Funny at the Literal Meaning

Two things have gone through my head that have made me laugh aloud at myself.  And my clever, coy style.  They are only funny when taken at their most literal meaning.

1.  "No way, Jose."  When I'm talking to Joey.

2.  I put up with so much Sh!t from these two.  Literal.  Come oooon. 

In other funny news, yesterday Joey bit Kole on the back.  Jaws style.  While I felt bad... as a member of the Maternal Justice League Kole really had this coming.  He gets about 45 cheap shots in on Joey for every one that Joey can reciprocate.  Kole was screaming and crying and I was cuddling him to make him feel better. (And make myself feel better for letting it happen.  I didn't sic Joey on him--- but I did loosen the leash quite a bit.)
Kole asked if he had "a bleed."  I checked.  He did.  I told him.  He cried harder.  After a few seconds he wailed, "This is what happened to Jesus!  They hurt his back and hung him on the cross!"
While I admire his biblical knowledge.... that's a tad dramatic there, Koler.  Your little brother bit your back.  No one is crucifying you.

Ribbon Cutting!

Well.  It's official.  We opened a farm.  Had the ribbon cutting ceremony today.  It was remarkable.  I gotta say *clears throat* some mega scissors and some majestic music and an audience...*clears throat* and some ribbon would have made it really remarkable.  But.  None the less.  Welcome!  (arms spreading)

Yup.  I named 'er.  You kinda have to.  Haven't you ever seen Sarah Plain and Tall?  You have to write your name in the dirt.  I wrote mine in letters from Porters, some barn paint, and wood.  But the essence is the same.  We named it Crooked Row Farm because upon planting our first seedlings this year with the kids... nothing was straight.  Nothing looked clean and pristine like I pictured it in my head (or how I sketched it in the agricultural blue print.).  So.  I embraced it.  And then made this sign.  It's about to blow up Pinterest.  Every one is gonna be naming their backyard. 
In March we got 5 chicks.

They became my little beebees.  They were soft and cuddly.  And poofy!  And would peck little food seeds out of my hand.  I was always checking in on my chickies.  I worried about them and would get out of bed in the middle of the night to make sure they were warm and okay.  They were literally like my newborns.  But heavens to Betsy...have they grown fast.  Just like my real human chickies.

They went through a weird phase...Can you see the resemblance?

They kinda turned into crabby old bitties.  It was always something with them.  I never had their water just the right temperature.  They wanted their meal at 5:30 not 5:15.  Fresh bedding twice a day not once a day.  So.  I built them their own place where I couldn't hear them squawk.

 I know what you're going to say.  It needs a little wreath about the door, huh?  Or a house number.  Or a plaque.  I keep telling The Kenmo, "I want to name the chicken coop."  But the only name I can come up with it Pollo Fundido.  And that's what he orders at Garcia's.  PLUS!  With that name I'd have to stucco this whole thing- add some blue tile... it could get pricey.  And naming a chicken coop seems to be beyond Ken's level of tolerance.  So.  Probably a wreath.  And flowers will go in with warmer weather. Naturally.

Every good running farm has a farm dog.  So...Check!

Dook at doze eyez.  We adopted Oreo four days after we got the baby chicks.  It was an animal overload for the first 36 hours.  But turns out Oreo is about the lowest maintenance dog in existence.  I have to beg him to take a walk with me because all he ever wants to do is snuggle.  Which I love.  I love dogs for their unlimited snuggling capabilities.  The only down side to Oreo's snuggling is sometimes he Steamies me.  A Steamie is when a dog (or Ken) is really close to my face and then breathes hot air breath onto it and a muggy warm layer of thin condensation forms on my cheek.  Worst sensation.  A Steamie.  Do it to somebody.  They'll hate it.
We started seedlings when we were deep deep in the Winter Doldrums  and have slowly been moving them into the Great Outdoors as we've slowly moved out of our Winter Doldrums.  And we plugged about 30 raspberry starts out there. 

 

 It is such a feeling of accomplishment to see growth.  A little plant that will provide food for your family.  It's incredible!  I guess Mother Nature's real name is Patty Poulsen.  And, don't worry, to ensure that feeling of accomplishment and triumph persisted through the Spring, Summer, AND fall- I planted ONE HUNDRED strawberry plants!  A Hundy.  (If those were dollars I'd be rich.)

But they're not dollars they're strawberry plants.  Ha-rumph.  I did get to thinking though.  Even with all the Cool Whip in the world; can I eat all the strawberries 100 plants will produce?  I don't doubt much about myself- but this is indeed doubtful.  So!  I had the greatest idea to sell my surpluses at the local Farmer's Market!  I got into a late night text cahoot with my friend about a booth we'd start with my berries, her honey from her backyard swarm, and maybe some crafts or something.  We were drawing up our business plan and designing our logo to put on our jars of homemade preserves when Ken asked me what I was so excited about.  "I'm going to sell all my extra strawberries at the Farmer's Market!  We can use all the money I earn to go on vacation!"  Ken stared.  I squealed "Isn't that fanTASTIC?" in response to his silence.  He said, "You might have 2 pints of extra strawberries from your strawberry patch.  It's not as big as you think."  PSHZzzzzzzuuuuuuuuuuuueeeeewwwww. <--- That's my dreams deflating.
At any rate.  I'm so proud of my farm.  It's becoming a lifestyle for me that I am so comfortable in.  I love working in the dirt all day.  Tending to the land.  And teaching my boys how to become self-sufficient. I feel like I am on a good and well trod path.  It's idyllic and romantic and makes my heart beat harder.  Or... it could be all that shoveling and tilling that is making my heart beat faster...

I can't dig a hole without kids climbing in!

 

Yup.  Those are mine.
I'm really into Duck Dynasty right now.  And these really are extremely functional.
And East Coast Yuppie Meets Farming For The First Time with a Martha Stewart thing going on.

Come on by anytime you want.  Admission is free.


P.S.  I am considering an egress from Facebook.  If you want to keep up on the blog posts- subscribe!   Right over there on the right-- there's a button. 

Bad Moms at the Fair

This was Kole's first time riding rides.  He wanted to ride the cars.  No surprise.  At all.  He was really excited to give the man his tickets.  Really excited to pick his own car.  Really excited to get buckled in.  Really excited to honk the horn.  Really excited when the ride started moving.

Then some bratty girl started crying.
The ride went three-quarters of a time around before the girl was screaming so badly she had nearly slid off her seat.  The ride got stopped.  Her dad pulled her off.  The crowd gave some nods and shrugs and courtesy smiles.
The ride went the last quarter of a turn before...

...the girl's mom was climbing over the fence to put her BACK on the ride.

I raise my hands to Ken (who is across the ride ready to wave to Koley), gently shake my head, and mouth, What the heck?

This girl was still screaming.  Red in the face.  Real tears.  Not wanting on.  And her mom was screaming.  Red in the face.  Thong doing the whale tail thing as she wrestled her daughter back onto the ride.  Over the screams of her tot the mom says, "Just keep going!  I know she'll like it!  Just keep it going!  I wanna get a picture!"


So the ride goes.
The crying and screaming really amp up.

Soon, none of the kids are smiling.
They aren't sure if they are having fun or not.
We're on a ride... that's fun.
It's sunny and warm... that's fun.
Our moms and dads are here... that's fun.
We just ate funnel cake... that's fun.
Yet, there is this crazy girl.  And she is screaming that this is not fun....Hmm. That's puzzling.

The man stops the ride and tells the mom to get her daughter.
Kole yells, "Come on!  I want to ride, man!"

My thoughts exactly, kiddo.
I'm so glad I have a three year old to say the tactless things I am thinking.
The girl's mom straddles the fence yet again (use the gate, lady),scoops down (really letting that white-trash cleavage get a good jiggle),yanks her daughter off the ride, and storms off.  Like it's her daughter's fault.

In my head I was saying:
 Finally!  Geez! Put your kid first!  Gosh.  Forget about the picture already.  She obviously was hating it.  Some mom YOU are!  Ugh.  I hate moms like you.  Anything for that picture.  This is real life.  Not Instagram-ville or -town.  Quit thinking of yourself, put your camera away, and care for your child!  I sure hope you buy her a cotton candy and say sorry.  GOSH!  And pull your pants up for crying out loud.  You're not 19 anymore.  No one wants to see your thong.  "Keep it going?"  Pa-lease.

I really let her have it.  In my head.  For the record:  I apologized in my head shortly after.  Guilt just eats me up.  Even when it's imaginary.

The ride started up again... things were looking good.

 Then he started getting a little worried...

 and then a little more....

.

and then... it was that little crying girl all over. 
Except it was my kid begging to get off.  Screaming that he didn't like it.  And yelling for me to come save him.

Kole was red in the face.  Real tears.  Not wanting on.  At all.

And I was screaming.  Red in the face. Swinging one hand at the ride operator, "Keep it going!  I know he'll like it! Keep it going!  Keep it going!" while my other hand was trying to snap the perfect picture.

Double Duty: Dentist and DMV

I had to go to the dentist yesterday.  Cavities love my mouth.  I mean, I love candy, cakes, cookies, pop, caramel, taffy, pop tarts, brownies... so maybe one (Kenmo) would think I have it coming in the cavity area.  But my defense is, doesn't everyone love those things?  And I am the only who gets cavities all the time?  I guess if I have to get cavities so the rest of the world can enjoy sweets so be it.  I've always been the martyr-ing type.  So there were the cavities, and that root canal I never got crowned.  That chipped.  Mostly.  Off.  It was way in the back and I was thinking along the lines of... $1200 for a tooth no one even sees is such a waste.  So I told Ken I was just going to have it pulled.  And he told me I wasn't a hillbilly. 
I married up. *wink*
So, yesterday I spent an hour and forty five minutes in the dentist chair and although I've always considered myself a good sport when it came to dentistry, I felt severely beat up afterwards.  He filled two cavities, and... laser-ed off part of my gums that had grown too far down.  I didn't know that happened or that it was bad (or that it was legal to put a laser in someone's mouth).  But I do know what melted flesh taste like now.  So, win win.
Here's the kicker to the story.
In order to qualify for in-state tuition I had to have a Utah driver's license by May 1. 
Yesterday being such date, kids already at a sitter, I plotted over to the DMV after I finished up at the dentist.
Not yet realizing the complete stupidity.  I just figured it would be kinda a sucky morning.
I pulled into the DMV and whipped out my lipstick.  I pulled down my mirror and went to put on my lipstick and....Werrrrrrt.  Couldn't really stay in the lip lines.  I was numb.  Half my face was numb. 
This is when it hit me.
I'm completely numb on 50% of my face.
The good outfit I picked out isn't going to cover the fact that I look like Two Face.
Typical Patty Move.
I laughed which looked ridiculous and made me laugh even harder.  And drool.
After I wiped the lipstick off my side chin I went in and the first thing they wanted to do was take
my picture.
I figured- just go straight face.  Serious... and Mysterious.  Perfect.
But the little DMV lady said, "Why don't you smile?"
So... I did.
Well half my face smiled and the other half Quasimodo-ed.

Her eyes got real big and she said, "Oh!  You don't have to if you don't want to."
I started laughing again and told her I came over from a dentist appointment.
She laughed and told me I was dumb.  Which made me laugh harder.  And drool more.  Old people can just say that stuff.  She handed me some Kleenex and said she'd try a couple shots until we found a good one.

Yup.  That's the good one.  It doesn't even show my cute sweater or killer necklace.  I tried talking her into letting me have the one where I really Quasi-ed it up- but she said that would be inappropriate. Claiming "SANCTUARY!" only confused her.  God Bless The Outcasts.