Redneck Notices and Ducks

So apparently my neighbors have had enough with the ducks at our house not staying in the neat little rows that they think we should comply with, so we got a visit from the county who left us a notice to get our ducks in the proper rows. I have always called these redneck notices, mostly because of the stereotype that people have of what a rednecks house would look like. In other words cars and and other stuff that respectable people don't have in their driveways, on their porches and in the front yard, of course in our case it really is more of a, you have too many teenagish boys living in and visiting your house kind of notice. You are allowed to have only one unlicensed vehicle in your driveway, we have three, you may not store water barrels in the front of your home and you may not have anything on your porch beyond something to sit on and maybe some yard appropriate decorations. I have all kinds of  stuff on my porch, shoes, swimming stuff from summer, sleds, toys from my grandson, a Christmas tree stand, oh and the only approved thing, an outdoor bench. So we have until leap day to get our ducks properly in line so we are now trying to get all those ducks to clean up and make us respectable.

I also got another kind of redneck notice this week, we have the three dogs as I have mentioned before, and the Escape Artist decided that she needed an adventure and took the Hoarder and Snort along, more ducks not in their row, staying properly behind the fence, so we got a visit from animal control, and redneck notice number two. I take good care of my dogs, they get all their vaccinations, they are microchippped, they are loved, and fed and spoiled, but they are not licensed, it's just one of those things you think about occasionally and then forget. That works until, well, until the county gets a call from the neighbors saying your dogs got out, again, and then they show up at your door with your ashamed looking dogs in tow and that tell tale piece of paper. So now I am busy trying to force all the ducks in line before the 29th of February so that the redneck notices can go away.

The problem is the ducks never stay in line, just when I think I have them going the same direction, one of them decides that it has a mind of its own and it goes a different direction, so I spend all my time chasing ducks.  I want order and I get the chaos called life. Every so often Horatio reminds me that they aren't my damn ducks, picks me up and sets me on my feet and off I go still trying to keep the ducks in line.

Enough for Now

Boo Helps Decorate theTree

I was over at Horatio and Nises' home with my grandson Boo and they had not yet got their tree up, not from lack of trying, one tree had been up for a brief ten or so minutes before their Rottweiler(named Meat, fierce name for a marshmallow) managed to break it. Nise was headed out the door to work in the wonderful world of retail shopping at Christmas time and so Horatio had orders to get a different tree and get it up or else the spirit of his wife's anger was going to visit him. Apparently this threat works at their house, Nise must have a better mad face than I do, so Horatio promptly got the tree up from the basement storage and plopped the box in the front room of their house. Nise left for work satisfied that the tree would be taken care of.

Boo who had been playing around the house was impatiently waiting for something to happen, Horatio didn't seem to be in a hurry to get going and so with my three year old helper in tow I began to put the tree together. While I was sorting the branches into the correct piles, Boo was happily rearranging the branches behind me so that what we ended up with was chaos. Horatio finally took pity on me and came out and between the two of us we got the tree up and all the branches into their proper place. While they had perfectly good ornaments and Boo had already starting decorating the tree, Horatio decided they needed a new "theme" and decided we needed to go to the local Walmart to purchase decorations. We took my car since I have the car seat and away we went.

Boo is very three, he wants to do everything his way and only his way, he refuses to sit in the grocery cart, and wants to touch, EVERYTHING. So imagine my surprise when Horatio placed him in the cart, I expected objections, there were none, Boo sat happily as long as Horatio pushed the cart, up one aisle and down the next and there he sat, not pulling stuff into the cart, not kicking the cart just to make noise, not trying to climb out, just sitting and chatting to Horatio in secret boy language. I was stunned.

Everything was going so well, Horatio had decided on his theme, blue and silver and Boo was busy pointing out all the ornaments, we were making record time. That was when I spotted the tree skirts, and decided that the theme required a beautiful silver, glittered skirt to finish it off, I proudly took it over to place in the cart and that is when things started to change. You knew it couldn't last.

"What's that", asked Boo, "A tree skirt. It goes under the tree" I replied. Promptly Boo disagreed, "NO its not! Its my dress". I learned a long time ago that you can't win an argument with a three year old and that sometimes it isn't worth it to try, so I agreed it was indeed his dress and we would put it on when we got back to the house.

Once back to the house Boo insisted that we find his dress and so we put it on and he danced happily around playing in his dress until we had the tree decorated. "Okay Boo, time to put the dress on the tree", said I, hoping beyond hope a battle wasn't brewing. I was wrong of course, I had to pry it off his shoulders to place it around the tree and three year olds have long memories, for weeks he asked where it went. I finally bought him two "dresses" of his own. He loves them but he still wants his dress back, the shiny silver twirly cape we placed under the tree.

But I Had a Flu Shot-Or The Martyr

So I have had flu shots nearly every year since I became a nurse, while I have had other viruses, I have never had the flu in any year I had a flu shot, until now. I like to believe I am one tough cookie, after all I have given birth to six children without medication, I usually have the dentist do drill work without numbing me and I am a mother.
So imagine my surprise when I get sick and it turns me into a shaking, weak, baby who could barely get herself to the bathroom, to say I was feeling sorry for myself is too mild. I am nearly 45 years old and I wanted my MOM, not that that was realistic, but I wanted someone to take care of me. That wasn't going to happen either, but the boys pitched in to take care of my grandson who we are raising so he got to preschool, my house on the other hand looks as though a tornado ran through it. I whined a bit to my friend, who told me to go to bed, the house was still going to be dirty when I felt better, that's what I was afraid of.
By Saturday I knew that I couldn't go to work, every time I got up I looked like a newborn giraffe trying to take its first steps, I knew I needed to go to the doctor but couldn't drive myself, and there just wasn't anyone in my household who was available to take me. Lee was running the snack bar at the local high school our children attend, and the others were in various places and at 14 my youngest son Morgan obviously doesn't drive. We have some very good friends, Nise and Horatio and since Nise was at work Horatio took pity on me and drove me to the clinic, Morgan agreed to watch his nephew and off we went.
It took the doctor less than five minutes to give a diagnosis, influenza, I told him it wasn't possible, I'd had a flu shot, he laughed, the flu shot isn't perfect, while it can't give you the flu, you can still sometimes catch the virus anyway, lucky me. I was so dehydrated he offered to have the clinic start an IV on me but I have this extreme resistance to having anyone be inconvenienced by me, even if I did want to be taken care o,f so I stoically(I can be such a martyr) turned him down. He prescribed an anti nausea medication, bed rest, and lots and lots of fluids, gave me a note for work saying I was not to work for the next five days, and sent me on my way.
Horatio asked if I wanted to go to his house, I turned him down(reluctantly), he has enough of his own responsibilities, and there is the whole I'm a big girl, I'll just put on my big girl panties and deal with it(can you say martyr)thing. So after taking me to get a few groceries, I wanted ramen and diet soda, he dropped me off at home admonishing me to take care of myself. Well what good martyr does that? As soon as I came in the door Morgan disappeared to a friends and no one else was home, the house hadn't magically cleaned itself and in fact I swear the dishes had had babies while I was gone.

I made ramen for me and Boo wanted a ham sandwich, while the ramen was cooking I started cleaning, feeling picked on of course because I was in martyr mode. Nise had pointed out one time that I sounded a bit like Eeyore, then she had her turn, so I decided that we needed an Eeyore so now I have a stuffed one in my car so that I remember that it is okay to be a bit melancholy but once in a while it gets to be wearing to be Eeyore if you take it too far. So I did something unusual, I stopped cleaning, took Boo and our food and went in and just rested, I didn't get on my computer, I didn't clean anything, I just watched sponge bob and let all the dishes keep multiplying in the sink.

You know what? The world didn't end, the house certainly didn't get clean, but the men in my life managed to make sure it didn't end up featured on the messiest house show.

I'm better now, still not quite up to speed, I'm back at work and when I find myself slipping into Eeyore mode I try to remember, the world isn't going to end if the kitchen isn't cleaned my way. I still would like someone to take care of me but I don't need to be a martyr about it.

Enough for now.

Introductions

I am going to tell a little about myself, those who know me may recognize me in these words but that is not why I am writing, this is my alter ego my true self.

 I was born in the great state of Utah with all that entails, I am a descendant of the pioneers, those incredibly hardy souls who came into the valley and laid down firm foundation in their homes and in their religion. I am a Mormon, I was raised not to question God too much, all things are for our good, we are never given more than we can handle, He has a purpose for all things, and with enough faith I would have all I ever needed,but maybe not what I wanted.

 I am the youngest of seven children, all of us living and all with children of our own. We were raised in a home our parents built with their own hands, every shovel of dirt, every brick and shingle, placed in the perfection that only my father could imagine. I didn't doubt my parents loved me, I was oblivious to the abusive nature of our father's interactions with us, I just knew that when he got mad it didn't do to be too close since often it meant the belt for whoever was unlucky enough to be in range. I rarely was the target I was a softhearted child and cried if I thought someone was mad at me so crying or hiding kept me safe.

Being softhearted had its drawbacks, while I was safe at home I was forever a target once I left the front door of my home. I was teased and bullied by many of the area kids, this lasted throughout my childhood and adolescence. I wasn't without friends, I had some very good friends, but it was rough when there were so few kids my age in the area and most viewed me as entertainment.

 I suppose my growing up was much the same as any other child, we weren't rich but I never went without, I both loved and loathed my siblings, I went to church, and was as sheltered as my parents and location could keep me. Sometimes being sheltered and softhearted leaves you vulnerable and predators pray on those who they know can be manipulated, I was such a child and evil has a way of finding you.