at all. It was cold. L decided she was okay with it being raw as she prefers it that way anyway, but she didn't want to eat it before our meals arrived so she set it aside. Eventually the other appetizers and the rest of our meals arrived and we all dug in. Our waitress did manage to refill drinks once but otherwise was nowhere to be seen.

About two thirds of the way through dinner though, I felt something weird when I tried to move my feet under my chair. My foot seemed to be stuck on something and I couldn't untangle it. It turns out that my right shoe had decided that this was the perfect time to give up the ghost and die. The sole had completely separated from the rest of the shoe. Now, I don't feel too badly about their quality because I've had these particular shoes for at least fifteen years. But timing wise, it kind of sucked. We were sitting smack dab in the middle of the restaurant, surrounded by tons of people. So, I kept the shoe on for a little longer while debating what I should do. I seriously considered asking our waitress if she could bring me some black electrical tape or duct tape from the kitchen. But she had already proved to be less than a stellar communicator and I just didn't see her being able to understand my request and help me out without a big production that would draw even more attention to my predicament. I finally decided to wait until the end of the meal and then go ahead and ask her if she could bring me a bag, figuring that was a pretty simple request. My plan was straightforward, ask for a bag, remove shoes to said bag, casually walk out of the restaurant. So I ask for a bag.

And she says "A box?"
"No," I say, "a bag."
"A box? How many boxes do you need?"
"I just need a bag."
D says he would like a box. This seems to make our waitress happy. And then she points at my plate and says "A box?"
"Sure." I say. At this point I'm trying to figure out how I'm going to get a pair of four inch heels in a to-go box but I'm done trying to request something that is obviously so difficult.

The waitress wanders off and comes back with two boxes and a bag. I assume you can only have a bag if you get a box. Whatever, I have my bag. But now, she's handing me a box as well. I don't really want to take my fried rice home with me but I figure I should probably just go ahead and box it up so I don't cause anymore problems.

First I try to shovel up the perfect circle of rice with my fork to put it in the box but it starts breaking apart as soon as I do. So I lift up my plate with the intention of scraping it into the box, only nothing ever works that easily with me. No, the huge plate is ungainly and evidently the rice is extremely slipper because it starts a slow slide toward the edge of the plate. Unfortunately for me, the edge of the plate isn't over the box, it's hovering over my lap. So, yeah. About a cup of greasy fried rice falls into my lap before I can get the plate over the stupid box that I never wanted in the first place.

So there I am with a lap full of rice, my unwanted box full of more rice and nothing but a cloth napkin to clean it up with. I don't want to make a huge mess of my napkin so I start pulling the rice off my lap by hand and putting it on the plate. Only now, the waitress who couldn't remember where we were for the majority of the evening has suddenly decided she has to bus our table RIGHT NOW! So before I can get more than one handful of rice onto my plate she whips it off the table. So I try for Mister C's plate but that is also whipped off the table. So the third bit goes on to L's plate before that gets removed. I never had a chance at D's plate so I gave up and started putting the rice into my napkin. It took a while but I finally got every last grain of rice off my lap (and chair, and purse) and into the napkin. I'm sure they were thrilled when they picked that up.

Which now leads to what to do about my shoes. I had my bag so I casually reached under the table and removed my shoes and dropped them into the bag. When everyone else stood up, so did I. I had my purse and bag of shoes in one hand and my unwanted box of greasy rice in the other. And I walked out like it was totally normal to be in an upscale restaurant with a greasy lap and barefooted. Because that's just how I do things.

Of course the best part is that after we walked out of the restaurant I looked for the nearest garbage can to get rid of my shoes and only after I had dropped them in did I realize that for anyone sitting inside the place it looked like I had just thrown out my leftovers as soon as I left the restaurant.

I don't think Mister C is going to take me back there any time soon.

Post #500

And I'm suffering from writer's block. Can you believe that crap? I, who almost never run out of things to say, am at a loss for words. I thought this milestone would be more momentous, have more oomph. Or something. Instead, I will thrill you with an update post.

1. Real estate is picking up, but not in a good way. There are multiple offers on every house my clients want. Good houses go under contract almost before they're on the market for twenty-four hours. Buyers are still working with how the market used to be (about two months ago) and thinking they can low-ball offers and get their dream home. They might be right on properties that need work but the ones that are move in ready are going for well over asking price. Sigh.

2. I finally, just five minutes ago, finished painting my kitchen ceiling. As soon as I post this and grab a bite to eat, I'll be starting on the family room walls. Painting, the bane of my existence.

3. My child got accepted into the "gifted academy" in our local district. He would have to change schools in order to attend. Even though we weren't looking forward to him changing schools, we were very excited about him getting accepted. Until his new teacher sent out her welcome letter. When I saw what her curriculum for the school year was going to be, it seemed a little familiar. So I asked Master J. Yeah, he learned all of the things she mentioned (specifically the math) last year in his normal fourth grade. I'm going to speak with his current school about what their curriculum is for this coming year and if it's what I think it is, he'll be staying where he's at.

4. Remember the HOA issuing the "you have to wait 30 days for us to approve the thing we can't disapprove" letter? So that letter arrived on a Saturday. Mister C contacted our solar guy on Sunday and asked him to hold off on finishing up the project until we had approval. On Monday we got a another letter from the HOA saying "Go ahead with your project that we can't disapprove, we give you permission." Can't tell you how thrilled Mister C was to have to call back the solar guys and be told that they can't come back for a week because they started another project. If it weren't for causing unnecessary setbacks and delays our HOA wouldn't have anything to do.

5. Picked up my Bountiful Baskets again this morning and it seemed a little short. It's supposed to consist of six different fruits and six different vegetables each week. This week's basket contained:

1 5 lb bag of potatoes
1 head of cabbage
1 butternut squash
1 head of romaine
2 bags of green beans
2 tomatoes

4 bananas
1 bunch of grapes
6 peaches
4 plums
1 cantaloupe

So unless I'm counting wrong, that's six vegetables and five fruits. Unless they're questionable about the tomatoes and are counting one of them as a vegetable and the other as a fruit. Then I'm good. It's still at good deal to get all of that for $16.50, especially since it's all fresh and most of it's local.

Vacation - Day 9

No photos today as I never left the house or took out my camera. It's been a pretty low key day overall. Mister C's sister, brother and their spouses came over for an early dinner and to hang out for a little while which was great. I finally got to meet my brother in law and his wife's younger son who turns two in August. He's an absolute doll. He has Down's Syndrome so he's a little behind on the development timeline but he's crawling around really fast and making lots of noises. And he has a totally infectious smile that lights up the room.

On a less than adorable note, apparently a call girl posted my cell phone number as her contact information on the web somewhere because I got five phone calls and two texts in the space of an hour. She must have eventually figured out there was a problem because the calls and texts stopped as suddenly as they started. Looks like someone was trying to earn some quick cash for the weekend. And evidently I'm in the wrong profession because that's the most my phone has ever rang for business, even if it wasn't my business.

Why facial products should never change.

I won't be offended if the few menfolk that read this disengage right about...now.

For as far back as I can remember, I've always had sensitive skin. I can't wear jewelery or watches (lucky Mister C!). I can't wear most makeup, although I won't go out in public without my lipstick. And I really have to watch what kind of moisturizer I use. So when my family was looking for ideas for Christmas, I sent them a link to the exact moisturizer I have used for years. And when I opened it up at Christmas, I was very happy.

Fast forward to a few weeks ago when I had finally opened the box up to start using my favorite moisturizer. When I pulled it out of the box I thought "Hmmmm, they changed the packaging." I wasn't too concerned as I know that most companies change their packaging periodically. So I started using it.

A few days later I noticed some minor breaking out. Considering that I had just started night class and my in-laws were still in town, I figured I might be a little stressed out and didn't worry too much about it. A few days after that, I noticed when I put my moisturizer on that it kind of felt like it was burning as I was applying it. I figured my skin must be really dry and again, didn't worry too much about it.

About five days ago I looked in the mirror in the morning and thought "Hmmm, what the hell? Why am I covered in acne?" It did not occur to me at the time that it was a reaction to anything since I hadn't used the moisturizer the night before. I didn't realize that a contact dermatitis can take up to 48 hours to appear.

But anyway, I thought I had acne so I went over to the pharmacy and picked up some Cetaphil and a cleanser with benzoyl peroxide in it and started using them that night. I alternated between the two products, using one at night and one in the morning. I did this for two days, hoping to see good results rapidly.

But guess what? When you have an allergic reaction to a product and then you add on a harsher product (the benzoyl peroxide) it makes the problem much, much worse. I mean REALLY worse. Like, scare small children worse. Let me put it this way, when I went back to the pharmacy today to pick up some cortisone cream and benadryl I took the cream up to the counter and the following conversation ensued...

Mirth: Hey, will this cortisone cream help with this reaction I'm having?
Young Man behind counter: What are you reacting to?
Mirth: A moisturizer.
Young Man: It should, but hang on and let me ask the pharmacist to make sure.
He then walks further behind the counter to where the pharmacist is.
Young Man: Hey, will this cream help this woman with an allergic reaction? She's reacting to a moisturizer she used.
Pharmacist: Yes, it should.
At the point, the pharmacist starts walking toward me while reading the box and looks up mid-sentence.
Pharmacist: Yes, this should work for your...OH! You really DO have a reaction don't you? Wow. (At this point, she has completely stopped in her tracks and is looking at my face.)
Mirth: Yes. Yes I do. So this will work?
Pharmacist (pausing while staring) Yeeeeesss, but you might want to take some Benadryl as well. Yes, I would take the Benadryl and use the lotion. But if that (oh my goodness, my face is a "that"?) doesn't get any better you need to go to a doctor. That must be so painful. Does it itch?
Mirth: Yep. It's driving me nuts.
Pharmacist: Wow (big pause). Yes, take the Benadryl for sure, that's going to make the most noticeable difference the quickest. But no driving because it can make you sleepy.
Mirth: Thanks. I'll just take my Quasimodo self over to the aisle where the Benadryl is.
Pharmacist: Yes, do. Good luck with that.

I think it's safe to say that it might be a tad noticeable. And also, kudos to the young man for looking me in the eye and not reacting at all to my swollen, red rashy face. And don't worry about me driving under the influence, I'll be trying to avoid going out in public for a few days until I stop scaring small children. It probably doesn't help that every time someone does a double take I want to throw my hand up and shout "Do not look upon me! I Am NOT an animal!" So far, I have resisted. But there's not guarantees for tomorrow.

Not what it seems

If this were a scene from a movie, we might infer that something terrible had happened to the child character and that his loyal dog was running for rescue.



This is not a movie. Instead, this is business as usual around here.

My child has thrown himself to the ground after suffering some horrific wound in a pretend battle against sith overlords or some other such evil doer and his "loyal" dog is skipping away in search of rocks to eat. She honestly does not seem to notice when Master J collapses in a pile in random locations, it's just that common.

On the plus side, I think it's a pretty good example of showing motion in photography, which works out nicely as that's my current assignment in my class.