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Well. Here we are, I suppose.

If you know anything about me, you no doubt know that 3 of my 4 kids are girls. The oldest daughter is 14.5, but seriously looks at least 18.

Ya.

Hunny’s plan was to send them all to the nunnery, despite us being non-Catholic. He was adamant about them not dating, or really even having boys as friends.  dad1

I, on the other hand, have always been on my daughter’s side. His position is that all boys just want to get in pants and that is their only driving force. I do believe that there are good kids out there- at least when we were kids there were. This is where my opinion originates.

Don’t prove me wrong, boys.

He is very sure all boys are the same and really the end game is having sex. I’d like to think there are still good guys out there who appreciate my daughter(s) for more than their body parts and what can be done with them.

I never thought I would have to sit down and come up with a list of rules, but here you go.

Before I start, there are a few things you ought to know. And by “you,” I mean any person of the male gender that shows any kind of interest in any of my daughters. 😀

  • This list isn’t written in stone. It may well be added to, but this here is a starting point.
  • Hunny and I are not so old that we don’t remember being teens. In fact, if you’ve ever had occasion to talk to us, you’d realize that Hunny is the kind of guy my parents would have never let me date, and some freaked out person these days would have wanted him locked up given his, um, ability to help local farmers with birds via his guns.
  • Respect is earned. No, really, it is. We don’t know you up from down. Regardless of religious leanings or not, you don’t start out with a free pass. {See earlier point about remembering what it was like being teens- even religious ones………} Even if we knew you in diapers, hormones are a game changer, and you basically have to start over in your new body.
  • {And this is probably the most important one- so PAY ATTENTION!}

My daughter is a jewel. She is THE MOST PRECIOUS thing in our worlds. There is NOTHING- and I do mean nothing- we won’t do to defend her and preserve her. {ok, we won’t send them to the nunnery- but you get my point. }

I will elaborate on that point as we go along, because I am not messing around. We are fiercely protective- she is our jewel.

Buckle your seat belts and keep your groans to yourself. If you want to see her or get to know her or date her, these things are absolutely not up for discussion.

  1. DON’T PLAY GAMES. You’ll notice I capitalized that one. It’s important. I despise games. You will not play them with her; nor with us, her parents. If you think it could be remotely viewed in a negative light; don’t do it. If you think something could remotely come across as being snarky, assume that’s what I’m thinking. Don’t go thinking you’re all cutesy and will get a pass. You won’t.
  2. If she’s on Facebook and you want to be friends with her, you will also be friends with me. 😀 You will not block me; you will not prevent me from seeing what you’re saying to her. If you don’t like that, you might as well stop now. It’s not a game and it’s not respectful to me, her mother. You are not entitled to privacy; you haven’t earned it and she is not old enough for carte blanche anything. She’s my daughter; my jewel. {If you have a sister, I’ll protect her just as fiercely- she’s also a jewel, and shall be treated as such.}
  3. Don’t disrespect me. If you don’t respect me, I have no confidence in your ability to respect her. I also watch to see how you treat your mother. 😀
  4. Be a gentleman. If you are going to say you are a gentleman, I expect you to act like one- around her, around me, around her father, around her family.
  5. I don’t care how smitten you are with her right now- common sense applies. I expect you to use it. This means being responsible. This includes, but is not limited to:
    • Not placing either of you in dangerous situations, even to show off for her. 🙂
    • Finding out what her curfew is by asking her parents. If she tells you it’s ok that she stays or is a little late; she is mistaken. It matters, and will reflect poorly on both of you. This point, interestingly, goes a long way towards earning respect. Curfew means up at the house with notice to parents IN PERSON that arrival home has happened{don’t think you are going to get away sending a sibling- they rarely do as asked and it doesn’t count. I want to see YOU}. It doesn’t mean hanging around somewhere on the property, hoping someone noticed you’ve gotten home. Honestly, I don’t care if y’all hang around yakking, so long as it’s not real late and so long as we know she’s back home. {This is where the common sense comes in.}  dad2

We care about you, too, believe it or not. We know you want to impress our daughter; we want you to be safe. Showing you can be safe, responsible, and have some common sense with regard to your personal welfare shows us an inkling of what we expect you’ll do for our daughter.

And know this: I, her mother, am on your side. Really. 😀 I’m the one doing battle with her father to not run you off on sight. I’m the one fighting for both of you to get some time together. If you’re smart, you’ll keep that in mind and not piss me off.

I’m pretty forgiving, as a rule. I know kids {and shoot- *people*} do silly/stupid things. I was there once, too. There are probably only a handful of adults alive today that aren’t surprised that they are, in fact, still alive.

Hunny and I aren’t in that category. Both of us are able to look back and fully realize that it’s really by the grace of God that we’re still here.

We hope- we expect- you to be better than we were. I absolutely don’t buy into the “kids will be kids” baloney. Have fun, but be safe.

But you won’t get to have fun if you don’t follow the rules. 🙂

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There are few things in life that push my buttons and give me warm fuzzy sighs. Chickens, of course, are some of those things.

You may have noticed by now that we’re don’t think much of having unique pets. Lorenzo, our wild bird, is still hanging around outside, although we are doing our best to teach him to hunt for bugs and things.

Ok, I confess, we brought him into the gargage yesterday afternoon when we were barbequing because that’s where his food is, and we wanted to grill without cooking him and he wouldn’t stop landing on people and wouldn’t leave the grill alone.

So. It was for his own safety that we tucked him inside for a while. I’m pretty sure he slept the whole time.

I can’t remember if I referenced it last year or not, but The Bloggess got her husband Beyonce for their 15th anniversary. It, then, should also come as no surprise that I’ve spent the last year keeping my eye out for a local version of Beyonce that can join our girls in the backyard, because I’m nice to them like that. Alas, I haven’t found the right one yet.

I did, however, find a nice, large windmill that I’m still working on Hunny to let me bring home. I need his truck, though, because it won’t fit in mine. So far, he’s not sharing. I suppose I could steal borrow it when he’s sleeping sometime, but that might not work too well since he’s the early bird in our family. Humph.

But I digress.

I was wondering what kind of awesomeness The Bloggess was going to get her husband this year. I was pretty sure that nothing could top Beyonce. I may be wrong. You be the judge.

As you can imagine, I’ve been giggling about this all morning. When Hunny came home for lunch, I couldn’t help but share the news.

He chuckled and said, “I honestly wouldn’t be surprised to come home and find a sloth in the house.”  😆

He also thought the wallaby was cool, too, you know, since we’re enjoying our bantams so much. Miniature critters are awesome!

I’m pretty sure we’re not allowed to have them in the city, which just gives me yet another reason to really try to get my house sold so I can move out to the country. ♥♥♥

P.S. No, you can’t have Hunny, any of you. I know you’re dying to get your hands on a man who wouldn’t think twice about having creatures of all kinds as pets, but sorry girls, he’s taken.

I won’t leave you high and dry, though. To find your own creature-loving man, check out a newer dating site; Farmers Only.com

You’re welcome.   😆

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I’m looking for more.  I need more. I never have enough time to do the things I love to do. So, the only thing I can really do about that is to complain.  😀

The passage of time is something I am acutely aware of. There is something about becoming seriously chronically ill to realign your sense of time, particularly when you have literally no idea about what is around the corner.

As in, will I be healthy enough to do what I want to do, when I want to do it?  How much time will it take?  Will I need a nap? Will I be alive a year or more down the road?  😆

Really.  Seems like “time” is on my mind a lot, and yet I am finding it slipping away in large chunks. My days are flying by. My weeks are flying by. Before I know it, summer will be gone, and I’ll be looking at the necessity of getting organized for schooling again.  Fortunately, my plan is already in place, so I won’t have to spend a lot of time planning, because it’s already been done.

I have noticed that with our intense heat (it’s been 100+ for more than 2 weeks; tomorrow will be 108, and we will finally get some respite supposedly next Tuesday when it hits a much-anticipated low of 98), I am spending a lot more time in the garden watering.  I’ve done another planting, which means keeping the ground moist while things germinate. Seedlings don’t do real well in intense heat, so the continued watering is necessary.

When you are out watering at least 3 to 4 times a day in addition to keeping an eye on chickies, time slips away from you pretty quickly.  That’s why I need more.  I’d be happy with another 2 hours a day.

On second thought, I am not sure 2 hours more a day would really cut it.  Hum. Maybe I should get rid of the clock completely……  😆

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Mojo


I’m looking for this, too.

Did you ever feel just lost?  Not like you don’t know your place in the world lost.  But lost.  Like, somewhere along the way, while you were merrily progressing on schedule with the plan you had made for your life, you woke up at some point and just didn’t feel it any more?  That kind of lost.

I keep trying things- crafts, hobbies, challenging myself to do new “stuff,” and I just don’t feel it.  I have a sense of “whatever” <shrugs>.  And, lest you think I need a shrink, I’m pretty good at playing one at home.  🙂  Maybe I missed my calling- and I’ve thought about that, too.  But you know what?  I don’t care. 

Herein, it seems, lies the crux of the issue.  I spent a long time- nearly three quarters of a decade- caring deeply and strongly; having a passion for my work and the help it gave to others.  And I was *good* at my work.  I helped a lot of people.  I know I made a tangible difference in some of their lives.  I was “on call” most of the time; staying up into the late hours of the night helping people I would never meet in person.  I answered panicked calls after my kids my had been soundly sleeping for hours- and waking my husband, who found another reason for the work to annoy him .

While we knew it was probably coming, the day it came left me with an excited and relieved feeling.  Relieved that because I knew the home conflict it had caused all those years would finally be coming to an end, since I couldn’t walk away on my own- not when it had been a large part of my identity my entire life.  Excited about the possibilities in a life that didn’t revolve around it.

So blah blah blah, right?  Move on with living already!  Well, I am, of course.  Life moves on, and we all keep on keepin’ on.  But in this “new” life, I am finding that my “give a damn is busted.”<thank you Jo Dee Messina>  I’m finding I lack the ability to feel like I care about really anything deeply any more. 

There is logic to what I know I feel- I love my kids, my husband, my pets; I love camping (and really, would have gone completely and utterly insane by now without that escape)- yada yada yada, but I don’t have depth of feeling.  Sure, I can cry during a movie with the best of them because I feel the emotion generated, and I can generate plenty of my own tears.

But past that- I don’t feel like I *really* feel.  I do my new work with the sastisfaction of the dollar coming in.  I enjoy my work environment overall. It’s something completely different, with a different kind of stress, which I have to say, I don’t enjoy. Most of the work is fine; not unpleasant. I do it because, like everyone else, it’s a job.

Did I live my life with such intensity of emotion all that time that now I don’t feel like I’m “feeling” without that same level of ________? Has chronic illness (or the medication :)) switched me to the point where I fell it’s all really just pointless?

Am I just lost?

Am I totally mental?  😀

I try to have faith that one day, I will wake up, feeling refreshed, feeling like I have a genuine purpose and passion again for doing things.  I try to have faith that I’ll find my mojo, although much of the time I wonder if I ever actually had it to begin with.

So if you see my mojo, send it my way, will you?  In the meantime, I’ll be marking time and listening to the……………

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Serenity. I’m looking for it. Any idea where I can find it?

I’ve been plagued with thoughts. My brain seems to be on  overload – thinking thinking thinking thinking all the time. Are those words stuck in my head? Will getting them out help me find the elusive serenity?

I don’t know. I have no idea. I’m not sure I can sustain the pace of writing regularly maybe it will be cathartic. I don’t know.

Let’s give it a try and see what happens.

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