Well, I'm Going to Be Late

Bubba is rarely on time when he's coming home from the farm. I often call it "Murphy's Farm" because if something can go wrong, it will. And something always seems to go wrong as he's getting in the truck to come home.

Here are some of my favorite reasons that normal wives just don't hear every day:

• I have my hand up a cow's (enter one of several orifices) right now, and I need to finish before I can leave.
• The donkey decided to go for a walk down the road, so I gotta try and run her back.
• The chicken litter (aka big mounds of poultry poop) is on fire. I gotta wait for the fire department to leave.
• The hay bales are on fire down in the field. I gotta wait for the fire department to leave.
• A goat's got her head in the fence. I have to get her out before I leave.

And my favorite is tonight's:

• I'm not going to be home anytime soon. I had a tree fall on a cow, and I can't find a calf. He might be under there too.

What Is Memorial Day, Mama?

As we were driving to the state park for our first swim of the year this morning, Nora asked me, "Today is Memorial Day? What IS Memorial Day?"

When I was her age, Memorial Day was a day spent at my grandma and grandpa's house in northern Ohio. We attended the parade in town every year, arriving about 2 hours early at my grandpa's insistence. I remember plotting with my cousins some years to stick the littlest cousins up front so we would all get the most candy. We waved to my uncle as he carried the flag as a proud veteran and my cousins in the marching band. We'd usually have a cook out at my grandparents' house afterward. We were all relieved when Grandpa gave up the grill, since most of his hamburgers were still mooing as he served them onto the bun. As my dad is one of eight kids, the huge house and yard were crawling with quite an impressive herd of relatives.

"Well, on Memorial Day we are supposed to remember all the soldiers who fought and died in all the wars our country has been in."
"But I don't know any of them," Nora answered.
"You can still think about them. And you can think of anyone else you know who has died."

I felt satisfied with my answer, but I guess I feel a little guilty too. What is Memorial Day? A day for Bubba to cut hay. A day for us to grill out and go swimming. A day to stop and think and thank. But somehow, I seem to always forget that last one.

What IS That??

Nora and my mom were collecting caterpillars when we found this fascinating creature on the front porch.

We had no idea what it was.

It couldn't be a caterpillar with its six, spindly, insect-like segmented legs. What bug would be big enough to have such a huge larvae?

After scouring our array of field guides and the internet, we figured it out!

Here is a hint:
Glimmer...Glimmer...

It's a glow worm!

In my Yankee upbringing, I had always learned of glow worms as lightning bug larvae. I knew them as colonies of small worms that glowed in waves of dirt when disturbed.

This glow worm lives in the south, in moist soil. They eat millipedes, leaving tell-tale empty exoskeletons which we've noticed before. We just never thought a luminescent larva might have been the cause of their demise.

Right now, our lit up visitor is living in mason jar in my living room. When we figured out what it was, we bought it into the hall bathroom-the one with no windows-and turned out the light. In an instant, our insect turned itself on! Its visit with us will probably be short, as I have read that husbandry of the species is difficult. Instead, we'll enjoy it and release it to make sure these cool little guys are out in the woods for a long time!

My Paw Paws Have Been Plundered!

Although I didn't expect to find sprouting paw paws when I checked the seeds the other day, I didn't expect to find plundered planters either!

Some unknown animal had ransacked the tray of plants and stolen about half my seeds. A few were lying on the table, chewed but unconsumed. Maybe those were too rotten to sprout anyway.

For a moment, I cursed the phantom mammal. Then, I thought about it, sighed, and recovered the remaining seeds.

I was comforted by the realization that a local mammal might poop out the seeds in the woods around our house, inadvertently planting a paw paw for me. I'll have to start keeping an eye on my planters and the woods!

Where Appliances Come to Die

Since we bought this house, our first house, seven years ago next month, almost every appliance we owned has died. We have replaced: the dishwasher, the range, the microwave, the water heater, the heat pump, the freezer, and the refrigerator. Technically, the fridge shouldn't count. We bought the house without a fridge, so we had to buy our own before we moved in. The washer and dryer were the only appliances left standing in our appliance-cursed house. Now, one of them is gone forever.

"What did you do to the dryer?" Bubba asked me after work one day.
I was still on "take it easy because you're pregnant" time, so I just thought he was referring to the fact that I had dried a load of clothes.
"I did like two loads, but I had to-"
Before I could finish he asked, "What else did you do to it?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Well, there were just sparks comin' out the back of it."
I started laughing. "Holy crap. I have no idea. It seemed fine when I used it. That's frightening."

Bubba has been tinkering and bribing the dryer to work for about the last year. Since I hardly use it for 6 months out of the year, it's quirks were tolerable. It was horribly energy inefficient and made increasingly scary noises. Finally, Bubba declared it dead. And when Bubba insists there is no chance of fixing something, there is NO chance of fixing it.

Thank goodness we have a clothesline. Thank goodness it died in the summer. I wish it hadn't died in my ninth month of pregnancy, but, hey, the washer would be worse with a new baby. Meanwhile, I am holding my breath that the curse will miss its last victim.

Caption That Kid!

Why are goats so hilarious? 

You know she's saying, "Seriously, can I just be induced now?" It's Wednesday, and this poor, waddling mama still hasn't had her baby.

What do you think this little guy is saying?

Hay! Hay! It's Mother's Day

Nora was only a couple of months old for my first Mother's Day as a mom. Bubba took us to the botanical garden in Richmond, and we ate dinner at the restaurant with the shortest line--Shoney's.

Every Mother's Day since, he has cut or baled hay. Today was no exception. He and the kids did make me breakfast in bed first. Nora and Gray stole most of it, thankfully; my pregnant stomach is not always settled in the morning. Then, the kids and I jammed into the tractor with him for one field, though. We listened to NPR while he let them take turns "driving." They were in heaven, and I was along for the ride.

We shared an early dinner with my in-laws before visiting the new goat kids. (We're up to eighteen now! Five were born today!) Now, they're tucked in bed early, and Bubba's getting my clothes off the line.

Today was just another Sunday. That suits me fine. But for every mom who didn't get breakfast or bales today, Happy Mother's Day!

Hormones and On-Line Shopping Don't Mix

Nora will soon be evicted from her room to make way for the baby. She and her brother will share until the baby is old enough to sleep reliably. My in-laws found an awesome set of used bunk beds in a storage unit auction, and we set them up in Gray's room. We decided that since the beds themselves were such a steal, we would splurge on two new mattresses for them. (Poor Nora was sleeping on a mattress that was literally as old as I am!) I had great plans to scour through Richmond and Charlottesville's furniture stores until I found the best deal. Unfortunately, this whole "take it easy" plan ruined my "save a crap ton of money" plan. Still, I found a fair deal on-line from a box store which included free delivery.

Yesterday, the UPS guy pulled from the back of his truck two huge rolls. Since I don't shop on-line much, I was puzzled. I knew these rolls had to be the mattresses. I unzipped the carrying cover and panicked. They looked like they were only about 2 inches thick!

Hormonal and frantic, I called Bubba at work. "I think I messed it up! And I don't know how to return stuff! And it was so much money! And it's not a mattress! And..." I blubbered on for several minutes, tears streaming down my face. Bubba gently asked me questions about the packages. "Is it compressed down?" he asked finally.
"Can they do that?"
"I don't know, but it sounds like that's what they did."
"Oh. I never would've thought of that." The fountain from my eyes stopped. "How do we open it?" All I could picture was a National Lampoon moment of explaining to the ER doctor how a mattress broke my nose.
"I'll look at it when I get home, but you have got to calm down."
"I'm okay now." I sniffled. "I'm sorry. But that makes sense."

After we hung up, I called the store's customer service line. My hormones were on the upswing, and I now found the situation hilarious. Unfortunately, the woman had no idea what I was asking or why I was laughing. She transferred me to a woman at UPS who had no idea what I was talking about and did not find the situation funny either. Of course, this made it even funnier. I restrained myself from describing the bloody nose scene going through my mind.

When Bubba got home, he opened one of the beds while I burned dinner. The first thing he found when he opened the first zipper was a paper from the manufacturer. Notice the first sentence calls it a compressed mattress. As Bubba sat on the love seat reading it, I walked out from the kitchen. "Is that instructions?!" I squealed accusingly.
He just smiled and nodded.

Luckily, the realization that my irrational breakdown could have been prevented by one simple piece of paper made me laugh instead of cry. Bubba unrolled the compressed mattress on the living room floor. He cut the plastic, and the whole thing popped up like a sweater in one of those "Space Bag" commercials.

While I blame my silly tears on my baby, I also admit that on-line shopping stresses me out. I was expecting mattresses that looked like mattresses! When big, old rolls arrived instead, I panicked. Maybe I should think about not buying on-line again until this kid is born. I can't take the surprises!

What's Hiding in the Pantry?

I'll admit that it has been far, far too long since I cleaned out my pantry. However, as I dove into the mess yesterday, I didn't expect to find things growing in it.

These scared my children...

Dinner's Burned! Let's Eat!

Have you ever cooked a meal that completely failed? If you haven't, congratulations. I have cooked almost as many awful meals as I have tasty ones, from the infamous braised radishes to the flambe s'more pie. Last night's dinner was just one of those meals.

Although I had two chicken breasts thawed in the fridge, I didn't have time to cook it because Bubba was waiting to see how much it rained to tell me when he'd be home. These would've needed quite a while in the oven. They must have been half ostrich, because these breasts were humongous! I'd gotten busy making jam during nap time and didn't marinate them either. Somehow, raw, bland chicken just didn't sound good either. Instead, I quickly thawed some super-cheap steaks I'd bought on sale.

I planned to make steak, sauteed swiss chard, macaroni and cheese (because no one in my family actually likes chard except me), and biscuits. The biscuits were edible, even though they were pretty darn dry.

Garlic and onion were gently infusing olive oil in a saute pan while I grabbed chard to wash and cut it. As I picked up the bag (bought from a markdown bin at an awesome produce market in Charlottesville), I saw brown, juicy mess in the bottom of the bag. "Maybe some is still salvageable," I thought. I was wrong. That's the catch of buying markdown produce, if you don't use it quickly enough, you end up with brown slime! After composting the no longer greens, I was pondering what to cook in the oil. Broccoli? Carrots? Hmm...Finally, I decided on sliced up potatoes which promptly stuck to the bottom of the pan and burned.

Mac and cheese with potatoes just seemed like filler overload, so I decided to steam some corn instead. I grew up in Ohio. I am a corn snob. This corn is straight from the farmer sweet corn that my mom and I personally blanched and froze last summer. The only way I will eat corn that isn't fresh from the field is to steam this frozen corn and drench it in butter, salt, and a bit of pepper. Bubba, Nora, and Gray, however, don't like any corn that isn't corn on the cob. (But they think southern corn on the cob is delicious! I'm sorry to the south, but Ohio sweet corn wins every time. There really is no comparison.) I got the corn cooked and dumped it into a bowl with butter. Then, as I was sprinkling the salt, I spilled about 5 times too much into the bowl. I did the same thing with the pepper. Refusing to waste the probably ruined corn that no one liked anyway, I mixed it all up and hoped for the best.

I was simply cooking the steaks in a bit of olive oil and seasoning them with a bit of my homemade seasoned salt. I'd just thrown them into the hot pan when Bubba asked if I wanted to open one of the new mattresses we bought. I got distracted from the meat until smoke started wafting from the kitchen. "Don't you need to flip those?" Bubba asked. I ran back into the kitchen and quickly flipped them, but the side that had been down had already burned. I redeemed the other side a little by turning off the heat to the stove but leaving the pan on the hot burner.

When we all sat down at the table, Bubba ate with a smile and told me to shut up about how much I messed up. Nora eagerly filled her plate, then didn't eat a bite as she told us every minute detail of her school day. Gray's age keeps him a little more honest. "I don't like corn," he stated plainly. "I know. Eat two bites, because you're two," I answered. Two bites turned into about ten, and he ended up reluctantly eating most of it. We had to threaten to send Nora to bed before she finally forced her cold dinner into her mouth.

Despite its burnt edges, at least it was a dinner together. Some more proud (and less cheap) cooks would've thrown it out, but we ate it anyway and laughed about the mess. With any luck, tonight will be a little better!