Livin’ Life On The Lamb

M I L K

Milk. That’s the word of the day. Gila Man has said it about 600 times in the past 2 days because I forgot to buy it and then WE forgot to buy it and we had to tell Mr. B that we were out of milk.

M I L K

Except that Gila Man doesn’t say “milk”. He says “melk”. Like “melt” but with a “k” on the end. It’s ok that he ldrinks out of the carton, that he puts the dishes in the sink without rinsing them, that he wears his clothes for DAYS on end before he feels that those clothes have earned a spot in the dirty clothes hamper. Actually, these things bug me too, though I can deal with them. I do deal with them. But the “melk” thing, man, that’s just going TOO far!

Just thought I’d vent a little. Thanks.

Here are the belated pics from the fair.

Or something like that. That what Templeton the Rat sang on the first Charlotte’s Web. Since Gila Man has Sunday and Monday off, we were trying to plan a fun (and cheap) family activity that we could do. Now the zoo is always a given, you never have to ask us twice to head up to the big city and visit the zoo. But I happened to go online and find out the dates of our (semi) local fair. Monday was family day - $2.00 parking, $2.00 admission, and Mr. B was FREE! WE LOVE THE FAIR! The sights, the smells, the shows, the rides, and of course, the food!

Something about going to the fair makes me happy. Silly, I know. But I remember going to the fair as a kid and participating in what seemed like EVERY event in the livestock barn. Growing up, we had a small farm since I was born. Um, not that me being born meant that my parents suddenly had a farm…but one of my earliest memories is looking out the sliding glass door in the back of our little home and seeing (what seemed to me) thousands of little fluffy chicks. My dad went to go buy a few and ended up filling his hatchback Honda Civic with flats and flats of chicks.

When I grew older, nothing changed; I remember all the work we had to put in to get all of our animals ready for the show. You could always tell which kids waited until a week before the fair to put a collar on their animals. There was walking and brushing and trimming and putting on the coats so they don’t get sick because we just chopped off all their hair and making sure that everyone was ready to go.

Then we would pack up the travel trailer with everything a family of five could live on for 3 or 4 days, pack up the horse trailer with all the critters (mostly goats, we did chickens, rabbits, pigs, and sheep at the local fairs), and head to the BIG CITY! Once we were there, we would, of course, have to unpack everything and everyone and get the critters ready to show.

I remember going into the pens where the goats were kept and just hanging out because it was incredible to see the looks on the city folk’s and the little kids faces when they saw a goat for the first time. It was soooo cool to actually have someone ask ME a question about the animals and be able to answer them and be right!

I remember that the nights in the travel trailer were unbearably freezing and the days incredibly hot.

I remember that the food we packed was never quite as scrumptious as that greasy, nasty, overpriced food at the fair was.

I remember helping to milk the goats after the show and squirting the warm, creamy milk directly into my mouth (much to the shock or delight of the city folk).

I also remember snacking on the goat grain in between meals. Really. The corn was yummy!

I remember running off as soon as my brother and I could so we could check out the runway and covet the dorky stuffed animals hanging everywhere.

I rememeber the amazing feeling of pride as we drove home from the fair - dirty, smelly, tired and just plain wore out - but with a stack of ribbons to rival just about anybody…most of them blue!

So, I get a little nostalgic when I go back to the fair that I spent so much time at as a child. There’s also something really, really, cool about bringing my child there to build memories as well. Not the same kind, certainly the more carefree-I-don’t-care-what-time-the-goats-have-to-be-ringside-for-the-yearling-class, but he sure did want to put those baby goats in the stroller to take them home “so they won’t be lonely”, he said. I guess we are all still building memories, though they might be a little different…here’s an example…Gila Man wants this to be this year’s family photo…what do you think?

Yep, that’s right. Rice Crispy Treats are my very, VERY favorite dessert. I know it’s silly and even ridiculous next to all the tasty desserts that are out there, but it’s these tried and true treats that are my fav.

I love them so much that I even attempted to make them WITHOUT PAM. You know, the cooking spray that keeps things from sticking to the pot? I buy mine at Costco, but the last time I made a Costco run I was in such a hurry that I forgot to pick up the 8-can case (ok, it’s a three can case, but they are huge cans and they last us forever).

Without Pam, I feel lost. It’s a pain to make spaghetti, or soup, or eggs, or chicken or ANYTHING!! But I was feeling desperate. I’m at the end of my pack of pills, I’ve switched medications, my husband was playing with Mr. B in the garage, and I knew it was now or never. So I rushed around the kitchen gathering marshmallows, butter, Rice Crispies, and a pot. In went the butter, then went the marshmallows. I stirred and stirred and stirred, but the marshmellows still stuck to the bottom. Slowly, at first, but then more and more and more started to stick. I started to scrape. Stick and scrape, stick and scrape. I just wanted the marshmallows to melt so I could mix them with the crunchy crispies and eat them, for cryin’ out loud!! Stick and scrape, stick and scrape.

As the stench of scorched marshmellows wafted through our little home, Hele came in to find me frantically trying to mix the few cups of marshmallows that were’nt burnt with the little bit of crispies that could be mixed in.

Hovering over the gooey concoction, I looked at him and said, “Hey, these are MINE!”

“No problem!” he replied, “Doesn’t smell like anything I’d wanna eat anyway.”

So I ate the three or four bites of what I could salvage, but for some reason, when there’s nobody there to compete with, it kinda takes all the glory out of the triumph.

Well, I’m FINALLY back from doing all that it is that I do around here. I, uh, can’t go into detail or anything, because I haven’t got the time. Because I’m so busy doing what I’m doing, ya know. Ahem…anyway, I’m back and I know that all my adoring fans have missed our friendly little visits. :0)

Our little family has been crazy busy with weddings, family, and doctor’s appointments lately, so I’m sorry about the delay. Helaman is finally home, though, and it’s nice to have him around to help with all the things that I really don’t want to do - like take out the trash and pick up dog poop. But it’s also nice to sleep next to him again and talk to him again, and laugh with him again, and argue with him again, and eat with him again. All those important things. Speaking of talking with each other, we DID have to have a little talk about something quite serious….

Fluff is gone. I know, I know. It’s hard to believe that the mangy sweet little cotton-pickin-biting-bird dear is gone. Squeak was the first to go - he thought he was all smart and could get out of his cage whenever he wanted, whether the cats were around or not. And I guess they were around last week.

Then we went outside yesterday and found that the lid of Fluff’s cage had been taken off and that he was gone. The tell-tale blue feathers in the front yard were the only explanation we needed to know that Fluff was no longer a part of this world. Now were are parakeetless people, pondering the meaning of life (and how we are going to tell Noah).

I told Noah first, telling him that Fluff went to go see Squeak up in Heaven and live with Heavenly Father from now on. Noah said that he would miss Fluff and that he was sad that Fluff wasn’t around anymore, but he also knew Heavenly Father would take good care of his birdies. It was really sweet. But the next day, unknown to me, Daddy told him what REALLY happened to little Fluff. When I went outside that morning, there were Noah, Daddy, and Bobby, the cat sitting on the front porch, playing with some tools.
“Momma,” Noah said, “is Heaven in Bobby’s tummy?”
“No, sweetheart! That’s silly! Why would Heaven be in Bobby’s tummy?” I replied.
“Cuz you said Fluff went to Heaven, and Daddy said that Fluff is in Bobby’s tummy. I didn’t know that Bobby could get WAAAY up to Heaven!”

Good grief! We’ve got to get our defences together - against our 3-year-old!

I have recieved a few questions about living on the border and how life has changed for us out here. I have decided that I will fill you in on how things are down here and how Livin on the Lamb has a little different twist when you take in all the surroundings. Let’s start with the men that have to work so hard to keep us safe out here…

What is a Border Patrol Agent?

A Border Patrol Agent is a different breed. In spite of all the efforts to group them in with other Law Enforcement types, they remain fiercely independent and proudly non-conformist.

A Border Patrol Agent knows what it’s like to pull a tire drag when it’s so hot his vehicle’s A/C has to be turned off to keep it from overheating.

A Border Patrol Agent knows how it feels to be caught in an early spring rain storm and be soaked to the bone miles from the nearest shelter.

A Border Patrol Agent knows what it’s like to stand in traffic and icy wind when the only way he knows his flashlight is still clenched in his numb hand is by the beam it casts.

A Border Patrol Agent has stayed a couple of hours to catch just one more group, only to wind up with Poles, Chinese or Bangladeshis, so the two hours becomes ten. . . and he’ll do it again the next day if needed.

A Border Patrol Agent has sat down to drink coffee with DEA, FBI, ATF or Secret Service Agents who get paid more for doing less.

A Border Patrol Agent has been yelled at, spit at and shot at, and would prefer the latter.

A Border Patrol Agent on alternate nights has been bored to tears and scared to death.

A Border Patrol Agent has caught mules running way from hundreds of pounds of dope, only to have prosecution declined.

A Border Patrol Agent carries a little more around the middle than he would like and wears boots he intended to shine but didn’t because he knows they’ll look the same a couple of hours later.

A Border Patrol Agent has had his flashlight run out, get separated from his partner, lose radio contact, forget where he parked the vehicle, and still caught the group and managed to get home safe.

A Border Patrol Agent has seen many friends and classmates transfer out to other stations and agencies. . . only to see many of them return because they can’t stand the work, or the lack of it.

A Border Patrol Agent complains about every new policy that comes down, but somehow finds a way to continue to get the job done.

A Border Patrol Agent gets blamed for catching too few by the locals and too many by big business.

A Border Patrol Agent knows that being too hot or too cold or too thirsty or too tired are just part of the job.

A Border Patrol Agent knows what it’s like to work at a station where priorities and advancements are low and a GS-11 looks years down the road, while his classmate who was dumb as a rock just got Supervisor at a high profile station.

A Border Patrol Agent begins his training in the field. Anyone who thinks that a 97 in Academy Law makes an Agent misses the point altogether.

This is how it really is for these men and women out here. They deserve our respect just like any other person serving our country to protect us. I just thought I would share.

Alright, you remember the first one of these “rantings” from me…the one about what happens before men go to bed and what happens before women go to bed. Didn’t read it? Find it here. Well, I got in a little trouble about that blog because my husband really does help out around here, I was just a little “perturbed” that he gave me a hard time when I finally got to go to bed.

Ahem…so this post is going to be a little bit more about the simple differences between men and women WHEN PACKING FOR A TRIP.

Sooooo, Helaman leaves for Brazil on Wednesday. This Wednesday, REALLY! And he is totally, completely excited about it. I mean, if I have to hear the words, “When I go to Brazil, I’m gonna (fill in the blank).”, I’m gonna rip his lips off!! Ok, maybe not. I’m just a little jealous that he gets to go on a tropical vacation without me. Which is fine because as hard as Helaman works at work and around here in our new home, he MORE than deserves a break. He has needed a break for about 2 years now, and it’s finally coming to him, YEAH! So, I was talking about…Oh ya, the packing part.

As Helaman is preparing for his trip (where is he going, oh yeah, BRAZIL), today he said, “I guess I’ll have to go after work tomorrow and pick up a few things for my trip.” Tomorrow is MONDAY, and he is leaving WEDNESDAY! Now, I know he’s a guy and everything, so there isn’t much to pack. It’s just himself - no wife or kid to pack for - but let me tell you about what I’ve been doing this evening (besides recovering from a major migrane).

We borrowed a trailer from my parents to go and pick up our new swingset for Noah (pics to follow), and I have to return it tomorrow. I am going to go out and pick up a few things from the Old Place, and then spend the night with my folks. So this evening I have been making a list of things I need to bring, putting piles of stuff together, and making sure that I will have all I need for my one-night stay with my parents. I know I will use the huge duffel bag with wheels because all of the stuff for Noah or I will not fit in anything smaller. I also have to bring one of our dogs with us (Cherrie), because she is really snappy and I don’t want any family who visits to be traumatized by her moodiness. This adds another element to my trip and one that I have to plan for as well.

So, while Helaman has yet to put aside a toothbrush for his 14 day stay in another country, I have an arsenal waiting by the front door, ready to be trucked back and forth to the vehicle tomorrow morning before visiting my parents. This sure isn’t a bad thing, but it’s just one of those funny differences that I just have to smile and shake my head about at the end of the day. (That, and blog about it a little, hee hee)