Stress...and gravy

Do you ever just get plum stressed out?  I mean really good and frazzled?  Does God ever just look at you and say, "Well, it's time.  I'm gonna let it all (well, not all) rip so that they just throw their hands in the air (or fall face down in the hound dog poop) and surrender."  Yeah.  That's pretty much where we're at.  It might get worse from here but I'm thinking if we'd just go roll around in the yard a little bit (cat, dog, cow poop and all...Clint stepped on that one left - over chicken's neck so no chicken) and laugh and hoop and holler it up like none of it really matters then it wouldn't have to get worse from here.  But we're pretty stubborn.  Anywhoo.  Between the family...no need to specify what or which family...when you get married before your really legal and then live smack in the middle of everyone you're closely related to there is no such thing as in - laws.  It's just family.  Back to the point.  We've got family.  We've got family stress.  We're building a house.  We're living in an old house that really you just have to laugh out loud about.  Go ahead.  I'll wait.  Finished?  If you haven't seen it then just think about the house that George Bailey moves his bride into in, "It's A Wonderful Life".  I'll wait while you laugh some more.  Now imagine that it's owned by family.  So.....after an afternoon/evening of helping Boss Hog measure walls in the new house for sheet rock my body is really in a state of ickiness.  We have mold.  All over the ceiling.  So he's been spraying it with bleach water.  By the time eenie, meanie, miney and moe and I show up the air is downright eye-burning, lung - smacking toxic.  (Shh.  Don't tell Grandma.)  So like a good mama I start opening windows.  All three of them.  And swinging the door.  Which brings this question to mind....Can anyone tell me WHAT IS UP with the 40 degree, 30 mile an hour winds and driving rain/thunderstorm in May?!??!?!?  So I had to close the door because the house, without any ductwork, got a tad chilly.  And then we came home to the termite mansion...thankfully those little critters seem to have re-entered their dungeon...I doubt I'll ever blog about that...YUCK....and we're out of propane.  So there's no heat.  And we're trying to build a house.  And are unemployed.  And we. are. not. going. to. buy. propane. on. May. 11th.  Did I mention we are stubborn people?  So after this deliciously stressful couple of weeks (years) we've had Moe decides to experiment with my razor in the shower.  Not sure how he got it down.  It's all the bananas.  He's part monkey.  Last week it was Meanie and the pocket knife.  Needless to say, we've used a lot of what Boss Hog calls "liquid fire" (peroxide) and band aids this week.  I finally gave up on the day and sat down to peruse a website that several of my girlfriends have bugged me about for months, "The Pioneer Woman".  So I'm perusing and laughing and showing Boss Hog hilarious pictures and captions and then I get started on this saga the woman has typed out of her entire courtship with her man entitled, "Black Heels to Tractor Wheels".  Now, it's 4 hours later (I am SOOOO not kidding) and some hot tea later and the story is still not over and the couple has still not said "I do" and homeschool is going to come SOOOOO early in the morning but I just have to see how this thing ends up.  I mean, obviously she's the famous Pioneer Woman that apparently has a movie deal in the makings concerning this very story and Oscar winner Reese Witherspoon is reportedly signed on to play the lead role....I'm typing so fast I'm getting dizzy....so I know she marries her infamous "Marlboro Man".  Let me just stop right here and say this fella ain't got nothin on Boss Hog.  Sigh.  So I know how it ends up but I'm hooked on the details because sometimes you just really have to let go and read something, well, that doesn't make you think at all.  About sheet rock.  Or moving your entire family to another state for an undesignated amount of time to build a pipeline.  While your other house is being built back home.  And your old house is being eaten alive by termites.  So, "What about the gravy in the title of this post?" you say?  Well, in the middle of the 3rd hour of my "Black Heels to Tractor Wheels" drama The Pioneer Woman and the Marlboro Man end up in an Episcopalian Priest's office for premarital counseling and the priest asks them this question:

“What are you both going to do, longterm, 

to nurture each other’s creativity?”

I didn’t have an answer for him there. 

But deep down, 

I knew that somehow, 

gravy would come into play. 

And there you have it folks.  14 years, 16 moves, 4 children between anniversaries 5 and 10, a highly creative (code for crazy and eccentric) classically trained pianist and her pipeline welding (code for not crazy or eccentric and quite possibly boring if you expect him to speak more than 'please pass the gravy' during dinner) hoss of a husband nurture each other's creativity quite often with....gravy.  

Did I mention it's been stressful around here?  I think maybe I'll thaw out some sausage before I go to bed. Gotta have fat for the gravy.   Does it mean your kids are going to be weird if they will even dip a hot dog in gravy?  Or just their index finger?  The cats never get any gravy around here.  

Alright...I'm headed back over to Pioneer Woman to see how this thing ends up.  I may go ahead and start frying the sausage for the morning.  Looks like I'm gonna be up late. :-)