Today we went to the big city. Farm Chick and I carpooled to Louisville to do a couple things with the kids and go shopping. While Farm Chick was busy running an errand, I took Ray-Ray and Farm Chick’s daughter, Toots, to the mall.
Off to Old Navy we go ’cause I need some new shorts to fit my new big ass. While I am hurriedly scoping the place out, the girls are running around the store like a cat on crack. They are jumping and hugging and laughing…having a grand old time.
All at once, I hear them go into hysterics and hear Toots say “You broke her arm!”
I look up and see that Ray-Ray is carrying around the mannequin’s arm. At first, I want to laugh…cause there stands Ray-Ray stunned…her eyes big as saucers… holding a mannequin arm. My second instinct is to run…maybe if I go to the other side of the store no one will know they are with me.
But, I decided to do the correct mommy thing and be embarrassed and seek sympathetic looks from all the other mothers. I got a few kind eyes…but most of them were “holier than thou” and acted like they had never experienced such bad behavior.
To all THOSE woman out there….I just have one thing to say…I hope you get dysentery.

I have driven an SUV for several years. I love ‘em. I feel safe on the road. If anyone gets in my way, I can just run over them.
I know they are horrible for the environment and my carbon footprint is huge. However,I like being able to go to Wal-mart and buy stuff knowing I can get it home. When you have a small car, you can’t just go somewhere and buy a huge flat screen TV.
Now that gas is $4.15 a gallon…I’ve had to do some sacrificing…cause I can’t afford to fill up the Rover tank every third day at $85.
We have purchased a ’96 Honda Accord and I am already loving it. Filled it up for the first time for $50. I think I should get 30 to 35 MPG. Much better than the 15 I get on the Rover.
Less gas money spent means more play money for me…and I’m all about play money.
So for now and maybe forever, the Rover will be sitting still…unless I need to go somewhere for a big flat screen.

Yes people…it’s time for the county fair. The summer redneck social event. I love the county fair. Ever since I moved to this small town as a youngster, it’s always been so much fun going to the fair. Carnival rides…junk food…spending $50 throwing darts at balloons to win a Hannah Montana poster.
Our fair has it all…tractor pulls, cattle judging, mud sling, beauty contests (but who needs those when you have your own tiara?), kids day, and the ever famous pig catchin’ contest.
Yes, you heard me right…a pig catchin’ contest. My friend, Hot Momma, has won twice. It started out one year as a joke. We all pooled our money together betting her that she couldn’t take down that pig. Little did we know after chasing three kids, the woman could take down anything. The second year, the local Cattleman’s association (which sponser’s the event) had a nifty little trophy made for her with a big pig on top.
That my friends is what I look forward to most of all at the local fair. Hot momma catching the pig. This year she says she’s not gonna do it….but I think if the right bet comes along, she’ll be game. If she prevails again this year,and I’m sure she will, I promise pictures.

My daughter took this picture of me feeding my face with chocolate cake. She then says to me, “Aren’t you on a diet?”
She doesn’t understand that I brought her into this world…carried her in my womb for 9 long months…labored many hours and gave birth to her? Gave up my slender thighs and taut belly? All this to raise her to remind me that chocolate cake is not on my diet. What did I do wrong?

This rainbow is a little symbolic of my mood tonight. The storm has been brewing. It’s thundered and showered…then comes the beautiful rainbow. A new beginning.
Do you ever just get pissy? (Yeah, I know Big Pissy stays that way! LOL) Are you ever in a fine mood…then the least little thing just makes you pissy? I do this from time to time (my husband may say at least 10 or 12 times a day….but who’s asking him?). I don’t know why I do this. There’s no logical explanation for it. Could it be hormones? Stress? Just because I want to?
Well, tonight I just decided to get pissy for a few minutes…to get mad for no particular sane reason. My husband made the bad mistake of asking me what’s wrong. I said, “Nothing.”
At this point, he should have just let me be…but because he loves me no matter what…he kept pushing. So, I told him the absolutely ridiculous reason why I was pissy. He looked at me like I had lost my mind and I felt stupid and ashamed. He is a good man to put up with me.
By now he should know that sometimes I’m a little insane. He knew this when he married me because we discussed it often. My mother even tried to warn him….”Sometimes she is just hard to live with.” But he loved me and still does….mood swings and all.
So, the storm has passed and the rainbow is bright…enjoy it while you can honey!

Remember when your mother warned you never to take candy from a stranger?
THIS is who she was talking about!

Am I the only mother in America that has kids that can’t stay clean? I swear, I get them all nice and clean…put on cute outfits…and before we can leave the house, they are filthy.
I have friends whose kids NEVER get dirty. They always look like they came out of the Pottery Barn catalog. Their hair is always neat and coiffed in their ponytails…their white outfits are always spotless…even in the middle of a mud sling. How do they do that? Do they threaten them with bodily harm if they get dirty? Are they just allergic to mud?
I swear my kids could get dirty in a sterile room.
By the time they are grown, I will need a 12 step program for my “Spray and Wash” habit.

I love this tree. It is the most perfect maple tree in the world. My husband tells me that his grandparents planted this tree when they built the house we live in…somewhere in the late 40′s to early 50′s.
When I think about this tree and the history and memories…I can’t help but smile. I think of all the warm summer evenings his grandparents sat on the front porch and waved to neighbors as they passed by. I think of all the afternoons my husband, as a child, climbed this tree playing imaginary games.
I think of all the afternoons my oldest daughter has played here in the mud after a cool spring shower.
I think of the impromptu picture that was taken after our wedding as we walked down to the tree with Rachel in between us.
I think of someday Ella getting married here at our home and having the same picture made with that tree.
I know it’s silly to be attached to a tree…but I hope it’s here as long as I am.

I am from pink depression glass, Bell Bakery doughnuts and the St. Marks United Methodist cookbook.
I am from the house on four acres with motorcycle and go-kart trails.
I am from honeysuckles, praying mantis and grapevine swings.
I am from birthday cakes for Jesus on Christmas day and “Are you savvy?”, from Great Granny Ella and her tin can snuff and Ann and Tootie & Chris.
I am from the short tempered and stubborn and the meek and mild.
From “Don’t talk to your momma that way!” and “Do you have ants in your pants?”
I am from vacation bible school and John 3:16 and Sunday potluck dinners.
I am from John Prine’s “Take Me Back To Muhlenberg County” and Peabody’s coal and River Queen and Paradise.
I am from Granny’s turkey and dressing and pear honey perserves and ham and cheese sandwiches served in pie tins.
I am from Vietnam draft cards, the USS Pope and foreward observers and tunnel rats, from bouffant hair and marrying young and Winnebagos.
I am from Myrtle Beach camping trips, swimming trunks with cowboy boots and waterslides.
I am from photo albums with tissue paper, folded American flags, and shadowboxes of war medals, worn bibles, homemade quilts and love.

Oh, what a walk down memory lane. I read one of these poems on a new blog I’ve been checking out (www.blindpigandtheacorn.com). What a wonderful find.
Everyone should try this. It’s amazing how your mind finds those great childhood memories.

I know what you’re thinking… What kind of hicks are these people? I swear, until this week, I have never, ever been this close to a skunk or a possum before.
The correct term is opossum…but around here they’re just possums. You know, like the Beverly Hillbillies used to eat… “Granny’s vittles.”
My husband’s business associate had a problem with possums tearing up his garden so he decided to catch ‘em with a live trap. (Don’t call PETA…no one was injured.)
Here’s one of the culprits having a hot dog bun for a snack. He was taken to a location far away and released to go find another garden to destroy.
I will try not to have any more animal postings.