Archive for May, 2012

Death. Destruction. She saw it decay before her eyes. The acrid scent of charring flesh slithered its fetid tentacles deep within her sinuses. She tried not to smell; not to see; not to hear. But it was too late.

She couldn’t avoid the evidence; seeping into her pores; causing her to gasp as though the hellish fire was her own last breath. The roar engulfed her. It threatened to embrace her in its deadly grip.

She shouldn’t be here. It wasn’t time! She had to leave. The whirlpool of despair sucked her into its abyss……..

“Macy! Shit! Macy! Come on girl. Come back to me!” Frank’s pleading took a tone of desperation, as Macy struggled to align with her current reality.

Something wasn’t right. She shouldn’t have been there. It wasn’t time. Her pocket alarm was still set and ticking. And she stunk; the smell of where she’d been still lingering on her clothes; in her nostrils.

“Holy shit, Macy. What the hell was that?! And what’s with the hair? I’m honestly shuttin’ up until I get some answers. One minute, we’re sittin’ here all quiet like, eating cake, and the next minute you’re all zoned out, stinkin’ like rottin’ fish left in the bottom of the boat, cookin’ out in the sun ’cause someone forgot it there last week. And not even bakin’ in the sun. Nope, just stinkin’ and rottin’, without even any kind of warnin’.

And your hair. God. I swear, it’s not that hot in here! I haven’t been gone that long! There is no way your hair should be sizzlin’  like that. I swear, when we get outta here, I’m gonna get you some hair products that smell way better than that shit right there. What are you using on it, anyway? You know, Paul Mitchell has some stuff that smells like grapes. Maybe you oughta-”

“Frank.” Macy’s quiet moan cut through his monologue on hair care products. She’d pick his brain on those later.

“Stop swearing. Please.”


It’s Trifecta week twenty-nine.

Because we’re in this a ways, I’ve made an entire page dedicated to Frank and Macy. Aren’t you happy?  😆

DECAY (intransitive verb)

1: to decline from a sound or prosperous condition
2: to decrease usually gradually in size, quantity, activity, or force
3: to fall into ruin

Please remember:

Good luck, and we’ll see you back on Friday!

This week’s word is decay.

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As inconspicuously as she could, Macy altered the angle of her head so she could more clearly see the movement she’d caught out of the corner of her eye. A wild giggle threatened to escape, as she was torn between throwing herself out of the car or giving a resounding slap.

“Hey, babe. Roll down your window and take it.”

“Really?” Macy was on the edge of losing what little control she had left.

“Really? You leave me hanging like that and then bring me cake?!” Sparks nearly flew as her window opened. She momentarily debated whether or not to unlock the door for him.

Frank came around and opened his door. As he slid across the seat, his jeans made the sticking sucking sound of weather too hot for anything but frying eggs. He grimaced. Not only were his jeans sticking to the car seat, but they were stuck to him, too. He’d have to deal with impacted nether regions later.

Right now, they had work to do.

Frank leaned back and started the car, hoping the air conditioning would kick in soon. It wasn’t just Macy licking frosting off her fingers that had him hot under the collar.

“Sorry about that back there. Guess I forgot to turn my headset off. Besides, did you hear the conversation while I was going? I was hoping you would catch what they were saying. Sounded like it was coming from the flower shop, via the duct work. Big problem doesn’t even begin to describe this. Nope. This is worse than a pen of pig slop in the June monsoon. This is the gift that’s gonna keep on giving. Yepper. It’s gonna be more trouble than Charlie Sheen attempting therapy. It’s gonna be like-”

“Frank!” Macy shouted, to get his attention.

“Honestly,” she swore in her head, “He’s like a dog sometimes; totally got a one track mind unless he’s redirected to break the silly spell.” She’d sure give him a new bone to follow.


Have you missed Frank and Macy?  I have! 😆

It’s week 28 of Trifecta’s writing challenge.

Clean- Part 1

Cheap- Part 2

Brain- Part 3

Scandal- Part 4

Observe- Part 5

Confidence- Part 6

Thunder- Part 7

Enigma- Part 8

Trouble- Part 9


This week, we give you:

WILD (adj)

1 a : living in a state of nature and not ordinarily tame or domesticated <wild ducks>
b (1) : growing or produced without human aid or care <wildhoney>
(2) : related to or resembling a corresponding cultivated or domesticated organism
2 a : not inhabited or cultivated <wild land>
b : not amenable to human habitation or cultivation
Please remember:

Good luck, and we’ll see you back on Friday.

This week’s word is: wild.

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Book Description

The year is 1777. America is in turmoil. And Amish life is far different than today.

Pennsylvania in the late 18th century, once called William Penn’s Woods, was an assortment of different faiths living together for the first time in American history. Included in this tapestry was a small and struggling population called Amish.

Surrounding this peaceful people were unavoidable threats: both Patriots and the British were pillaging land and goods for the sake of the war, young Amishmen were leaving the faith to take up arms and defend freedom. A simple walk in the untamed forests could result in death, if not from bullet or arrow, then from an encounter with a wild animal.

Amid this time of tumult, Adam Wyse is fighting a personal battle. To possibly join the war efforts and leave his faith, which would mean walking away from the only woman he’s ever loved: Lena Yoder. But for that love he’s made a promise that may keep them apart permanently.

My Review

Generally speaking, I really love this genre. In this case, there is really too much going on for this to be a really gripping story.

I like the idea of a secret. I’m not Amish, of course, but this secret didn’t seem to be one that warranted the father’s behavior.

Then there was the love story: a promise made to a dying mother which resulted in the separation of the two in love; the insertion of the intended’s brother into the equation, now making it a triangle of sorts. We’ve also got a non-Amish wet-nurse, moved in to {obviously} sustain the newborn infant without a mother and the return of the infant’s father from imprisonment for not forking over all his goods to the military as asked.

While the plot pieces sound good, in reality, they didn’t fit together well. Parts seemed to repeat without adding new information; some incidents (like the rattlesnake bite) didn’t fit at all, and actually made me roll my eyes. The time line for everything that happened if I recall, took place over a course of weeks, which again, made it completely unrealistic.

I don’t think I’ve read any of this author’s others titles, and I probably would, just to see if her other books are better than this one. I love Amish fiction and I love historical fiction. This book, though, didn’t do much for me.  Because it wasn’t terrible, I’ll give it 3 stars.

To see all of my BookSneeze reviews, click on the badge on the right hand side of the page.

Disclosure of Material Connection: I received this book free from the publisher through the BookSneeze®.com http://BookSneeze®.com book review bloggers program. I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions I have expressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255 http://www.access.gpo.gov/nara/cfr/waisidx_03/16cfr255_03.html : “Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising.”

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She relentlessly tapped her arm rest; her fingers beating out a cadence like a drummer boy going into battle. It was a rare event that got her fingers moving without conscious thought. Macy was usually pretty well put together; usually she was totally in control.

But Frank? He got to her. He threatened to pull the string that would unravel her completely. Her years with the Service somehow, surprisingly, didn’t prepare her for this partnering.

There was something about Frank that got under her skin. She’d learned to put up with his nonsensical jabbering. He was a talker, that’s for sure. Normally, she couldn’t get him to put a cork in it.

And now he’d gone silent- completely silent. Not a drip-drop of final off-loading; not a sigh of relief. Nothing.

“Trouble. This is what this is, she thought. Nothing but trouble.”

Macy couldn’t get the ringing of Frank’s silence out of her head.

“What the heck is he doing?! He should have been out or at least answered by now. I can’t go on reconnaissance and get him. I’ll never get away with it. My shift is over and they’ll know something’s fishy if I end up back inside tonight. They know I had plans and couldn’t attend the opening.”

Macy’s mind began to crazily run away from her.

What if………. what if they had caught him mid-stream? Surely she would have heard that, too, wouldn’t she have? What if they’d caught him mid-zip and he couldn’t actually say anything because of the pain? What if he made it out of the bathroom, only to be accosted and slathered with cake?

“Come on, Frank! Not now! I was just starting to sort you out!”

Macy wiped an impromptu escaping tear. She caught the movement out of the corner of her eye, and smacked her head- again- into her window. If they got out of this alive, she’d ask for a different car; one that wasn’t going to give her endless concussions.


Yep! It’s that time again! It’s week 27 of Trifecta’s writing challenge. I’m thinking about making a page for the Frank and Macy saga, but I haven’t decided on a title yet. I’m sure it’ll come to me, but until it does, I’ll be stuck editing the links.  😆

Clean- Part 1

Cheap- Part 2

Brain- Part 3

Scandal- Part 4

Observe- Part 5

Confidence- Part 6

Thunder- Part 7

Enigma- Part 8

Wild- Part 10

1 : the quality or state of being troubled especially mentally
2 : public unrest or disturbance <there’s trouble brewing downtown>
Please remember:

Good luck, and we’ll see you back on Friday.

~~~~ And, because life is a soundtrack and you’ve been bored brave enough to scroll all the way to the bottom of this post, I bring you Trouble. (Coyote Ugly, anyone?)  😆


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I’ve been sitting on my hands, not wanting to open this can of worms. I find, however, that I really kinda need to vent and get it out. It’s such a polarizing issue, though, and I’ve stayed away from this topic as a means of avoiding the mommy wars.

You can, however, thank Time Magazine for this little jaunt into the fracas. It’s been all abuzz with my friends, many of whom I know from my work in years past as a breastfeeding counselor.

What did Time Magazine do?  Here’s what:

I don’t take exception to the theme of the picture at all (and I’ll explain why). I DO, however, take exception to the caption. What the crap is that? If a mother doesn’t participate in extended breastfeeding she is not “mother enough?”

I’ve been reading my friend’s posts, many of which link to their (yes, I mean that) replies in the media.

Let’s start with my friend, Nancy Mohrbacher. Nancy is a well-known expert in the lactation world. She’s the author of titles like Breastfeeding Answers Made Simple and The Breastfeeding Answer Book.

Nancy’s reply in a Chicago Tribune article states in part,

“Nancy Mohrbacher, an officer with the Chicago Area Breastfeeding Coalition, said the cover has sparked the wrong questions.

‘The question is not are you mom enough, but is our culture family friendly enough,” Mohrbacher said. “The question is not how should we parent, but how do we support and value parenting in our society.’ “

My friend in the great white north (Canada) Teresa Pitman, spent part of yesterday doing media interviews. She’s coauthored 14 books, mostly about breastfeeding and childbirth, like The Womanly Art of Breastfeeding (8th edition), The Latch and Other Keys to Breastfeeding Success, and The Ultimate Book of Breastfeeding Answers (with Dr. Jay Gordon). She says,

“I initially didn’t have much reaction. Three-year-old nursing, ho hum, see it every day. But I really disliked the headline – only possible point of that is trying to stir up “Mommy wars.”

And when I look at …the photo, it’s awkward and unnatural looking – and has the effect of making breastfeeding an older child seem awkward and unnatural. The mother and little boy aren’t touching anywhere except at the breast.

I think many of the comments suggest that this is extreme or weird, but the fact is that the CPS, AAP and WHO all recommend breastfeeding for two years and beyond. They’re pretty mainstream.”

Part of my past-life’s work was counseling women on weaning, which seriously has become one of my more warm hot-buttons, so to speak. Why do people- particulary those not IN the actual relationship- feel they have the right to judge?

As an adopted breastfed baby who nursed into kindergarten {yes, you’re reading that right} and the daughter of another breastfeeding counselor with over 40 years experience, I have to confess that even I didn’t get this concept at first.

You can pretty firmly count me in the camp {and embarrassingly so, I was verbal about it, too} of one who thought it was weird and gross for a baby with teeth who was walking to also be nursing. Babies a year and younger (even if they were walking and had teeth) were fine.

But, I absolutely could not imagine nursing a child that was old enough to ask for it, with real words. And I was pretty solid with that perspective until I had a baby; who subsequently sprouted teeth, could walk and talk, eat solid food and yet still had a need to nurse.

That need wasn’t for nutrition, obviously.

What a lot of people don’t understand is that breastfeeding isn’t just food delivery. Nope. It’s not.

And yet, the argument against extended  biologically natural breastfeeding often revolves around that concept.

Or, the argument turns sexual. By the way- the breastfeeding of children {of any age} isn’t sexual, either. I’m making that distinction to shut down the argument that it’s not just children breastfeeding.

So let me put this in terms most people can understand:

Adults sexualize breasts; children do not.

Believe it or not, children don’t develop sexual awareness until they are school age (4-6). Before that, they just know there are body parts that are different and may “discover that touching certain body parts feels nice.” Around this age, they begin to notice that boys and girls have different parts. And, they may begin to ask more questions about things like where babies come from. But that curiosity isn’t sexual in the terms that adults view breasts and mouths on breasts.

So go ahead and throw that argument out the window, because it doesn’t wash. Society teaches; society judges; society HARMS. It’s not the mother and child in the extended normal breastfeeding relationship that have the problem- it’s those that are ignorant and actively seek to condemn.

When I saw the magazine cover, I thought, “Great. Here we go again.” For as long as I’ve been an adult, to breastfeed or not has been a hugely polarizing topic. I’ve seen friendships between women go south and get nasty because of breastfeeding. I’ve seen marriages have difficulty because of disagreement on this issue. I’ve seen a marriage end because a father tried to force weaning on a child (and mother) who wasn’t ready, and the mother was left to deal with the fall-out.

That Time Magazine cover doesn’t accurately depict any kind of extended breastfeeding relationship that I have ever encountered. I believe it was staged to be polarizing and to get a negative reaction from people.

It’s amazing to me how breastfeeding and weaning continues to be such a topic of hotly contested debate, even despite all scientific evidence. It always seems to me that we forget that babies have rights. Babies aren’t pets and don’t deserve to live off the scraps of what we parents are willing to give them. That’s just my two cents, and you are free to disagree. But I do think that babies deserve to have parents who are engaged and committed.

So, I’ve been reading along, sitting on my hands, seeing comments from people who have nasty opinions about this cover. The mommy wars continue, and we, as a species, continue to blast others and tear each other down for other people’s parenting decisions which we have no right to judge.

After all, we’re not talking about whether or not to use a car seat (although there are those that compare the formula campaign to those cigarette campaigns years ago, which I’m inclined personally to see the similarities in) or even nutritional content of infant nourishment; we’re talking about relationship. We are talking about parenting.

Back in my counseling days, weaning, as it is now, was a hot topic. New mothers were unsure of who to listen to; unsure of what the truth was.

I had one mother, no kidding, tell me her pediatrician told her she had to stop nursing when her baby turned a year old, if not before. She asked why, and was told “Because your milk will turn blue.”

Honestly. I couldn’t make this stuff up if I tried.

And through the years, one of the articles I routinely referred to was A Natural Age of Weaning, by anthropologist Dr. Katherine Dettwyler, PhD.  She wrote,

“In societies where children are allowed to nurse “as long as they want” they usually self-wean, with no arguments or emotional trauma, between 3 and 4 years of age. This interest also stemmed from the realization that other animals have “natural” ages of weaning, around 8 weeks for dogs, 8-12 months for horses, etc. Presumably these animals don’t have cultural beliefs about when it would be appropriate. “

More recently, she wrote a comment in response to Brian Palmer’s Slate.com’s article, titled Breast-feeding in Prehistoric Times:

“Brian — After all the time I spent talking to you on the phone trying to educate you and provide you with actual research data to help you understand the biology and physiology of modern humans, and this is what you come up with? I’m quite disappointed.

My research suggests 2.5 to 7.0 years as the range of a natural/normal/typical duration of breastfeeding for modern humans. Most human children around the world, if allowed to nurse as long as they want, wean themselves between the ages of 3 and 5 years (not 2-4 years). Obviously humans CAN wean their children at birth (jor nurse for only six weeks or six months or two years) and have most of them survive, but it’s estimated that more than 900 children in the United States die every year because they were not breastfed, and many many more die where alternative safe and appropriate nutrition is not available and where vaccinations and antibiotics are not available.

The fact that culturally we’ve been messing around with this life-history variable for thousands of years does not change the fact that the underlying biology and physiology of human children has not changed. They evolved to expect many years of breastfeeding and that’s what they need for optimal development. Under the best of circumstances — good alternative foods, low disease and parasite load, low stress — children who are allowed to nurse as long as they want do so, typically, for 3 to 5 years, and many are happy to nurse much longer.

There is enormous variation in all aspects of human growth and development. Just as the average height for adult women in the U.S. is around 5’4″, there are some women who are only 4’10” and some who are 6’5″ (shout out to Elena Dellle Donne). Likewise, some children will wean on their own before their first birthday, and others will nurse up to and beyond 7 years if they have willing mothers.

The point is — nursing a 3 or 4 or 5 or 6 or 7 year old is NORMAL for our species, regardless of what people think about it. Just like being pregnant for 9 months is normal, and getting your first permanent teeth at age 5.5-6 years is normal, and going through puberty in your teens is normal. Nurse your children for as short or as long as you like, or don’t nurse them at all, or simply don’t have any. The point is that nursing for several years is NORMAL….”

If you can stomach the replies to her comment, you’ll no doubt notice that some of the arguments I’ve shared above made it into the queue. And that just demonstrates my point that it’s ADULTS that are making the judgements and it’s the ADULTS that have the social hangups.

Kathy’s also quoted in this USA Today article.

My friend and IBCLC (Internaional Board Certified Lactation Consultant) Diana, wrote about her 4-year-old daughter’s surgery, and her concerns over nursing her in the hospital. She wrote,

“Being Old Enough to Ask for It doesn’t forbid a child from receiving comfort from his mother – however that mother chooses to comfort her child. ……………..Breastfeeding my 4-year old, postoperative child wasn’t disgusting, it was normal. Nursing her back to sleep a few nights ago when she woke up in the middle of the night wasn’t indulging her, it was loving her the way she has come to expect to feel love and comfort from me, her mother.”

I’m not judging and/or condemning anyone for their beliefs, but this is one topic my opinion won’t change on. The only thing I want to add is that you can’t force a child to nurse if they don’t want to. There’s a reason some babies/children nurse longer than others, and in a perfect world, society would be more attuned to normal child development and needs- and then respond appropriately; based on the needs of the child instead of their own neurosis.

Obviously, I could rant about this for a good long while. That’s basically why this is a newer topic for me, although if you’ve been reading along, you’ve most likely just had your suspicions confirmed.  😆

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Listen up, men! If your wife is pregnant, it counts. Even if she hasn’t given birth yet, and said offspring is the size of a chick pea, it still counts. She’s a mother.


It’s time for the Trifextra weekend challenge!

This weekend’s Trifextra is the first of its kind. This weekend we only need 32 words from you, because we’re giving you the 33rd. Your challenge is to write anything you want, in whichever form you please, so long as your response is exactly 33 words and includes the word “mother.”

Good luck! And to those of you women with children who have called, will call, or already do call attention to your natural process of aging: happy Mother’s Day.

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Last week I promised answers, so here we go.

First set:

1) My arms are double jointed. Yep. I used to be able to do neat stuff with them, like twist them all the way around. Now I’m just old. I can still get my legs over my shoulders, though. As far as I can tell, none of my kids have gotten this trait.

True. I even used to be able to turn my wrist all the way around. It was one of the main reasons I couldn’t get into ballet, for example, all because I couldn’t physically get my arms straight. Ok, that’s a lie. I didn’t do ballet because it was too boring and that alone couldn’t be offset by the costumes. So now you know.  😆


2) My favorite color is red. Yep. Not only is it the color of my chicken condos, but my closet is loaded with it. Being blonde and blue-eyed makes red a great color for me, and when I’m tan during the summer, it’s the best color on me. I tend to naturally gravitate to wearing colors that look good on me, and while I worried that my purple toe nail polish would clash, it didn’t bother me. I’m pretty sure my new blue toes will look better with my all my red clothes, though.

Firstly, can I just ask what y’all have against blonds in red? Really? What about these ladies?

Exhibit A: Christie Brinkley

 Exhibit B: Cameron Diaz 

Exhibit C: Charlize Theron 

 Exhibit D: Reese Witherspoon 

The defense rests.  😆

Regardless, y’all got me on this one. The color I actually like the best is purple. The color I look best in is blue, of any shade.

Firstly, this proves I’m a rotten liar, even on paper. And secondly, it just confirms my inhibition of wearing red. There are only a few shades of red that I look ok in, but that’s not the reason why I don’t like it. It’s not my most despised color because that’s orange, but it comes close.

Although, my current blue toe nails would look better with red than my usual purple, and I do look better in red when I’m tan. If I’ve gotten brave enough to wear it with my eyes open.  😀


3) I am allergic to most sunscreens. Yep. The only kind that doesn’t break me out and make my ears look like Dumbo is Bullfrog. It’s even dangerous to me to put sunscreen on my kids, because if I get any on me, I pay for it.


True. I’m not sure if I’ve always been allergic of if sunscreens have evolved and added stuff that I’m allergic to or not. The spray is a good idea, but still requires it to be rubbed in, which the kids can’t do on their own backs. I suppose I could wear rubber gloves, but the easiest solution is for them to goop each other.

The dumbo ear episode actually happened, at least 10 years ago. I put normal sunscreen on my ears and they tripled in size and were more painful than childbirth. I kid you not. After 2 days of agony, I relented and went to the doctor who gave me a shot of some steroid (I’m thinking prednisone, but not sure) which took another day to kick in.

Over the years, I’ve experimented with sunscreens, particularly the ones labeled ‘hypoallergenic’ and ‘for sensitive skin.’  I’m here to tell you that they totally lie. Don’t do it.


4) I’ve had babies under water. Yep. I have. I would have gone for home births for all 4, had that been an option. Ya win some; ya lose some. But at least I got to do that.

True. When we first moved here and I was pregnant, we took a tour of the brand-new, ‘state-of-the-art’ hospital and labor and delivery wing. They were thrilled to show off. Their “selling points” were staying in the same room to labor and deliver, thanks to a fancy bed that broke down.

In my horrified state of shock, I asked them where their birthing tubs were, and didn’t all new facilities have those? Not only did they not answer my question, but they gave me a lot of really dirty looks during the rest of the tour, even though I managed to keep my mouth shut, which was a total monumental event.

I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. After all, by that time I had already learned that there were zero midwives here, and none that would travel to deliver because they couldn’t get physician back up. I was terribly disappointed, as you can imagine. In my mind, I was thinking those fancy rooms would at least look more like a bedroom than hospital room, and in my wild fantasies, they’d look like this:

Or at the very least like this: 

Do you see why I was shocked and disappointed? In the end, I did manage to have the last two under water in a free-standing birthing center that closed shortly after the youngest was born. Her reason for closing was that she was exhausted with too many patients and a real shortage of midwifery back-up. A total, total shame.

Moving on! My second post on this subject was just as enlightening.


1) I could live on popcorn. But not the microwaved stuff. That stuff smells like barf and makes me gag. I don’t like hot air popped popcorn, either. Most of the bagged stuff doesn’t pop well, either. The only (as in, singular) kind I really like is Orville Redenbacher. And then I microwave it. Perfect!

True. I’m pretty sure I eat more popcorn than I should, especially since I’m pretty sure it’s all GMO. *sigh* The cheaper stuff just doesn’t pop well, in any kind of popper, but my preferred method of popping is a microwave popper with a lot little margarine.


2) I have a large family. My immediate family (me, hunny, and 4 kids) is small in comparison. I would have at least one more, but well, you know how that goes. My son wanted a brother for the longest time and I kept telling him to put his order in with Daddy. That ship has sailed, though, and it really wasn’t terribly hard to get rid of the baby stuff. Did I mention the youngest turned 8 yesterday?

True. Originally, I wanted 6 kids; Hunny wasn’t sold on having any. We settled on 4. When we moved into this house, with its 3 bedrooms, we had 3 kids. I was convinced that if I could wrangle a 4th, it would certainly be a boy, and there would be no issue with the bedrooms. 10 years later, I am still kicking myself. 3 girls in a single bedroom (even though it has a walk-in closet) does not make for a peaceful house. Just sayin’.


3) Not only were some of my kids born in the water, but we went with a lotus birth with the last one. While I could have encapsulated the placenta with a lotus birth, I figured we were doing enough with the herbs/salt. The biggest thing with this is getting the herbs right so that your pets don’t follow you around sniffing, thinking you are going to give them a meaty treat. Yes, I’m on the crunchy side on the granola scale. :lol:

I ran out of time on this one, honestly. Shortly before baby #4 was born, I learned about lotus birth. I did a lot of research and thought it was fascinating. I talked to my midwife about it, and she had never heard of it. She was game though, as long as she had time to work out the details.

Hunny was totally not on board. He has a really strong gag reflex, which makes it an amazing feat of courage that he never barfed during any of the deliveries. (To be fair, he was behind my head for the most part :lol:)

I am pretty sure that I could have gotten him to agree if I had found this months earlier. In my next life, this is on my ‘to do’ list.  🙂


4) I’ve fallen down a mountain. With a baby in a sling. On my back. I don’t think I need to say anything else besides it wasn’t intentional. And, we both lived to tell about it. Plus, I’m still embarrassed. You can ask her, but she’s 8 now, and she won’t remember. Thank goodness.


True. I’ll do a separate post because this one is already getting long, and I’m sure you have better things to do. But yes. I actually did fall down a mountain with a baby on my back in a sling. This is a before picture, because we’re still smiling.

So now you have it. Answers to questions with bonus pictures!  Y’all are good!

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It’s official. We are currently on egg overload. (Remind me about this once the girls start to molt……….)

Right now- today- this minute- I have a solid 8 1/2 dozen eggs in the fridge. And this is after our eggstravaganza yesterday, where we plowed through about 3 dozen eggs. Since most of my regular activities are over with until the fall, this means the folks I usually see (and who want eggs) have diminished in the last week. Boo. I have some going out tomorrow, which will help, but right now, I’m getting creative.  😀

Yesterday, we had a combination of fried and poached eggs for breakfast. But I still needed wanted to get rid of some more, so I decided I’d try a quiche.

Monday, my oldest daughter went searching online and sent me some links. Can I just say it’s amazing what people will put in quiche?   😯  I mean, really?  Cheeseburger quiche with ketchup and pickles in it? Yuck!

Nope, not for us! In the end, I made my own recipe. I’m sorry- it doesn’t really count in my mind as “quiche” if it only has 3 eggs in it. And while I do have sour cream on hand, I didn’t have any cottage cheese. Or colby jack. Or fetta (which reviews said do not put in, because it’s gross).

But, I did have mozzarella, cheddar, and green chile. Green chile, as you know, is one of my primary addictions. I ♥ it. I will put green chile in just about anything. (I haven’t tried it in pancakes, for example, but it’s most excellent on pizza!!)

Here’s what I came up with:

20 eggs

1/2 cup flour

1/2 cup green chile

1 or 2 cups mozzarella

5 tablespoons butter, melted

Mix all ingredients. Pour into pan. If using a glass pan, you’ll want to spray it with cooking oil. Bake at 400 degrees for 45ish minutes until knife inserted into middle comes out clean. Take out of oven and let sit for a few minutes. Cut and top with cheddar or other toppings of your choice. (The cheese gets all melty and gets really gooey and yummy, apparently.)

I think I might have thrown some cheddar in there, too. And I didn’t measure the mozzarella or the green chile. I had 1/2 a jelly jar (regular jelly jars are 8oz. 8 oz = 1 cup) and while I have a flaming passion for green chile, most everyone else in the family is not as enamored as I am. Since this was the first time making it, I went light on the green chile. Everyone agreed it could have used more, so I’m definitely going to use a whole cup/jelly jar on round 2.

Next time, I’m going to add some spinach, too. I think this would have also been awesome with bacon, since most everything (except maybe ice cream) is better with bacon. If you eliminate the butter, come back and leave a comment, please, so I’ll know what you think.

You could probably use a bigger pan to make it thinner and cut down on your baking time. This size baking dish is the best size for my egg-loaded fridge, so that’s why I went for chunky instead of a thinner slice.

You could also add a crust if you wanted to. If you use pre-made crusts, this amount of ingredients would do at least 2 pies, depending on how full you made them. If you make your crust homemade (like we do), you’ll get at least one deep dish pie and regular pie out of the deal.

Pardon my slopping baking dish. Next time, I’ll try to take a picture after it’s on a plate. We were just too hungry to wait this time.  😆


Do you have favorite recipes that call for a lot of eggs?  Leave me a comment, and feel free to shoot me a link!  🙂

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Oh no he didn’t! Unbelievable! Macy’s inclination to sputter over her headset nearly caught her. She stopped just in the nick of time, before the barn door was opened and she said something she couldn’t rope back into the stall.

Only Frank would go to the bathroom and forget to turn his headset off. That’s three minutes of my life I won’t get back. And really? Whistling Dixie at the same time? Ugh. I’ll never be able to hear that song again without thinking about his darn sprinkling fountain. Macy was starting to stew.

Frank’s detour was costing them precious minutes- minutes that could mean the difference between life and death. Macy could kick herself. It was her fault, after all, for getting him a cup with a lid instead of a bottle. If she hadn’t done that, Frank wouldn’t be in the precarious situation he’d walked right into.

While Macy knew Frank was a former Navy SEAL and Explosive Ordinance Disposal (EOD) expert, he remained an enigma to her. Figuring people out in a hurry was one of Macy’s “specialties,” but Frank had her stumped. She’d worked with him nearly a month now, and she still hadn’t sorted him out.

On the one hand, his experience and expertise meant he was a natural fit for this CIA secret division’s special ops team; on the other hand, he looked- and usually acted like- some low-key cowboy stuck in the 90s. He never went anywhere without his beat up cowboy boots and Stetson, and every pair of his jeans looked like a tin can used for target practice. Macy was pretty sure they would go line-dancing, too, if Frank wasn’t paying attention.

“Um, N? Time for the cake. Do you copy? It’s time for the cake, before the ice cream melts.” Macy tried to sound glib, but Frank’s new silence was getting the best of her.

He pees in stereo but now he won’t answer? Macy’s worry hit her head on.


Yes!  Frank finally got to pee this week!  😆

Clean- Part 1

Cheap- Part 2

Brain- Part 3

Scandal- Part 4

Observe- Part 5

Confidence- Part 6

Thunder- Part 7

Trouble- Part 9


We’re on week 26 of Trifecta’s writing challenge.

This week’s word is:
enig·ma noun \i-ˈnig-mə, e-\

1: an obscure speech or writing
2: something hard to understand or explain
3: an inscrutable or mysterious person

Please remember:

Good luck, and we’ll see you back on Friday.

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It was just another day

Or so she tried to say,

Until it was clear

She needed a beer.

Today it’s all about her

So be sure to cause a stir,

Hop over and say ‘Hey!’

Linger for a while and stay,

And be sure to read her porn,

But don’t get forlorn,

Because really, it’s all good

while Hobblin’ around the hood.

Gollee, I can write some bad rhymes, can’t I? Aren’t you glad I won’t be doing this again for a while?  😆

So, what’s with the sign? Courtesy of sparkling bloggy friend Ginger Snap (whom I blame completely, because I’m not original enough to think of stuff like this), we’re birthday flash mobbing The Hobbler.

A while back, Hobbs had the brilliant idea to skydive for MS (Multiple Sclerosis). This sign is what we’re going to place in all the places where she thinks she might could possibly potentially land.

We’re going to give her a ramp to prolong her flight, and we just couldn’t get the car to move out of the way fast enough while we were making the sign. It’s not part of the package. So deal with it.

Happy birthday, Hobbs!

If you want to see what she’s been up to lately when she’s been writing or not sleeping, check out what kind of a cheater she really is.

Because I couldn’t decide, here’s a picture montage of what I think she’s doing today. Enjoy.

This is what she’ll look like tomorrow.

Bloggy land ♥♥♥s you!

Song for the day: It’s my party and I’ll cry if I want to………….

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