An "it's been a while since I posted let me catch ya'll up" list

So Charlie's almost 4 and still pooping in his pants.  I told him today, "No birthday bud.  You can't have a 4th birthday party to celebrate that you're a big boy if you're still pooping in your pants. No presents.  No cake.  No Grandpa and Grandma.  (He has no idea come hell or high water his Grandma will do whatever she dern well pleases where Charlie and his birthday are concerned and I'm keeping that fact to myself but I'm sure one of his know-it-all siblings will whisper it to him in the dark when I'm not around.)  Note to self: stop teaching the children to speak and then read and write.  It's way to liberating for them.  And it connects them with the grandparents who are in complete support of their scheme to overthrow the government that is mom and dad.  I'm pretty sure my father makes monetary donations to my children and their revolutionary uprisings....last night in the form of ice cream at the Dairy Maid.  Arghh.  First he enthusiastically suggests we all go to the Dairy Maid after church.  Then he buys them whatever they want.  Then they take a bath in it.  Then he gets in his Cadillac and drives away as my kids begin the, "Heck no I'm not tired and ready to go to bed because I'm all hopped up on sugar and that shower you're going to have to give me to get all of this gooey stuff off of me before you put me to bed is REALLY going to awaken my sense of life so I could be up for HOURS and HOURS" routine.

So....like I said....Charlie is still pooping in his drawers.  On to the next thing on my random list.  My father - in - law brought home a Jersey milk cow on Saturday morning and promptly put her in my (former) garden lot to the west of the house.  And he tied the baby calf to the other side of the fence in my front yard.  Well, this delighted my children to no end.  I overhead this conversation, "It is a BOY sissy, because he is wearing a bue tollar", says Charlie.  Big sister, the authority on EVERYTHING IN CHARLIE'S WORLD responds, "Did you see the eyelashes on that calf?  That is totally a girl calf!"  Um, yeah, O.K. 

In other news....that house we started building back in 2007 or 8...well, we're down to mudding the sheetrock.  What was that?  I think I heard my blog friends (both of them) cheering us on.  Thank you so much.  We need all the encouragement we can get. 

Jimmy Dean sausage is really, really fatty.  The country sausage especially.  It sure does fry good taters though.  Just not used to buying sausage from the store maybe.  It must be time to butcher a hog. 

Speaking of dead critters.  Mr. Luke put all of the 6 week old kittens in the cooler last night thinking he was saving them from the pesky coon hound pup that has been trying to eat them for breakfast, lunch, dinner and midnight snack.  Lesson learned the hard way: you suffocate if you get in a cooler and close the lid.  And so do kittens.  One of the kittens apparently had not been attacked by the pup as many of the others and had more of his or hers "9 lives" to spare.  If the kittens had a reality show called Survivor he'd be the winner.  (Not for long on this farm, buster.)  My mom calls this the "farm of death".  I can't debate, argue or even raise my eyebrows in shock at the suggestion.  We could employ a small animal vet.  Luckily, everything larger than a bottle calf seems to be immune.  Thankfully the horse and pony live at the other farm.  I just heard the pony take a deep sigh of relief.

It's 10:21 pm.  It's time to eat the breakfast skillet I've prepared.  We're weird.  We know.  But we're cool with that.

Later gators
The Pipeliner's Wife