Part II

I think I may have figured out why Vern is a little heisitant about passing the farm to the next generation....
We lost the other two neons, one yesterday and one this morning. At least the only fish we named, the betta Rainbow, is still swimming around, looking decently healthy. Maggie has become pretty cavalier about flushing the victims, and she's just happy Rainbow is okay.
We're calling the pet store this morning to find out what they think may have happened and how to keep the betta alive. SOOOO....fish and houseplants are shortlived, in this house, and we'd better stick with the kittens and silk begonias.
No comments on the free kittens, oddly enough, even with all that great advertising! Nicole Downs took one for her mom, and we will be taking HER some Christmas cookies.

Fins Up

For those who are following the fish story...
We had a loss sometime yesterday. It was one of the little neons, so the whole thing wasn't as traumatic as it would've been had we lost the big betta. In fact, Maggie was just curious, not heartbroken, and wanted to examine the corpse, but we didn't let her.
The fish died exactly 3 days past his warranty...of course! We aren't exactly sure what the cause of death was, but we suspect Angus had something to do with it. I caught him drinking water from the fish tank yesterday...just call him Carp Face. We can't PROVE anything, but he may have fed the fish something toxic. Like coffee. Or juice. Or spaghetti. (He DID put some spaghetti in the tank, but do you think that would kill a fish?)
Anyway, that's the latest icthyus installment.

The Girl's Got Ideas...

Maggie ran away from home, today. She wanted to wear her church dresses to play in and I told her no, so she went to her room, packed her Hello Kitty rolling backpack full of her treasures and announced that she was going to find a new mommy. A mommy that was nicer, that let her do fun things. A mommy that lived at Grandma Banana's house.

She dragged her luggage into the porch, located her shiny tennis shoes, her coat, pink sparkly hat, wooly mittens and put them on....she needed a lttle help with the mittens. The best part was that she was bare naked, with panties, other than that. She didn't zip her coat, and I didn't offer because I thought if she got good and cold, she'd surely give up the idea and come inside.

I sincerely underestimated her. She's played the game "I don't have a mommy, will you be my mommy?" quite a lot, so I figured she'd make a circle around the house, knock on the door and we'd go through that. So I went inside and got busy changing laundry around.

After a while, there was no runaway girl. Hmmm. I put on my boots, went up the hill to the cattle guard to look around for her, and found a couple of the things she had packed, laying in the middle of the road. I looked in the sand rocks, just in case she made a hideout there...no Maggie. She was not in the doghouse, not in the parking shed, not in the house, not in the tree row, not by the haystack. So I did what any terrible mother would do: I panicked!

By this time I was screaming her name and crying, trying to figure out where the child had gone. Threw Angus (who was a little freaked out by my behavior) in the car and drove very, very slowly up the road. Every now and then I could see where the little wheels on her backpack had been, so I knew we were going the right direction. At the end of our road, 3/4 of a mile from the house and about 100 yards from the county road, there was Miss Maggie, coat open, backpack open, but still on the move. When she heard the car, she hit the ditch.

I have NEVER been so scared in all my life. But she was rather indignant that I came to "rescue" her....she really DID want to go to Grandma Banana's and she really DID want a different mommy, but she might come back to the house for some hot cocoa. I so badly wanted to hug her AND beat her little vagabond butt at the same time. I was crying, shaking and thought I might throw up. I think the best summary of the whole deal comes in the words of Walt Murray: "That girl's got ideas!" All I know is that she's got a really good, really busy guardian angel.

I guess all's well that ends well. But for any mothers that are reading this, a word of caution: if your child is the type to have a notion of running away, don't assume they'll stop at the end of the driveway! And don't assume that when they get uncomfortable, they'll turn back...some kids are just amazingly bullheaded.

Portrait of Pluhar Meals

Welcome to supper at our house. You'll note that the only individual that is clothed is the father, and you can tell by his body language how absolutely thrilled he is with either the menu or the conversation. Likely he's just had to explain the origin of macaroni or where Poppop is. You'll also see that the dog is well-behaved, laying there waiting for said macaroni to fall in a big clump under the kid's chairs...which it will, have no doubt about that! (Wayland will say the dog is NEVER this polite and that she probably just got a scolding for nudging the arms of the children, encouraging the droppage of food....he's just jealous that his dog can't even be in the room during a meal; sour grapes, pay no attention.) The toddler is trying to put macaroni in his sippy cup by brute force and the older sister is either ratting him out or giving him helpful tips. Either way, there are going to be tears in about 3 minutes from someone. At our table, every 3 minutes there are tears for something, so that wasn't hard to predict.
I love this picture! It reminds me of some of the things Norman Rockwell painted, except his subjects were usually dressed. Maybe he just painted them that way.
If you come to supper some evening, we'll try to get the kids in decent apparel, plie the father with a beer so he cheers up, and the dog will be on the other side of the window begging. I have absolutely no guarantees that there won't be mac and cheese, though. You take your chances!

Choices

Choice, not chance, determines destiny. (Forgot I still had the image on my computer...)

This is the saying posted on the wall in front of my treadmill. There's a picture of a road sign that has two arrows, each pointing a different direction; it's the time to choose which path to take, because behind the sign is a dense cornfield. (I HAVE thought that sometimes I've ignored the sign and plowed right into the cornfield...that's pretty typical of my choices.)

Lately, I've been spending about 45 minutes a night on the treadmill and consider the sign a lot while I'm trying to conquer the inclines and the intervals. It kind of runs through my mind all day and is causing me to be more thoughtful about my direction in life.

I believe that nothing happens by chance, that God has a plan and someday we'll understand why things shook out the way they did. I also believe that my choices, good and bad, determine what the path will be like on my way home to Him. I realize things happen that I have no control over...(and believe me, I like control!)...but what I DO have the choice in, is how to respond to those events.

Some things I DO have a choice to make; such as getting on that darned treadmill every night, getting to church even though it's 81 miles away, doing laundry instead of reading, etc. It's getting a little easier to make the right choices, knowing that I'm being watched by two little sponges that mimic me!

So this week, as I think about all the blessings in my life, as well as the challenges, I'm going to keep that saying in mind. I'm also going to choose pie tomorrow. Followed by an additional 20 minutes on the treadmill!

Go Fish

We cut a deal with the four year-old this week. Actually, we cut a deal with the four year-old this week AFTER a uniformed friend visited our house and took possession of "Sassie". Yes, she still had a sassie. Only for bed, every other night, but it was still here and had taken a life of it's own on, if you know what I mean.

We told her if she could make it through the week with no fits or tantrums, that she would be a big enough girl to have a fish of her own. She informed me that she didn't want to grow up and maybe she would like her own puppy instead. I think she has a future in contract negotiations for unions. (I can't stand the thought!!!)

Today, we filled our end of the bargain because she's been good about her end. Angus is trying to horn in on the pets....he remembers Nemo, the movie, and is much like the naughty girl tapping the tank! Maggie is pretty sure the fish are starving and need fed about every 45 minutes. Wayland thinks the fish have a short life expectancy in this house and about 15 minutes ago I nearly dropped a large bottle of Moscato wine on them.....not cool! (For the record, I was trying to hang the wine in the caddy, and NO, I hadn't been imbibing!)

Here are some pictures with the kids and the fish, both parties looking fairly healthy! (The photo of the betta is not the actual fish...just the same type and color we got....that, and some little neons.)

I Wear My Own Kind Of Hat...

Okay, here it is: I LOVE HATS! The Kentucky Derby, garden tea party, wear them for Easter kind of hats. They are hugely impractical, expensive, poofy, girly, Southern belle sorts of things that would make Scarlett O'Hara absolutely green with envy.....and if worn to church in Eastern Montana, would provoke stares and snickers. But, heaven help me, I love them.

I watch Maggie play dress up and twirl in her dresses and simper in her crown, and I dream that I have a hat and eyelet dress that twirls. And when I look at the hats on the web, I see people in them. Ooh, there's a classy lime green number for Clara, a scarlett toque with a black feather for Anne, a navy Kentucky derby (classic of course) for Traci, a straw with roses for Marisa, a mysterious black hat with an audacious dotted sash for Celestia, a dark green felt with white feathers for Thelma, a pink hat with bow for Beth (although she'd take it right off!)....can't you just see us, gathered in the park with our picnic baskets, laughing and enjoying the sun? Lemonade and tarts, vintage lace tablecloths spread with books and goodies.

Other photos from the palace...

He wants to be a princess, too, but just can't quite carry the look off.


Bling!

Your Royal Highness

House Fairy

This is the House Fairy. She visits the houses of good wives and mothers during the time children nap, waves her wand full of 409 and "Tra-la-la-la-lee!", the house is sparkling and your hair is done, too!

She hasn't been to my house for a couple of years, I calculate. Okay, maybe 5 years. But she seems to be hitting my mother-in-law's house with regularity. Hmm. I have high hopes for the Tooth Fairy; she can either do a little mop up or send a message to the House Fairy that things are at a critical stage at 626 Two Furrow Rd!

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The Pomegranate Kid

I may have the strangest child in the county. (I would say the world, but that's a pretty broad statement and I don't have the time or inclination to verify it.)

Maggie prefers vegetables to cake or cookies, grapes to candy, and salad to fries. Last night, I thought I'd give her a treat and she could have pop with her pizza....woohoo! She took a little taste, inquired of the flavor and requested milk, please. It doesn't come from my side of the family, I can tell you that much.

A week ago, we gave her some pomegranate, just for fun. Pomegranate, as it turns out, is the perfect fruit for four year olds because they have to excavate it to get anything to eat. It kept her busy for a solid 20 minutes and THAT was a blessing! She loved it, of course.

Angus, on the other hand, shows distinct preference for anything sweet, starch-y, junk-y or forbidden. He disdained the pom as entirely too much work. And he can sense a trap...."Hmmm, they aren't grabbing it out of my hands; must be good for me and something to avoid. "

Cows

It's inevitable, you're going to hear about cows on this blog. I am, after all, the farmer's wife! (They call themselves ranchers, but I was raised on a ranch with real live horses and everything, and this is more of a farm. Don't tell Pluhars.)

We've been moving cows every week, weaning calves, rotating pastures. Yesterday we moved our old cows from Thelma's closer to home so we could either wean or sell the calves. It's a LONG ways home, so there's a lot of time to look at the condition of the cows and calves, think about them, sing to them, talk to them. The guys usually give me lots of space, so I can just be in my own little world for a while. That and I think they don't really understand why I sing the Oscar Mayer weiner song to them. It seems obvious, and gets the cows going.

Okay, here's the funny part. Maybe not funny, but weird. (You saw weird coming, didn't you?) I really think cows are beautiful. See the attached picture and judge for yourself. I think they have pretty heads, nice lines in their bodies....every cow has it's own personality and look. And sometimes they look like someone I know. After having babies, I relate a lot better to them, too. Now, in the fall, with 570 lb calves on them, they are looking a little weary. They make a big show for weaning, but the old cows usually only holler for a couple of hours, then saunter off with a distict air of relief to graze unencumbered until next spring. Not unlike parents of teenagers going to college, I would imagine. You've done all you can, now it's time to send them off to seek thier fortune. Or misfortune, as the steers will have...

A sad note to end a blog on....

On a positive note, Wayland took both kids to feed those pretty, personable cows this morning! I'm going to amble into the kitchen for a little unencumbered grazing....

(Oh, and the photo included is an actual unretouched image of a pair from this summer. It's a two-year old with her first calf. Because I know you wanted to know.)

Weight Watcher Dropout

Today is the day I look forward to most every week. I have a babysitter on Wednesday afternoons from 3:30 pm until I show back up to get the kids. (Yes, I've contemplated leaving them overnight, but my babysitter has school the next day...bummer.) Originally, I hired the babysitter so I could go to Weight Watchers, a noble idea and cause. That was last year.

This year, I hire her so I can go to the library and have tea, go to Marisa's house and have coffee, (you see a trend?), go to the grocery store or just sit in the car and work on the W.U.H. (World's Ugliest Hat). I am a Weight Watcher's drop out.

The tricky part is that WW's still meets down the hall from the library on Wednesdays, so I have to sort of lurk in the books until they all go down to weigh in. If you've been to Garfield County Public Library, you know there aren't a lot of places to lurk....there are only about 6 rows of books in one room and in the other room, they pretty much just line the walls. No lurking spots there. And I'm NOT hiding in the Harlequin Closet! I mean, really!

The other tricky thing is that I've lost a lot of weight since quitting Weight Watchers. Not that there's anything wrong with the program, mind you; it turns out that thier philosophy of writing things down just caused me to want to eat more and obsess over what I DID eat. Actually, they were sort of encouraging me to eat, in a way. And I was paying them. Not thier fault, that's just the way it was.

So, if you are coming to town on Wednesdays after 3:30 pm and want to have a hot beverage and check on the progress of the W.U.H., check the library first. I'll be back by the Non-Fictions, probably looking for Knitting For Complete Morons. We'll have to wait until we hear Sandy start the meeting, then we can go find some French Roast coffee and (this is really naughty) Half and Half cream.....

Woohoo!

It would seem I'm the only Red Raider's fan north of Denver. Most everyone I know, with the exception of Scott and Traci Glasscock, missed Saturday's game.... Someone said they'd probably see the highlights, but that would be tough because the whole stinking game was a highlight reel!
And because you probably missed it, I'm going to let you know that #7 Texas Tech took down #1 Texas Longhorns! And that's the last I'm going to talk about it, because I value the Glasscock family friendship. But it was a beautiful moment in college football history....
Alright, I got that out of my system. Go Red Raiders!

Halloween Report

Here are some pictures of the little monsters in thier costumes. Maggie was "Tinkerbell's best fairy friend" and Angus was a ferocious dragon. The fairy was an old pro at the trick or treating but the dragon appeared a little bewildered at the permissivness of his parents with the neighbor's candy!
And here's something funny; when you trick or treat in the country, it takes 4 hours to go to 6 houses. Can you believe that? It's so much fun, though! We'd go in and visit for 15 or 20 minutes, drive 15 minutes, next house, unload the trick or treaters, adjust wings and dragon heads, trick or treat, visit, etc. And the treats are amazing. We had homemade popcorn balls, sugar ghost cookies, FULL size candy bars, all the candy we (I mean, they) could haul, because we were the only trick or treaters in the Cohagen area!
Today we're just laying around like fat sugar-coma lizards. We left the candy in the car, last night, and so far no one has missed it. And that's good, because I've been running out to check the tires, dust the dash, find my purse, all morning.

Confessions of a lousy gardener

I've been cleaning out flower beds, these last few gorgeous days of fall....and that should make some of my friends swoon right there. I'm not really known for my horticultural housekeeping, shall we say. I SAY it's an ethical dilemma; leave the dead foliage to catch snow or clean up the beds to rid the perennials of disease. Who's right, who's wrong on this issue? Is it an issue? (According to Sunset magazine, it is!)

Here's the sad cofession....I've found some of the plants I bought this spring and planted and tended with all my heart until August when I just couldn't take it anymore, heat-wise. At least I found thier remains. With thier little headstone markers from the greenhouse. Here lies Lavendula angustifolia. Born February 2008, Died August 2008. She will be missed. (Obviously, not THAT much, as the person who was to tend and love her didn't discover the untimely demise for three months!!!)

So now you know. Confession is good for the soul, don't you think? And just know, if you pass along any flower babies, make sure they are tough and don't inquire of thier health if they are not.

Knitwit...

Okay, so I think I can knit, I say I can knit, but I've only ever knit scarves. About 30 of them. If you don't have one, count yourself lucky and lay low until after Christmas. And the reason I knit scarves is that I don't have to really count, beyond casting on, and I don't have to read knitting instructions which are written in secret code and read something like this: (Taken from an actual knitting pattern) Work in K3,P3 ribbing for 4 rows then K3*(P3K3)* to end, ending with WS row. By the time I get done looking up all the values and meanings of K3, WS and so forth, I've lost the desire to knit, and worse, I've forgotten what I was going to knit in the first place.

All that to let you know (drum roll) that I'm moving on and knitting the World's Ugliest Hat. And right now, I will put your minds at ease and let you know I'm going to give it to my son on his 18th birthday, which is approximately when it will be finished and will inflict the most embarrassment. I let his sister pick out the yarn and she chose a charming variegated skein called "Mexicali", (I'm NOT making this up!) which I would describe as "Day after the Fiesta, Heavy on the Tequila." We bought two skeins, just in case.

I'm about 1/2 inch into the cap and at this point it could be anything....afghan, shawl, tent, armless sweater....(After about 30 of these hats, that's what I'm moving on to.) When it gets long enough to photograph, I'll post a picture. I'll take orders if you decide you want one, and Maggie will pick out the yarn. Just leave your name in the comment box. Your REAL name. And not in knitting code either.

Let's pretend...

This woman has been drinking, wouldn't you say?

I'm guessing she hasn't had a toddler washing his sister's toy dishes in the toilet, a sister who MUST color and cut RIGHT NOW, and 8 cats in her porch. And a sister in law who wants SIL's husband to see the house for the first time....just for a leetle, tiny visit.....today. The same house that has toilet water all over the bathroom, apple juice and doghair by the couch, snips of paper covering the kitchen floor like so many snowflakes. I'm NOT entirely sure the dog didn't get a haircut, judging by her reluctance to be in the same room with "Shark". (Maggie takes off all her clothes and pretends she's a boy without a family and wants to live with us, only would we please call her Shark. We need to get out more, I'm thinking.)

I think I'll join her in her imaginary world, as this little housewife. Now where DID I put that starched, ruffly apron......? Oh, here it is, right beside my Kahlua in the coffee cup!

Blackmail 101

APPARENTLY when I sent out the email announcing the blog and referrenced a Spirit Week photo, quite a few of you thought I had goods on you. I'm flattered you think my resources are that far reaching! And Jordan Mustang Spirit Week 1987 must've been a little more "spirited" than I remember....! (Did we have a "Cyndi Lauper" Day?)

I really do have a Spirit Week photo, but am saving it for a REALLY special reveal. You know, like those "What Not To Wear" shows, only in reverse. And for anyone who went to high school in the 80's, pretty much any picture taken at that point in time, Spirit Week or not, is blackmail stuff. I really never want to revisit my fashion sense-lessness from that portion of my life.

So to the Mikes (G. and W.), you can't stop being kind and sensitive, or at the very least, polite.

Clerkie

Today is School Board day, and thus a rather frantic day in the Pluhar house. It's a little teeny weeny job that I can do from home, this school clerk thing. Most people could do it with thier eyes half closed, sitting on the couch watching the Dallas Cowboys get their butts whipped on a Sunday afternoon....(YES!!!) But for me, the business impaired, the technologically challenged soul, it's a little more demanding.

I love the stretching of my brain and the feeling that I'm involved in something that will affect the future of this little school, and I really like the people I've met through the job. And I like the paycheck. I always have the nagging feeling, though, that I'm really messing up a lot of records for the next clerk down the line and that my name will be muttered in the TRS and OPI offices in a not-so-complimentary way for the next 10 years!

SO, if you try to contact me on the third Monday of every month, there will be Disney movies playing in the background, a slightly jittery edge to my voice due to the extra cups of coffee, and I may answer you in code...100xx210xx1900 or something like that! (It still doesn't make much sense to me either, 4 years later. Even with the Lord Master of the Universe coaching me.)

Cabin Fever Part I

SO....
We aren't even into winter yet.
We are TWO months AWAY from winter.
We are out of tricks.

We've made all the Halloween crafty things we know how AND read most of our books AND watched all the "new" movies.
It's looking dire.

Daddy has had all the family bonding time he can stand, and he's only about 9 hours in!

I need a plan, I need a plan!!!

I'm a lot better off than my dear husband because I spend a lot of time here in the house with the kids and can tune them out a little easier. I know what sounds mean everything is alright and what sounds mean the kittens are being bathed in the dog dish. I know that I can't leave them alone at the table with any sort of art supplies for any reason...no matter how badly I have to use the bathroom! I know that even if I give them the exact same toy at the exact same time with the exact same words, someone will grab the more desirable toy (?) and run in order to start a rumble.

Tomorrow (Cabin Fever Part Deux) will be better! Enjoy the pictures of some of the fruits of our labors.....I think I figured out how to put pictures in the post, finally!!! Wooohooo!!!