Livin’ Life On The Lamb

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?

You know, everybody has bad days. Noah had one of those kind of days last week. He didn’t sleep well all night because he had a sore throat, he didn’t want to eat breakfast, he spilled his milk that morning, our play date fell through (because of the sore throat), and he just had a rough day.

I tried to make it as best as possible hanging out with him and playing trucks all morning and that helped, but it was playing outside that really made him happy. Gila Man and I spent the afternoon planting trees while Mr. B “helped”. We moved dirt (if that’s what you call this white Caliche sandy soil around here), mixed potting soil, and filled the wheelbarrow all afternoon long. Needless to say, we were all a little tired that evening around dinner, so we had a quick bite and I put Mr. B in the bath.

I was sitting in the bathroom reading a horrible book when I noticed that Mr. B wasn’t splashing or growling like a shark (do sharks growl?), so I looked over to see what he was doing. This is what I saw:

Now, I know you may be thinking what I was thinking, that the kid is just relaxing a little. But for honest to goodness really I am TOTALLY not lying to you, the kid is ASLEEP. And I mean not just a little cat-nap asleep, but down-for-the-count kind of asleep. I yelled for Gila Man to come and witness this sight, so he grabbed the camera and we got a shot.

Wouldn’t it be nice if we could all have such a relaxing bath at the end of a bad day?

Maybe I’m a lucky Mom. Maybe I was just careful enough to avoid it. Maybe…oh I don’t know, I think I was just lucky. Then I went and ruined it. Typical of me, naturally. What happened is that I posted on someone else’s blog that I had never had to clean up puke before, only a little baby spit-up and some pee once in awhile. I did it to myself really.

Last night I had to go to The Church and put a few things on the bulletin board for Primary because the pictures of the kids didn’t take up nearly as much space as I thought they would. Mr. B asked me very nicely if we could please go home yet. I told him we would head home as soon we went to w.a.l.m.a.r.t and I picked up cat food, lysol, and PAM. While in said store, Mr. B sat calmly and quietly in the cart, occasionally asking if I got “the list stuff” yet so we could go home.

“Let’s PLEASE be Homies, Momma.” he said softly.

I relented (because that place is just a disaster and a mess and was super crowded!) and we checked out with our stuff and made our way to the car.

“Are you hungry?” I asked.

“Yes, Momma.” he replied. “I would like cereal for dinner please.”

“Sorry, buddy” I said, “Daddy said we aren’t allowed to eat cereal for dinner anymore. It’s not healthy. How about a bean burrito?”

“Ok,” he said.

I ran to Taco Bell, grabbed two bean burritos without onions, drove home, unloaded the bags and we sat down to eat.

“My beans are yucky, Momma.” Mr. B informed me.

Thinking he just wanted to eat mine, I let him take a bite to see they were the same.

“Yours is yummy, Momma. May I please eat more?”

“Eat two more bites of yours and then you can have more of mine.” I told him.

He obeyed. I shared the rest of mine and we got ready for bed. All he wanted to do was sit on my lap, so we went into my bedroom and sat in the rocking chair for a little bit. Anyone who knows my son knows that he doesn’t just want to sit on anyone’s lap for long, so I suspected that he wasn’t feeling well. That feeling was confirmed when he fell asleep on my lap a few moments later.

Not wanting this rare and tender moment to pass, I just sat there and held him for a few minutes. My baby. My big boy. My son.

Mr. B coughed. The coughed again. Then he started to choke a little. I lifted up his head and out spewed half of the dinner he ate. And let me tell ya, bean burritos don’t smell so great after they’ve been ruminating around in a young boy’s stomach for a few minutes.

Still half asleep, I tried to stand Mr. B up to keep us from stepping in the PUKE, and he came to enough to stand there and look around and say, “What is all that stuff, Momma? It’s stinky.”

Then he started to cough again. And then he started to PUKE so more. I lifted him up by the arms in an attempt to swing him into our bathroom, which only ended in PUKE being spewed on the door, cabinet, floor, and around the bottom of the toilet. Mr. B stood looking down into the toilet water and managed to spit ONE BEAN into the water. ONE BEAN when my whole room looked as though someone had exploded in it.

Now, I have never, NEVER, cleaned up PUKE before. Spit-up, bird poop, stinky diapers, dog throw up, lots of other gross things I have dealt with. But not PUKE. It stinks! It’s nasty! It’s just gross!!!

I had to strip Mr. B down to his chonies and get clean jammies on him. Then he rinsed his mouth out, brushed his teeth, and climbed into his own bed with his very own PUKE bowl resting next to him. And then came the hard part. If it wasn’t for her, I don’t know what I would have done to get the smell out of the carpet.

It took me 8 teakettles of water and 16 towels to clean up the entire mess so my room didn’t smell like PUKE anymore. I looked kinda like this girl, but I was stepping on towels and sopping up boiling hot water.

I did discover something, though. If I used a dry, dark towel and put it on the boiling water right after I poured it, I could step on it and write my initials and other shapes on the towel (until I had to keep stepping to keep soaking up the PUKE water).

When Gila Man called from work to see what I was up to, he got quite an earfull. We finally just laughed about it and reminded each other about how there’s a first time for EVERYTHING. Even PUKE.

But you can bet your bottom we’re having cereal for dinner tonight.

Yep, after this, we have had a SLEW of “ies”. We’ve been sickies, sillies, saddies, maddies, laughies, and loads of others that are just a little to silly to say. But today’s was the cake topper.

We were getting out of the car and Noah knew that he had to go inside and take off his “nice” shoes off and get his “play” shoes on if he wanted to go out and play in the backyard. When he came back out in the garage, Helaman and I were still in the car talking about the plans we have for the house and Noah climbed into Helaman’s lap to see what we were doing. We figured we should get started, so we climbed out of the car, and Noah thought he should get out on my side “Because he was closer” to my side of the car. Sheesh.

As he scooted over my seat, his elbow accidently hit the steering wheel and honked the horn.
“LOOK, Momma! I’m honking the horn! It works even if the car is off! Look! I’m honking the horn A LOT! I’m a horn honker! I’m a HORNIE! WE can be hornies, Momma! Let’s be hornies! Come honk the horn!”

“I have an idea,” said Helaman.
“You go be a hornie in your bedroom, and Momma and Daddy will be hornies in our room!”

It didn’t work. There aren’t any horns in Noah’s room…gonna have to do something about that…

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!

Last week we made a quick trip to w@lm@rt to grab some dog food for our herd of dogs. While there, we passed the clearance isle and Noah’s face lit up.

“Momma,” he cried excitedly, “Look! These are on sale!”

Now, you can look at this statement in one of two ways: First, that I have been spending entirely TOOOOO much time in this store and it’s clearance sections, or Second, that I have successfully imbedded a thrifty sale-finding core in my child. Take it the way you will.

So while gazing wistfully at the large aray of junk on sale, Noah sees this game. This “BEAN game”. He immediately snatches it up and tells me that this game is “lonely” here and needs to come home with him. I tell him that we can’t get it today. He asks very nicely and tells me how much he wants it. I look at him, cock my head and realize that he has been a fantastic kid this whole time Daddy has been gone, he’s been really good in the store, and he IS asking nicely. I tell him that if it’s on clearance we can get it.

When we get to the cashier, she rings up the dog food and scans the game.
“$5.88.” she says so cheerfully.
“Sorry, buddy, but this game is not on sale. We’ll have to put it back for next time.”

You woulda thought his heart was broken. Or his arm or leg or something meaningfull like that. The poor kid just looked at me with big eyes full of tears and fell to the ground in a heap. Kinda like the Wicked Witch in The Wizard of OZ, but without the water and the smoke and the screeching. I told him that I wasn’t getting anything special either, just dog food, and that we could get the game another time. That was went it hit. The tantrum. I picked up his flailing body, put him in the cart and took off outa there as fast as I could.

When I got him calmed down in the parking lot, we came to the agreement that he could use the money in his piggy bank at home to buy the “Bean Game” if he wanted to. He had been saving the money Aunt DD gave him when we visited last, the Valentine money that Great Grammie sent him, and the money the Easter Bunny (aka Great-Grammie) put in his Easter Eggs. Noah also gets a few pennies every time he goes stinky in the potty. He could choose to put the pennies in the gumball machine or in his bank - he chose the latter EVERY time.

Fast foward to my mom and Grammie coming out to spend the night with us. We went to dinner at Hometown Buffet and decide that we need to walk off our dinner at the w@lm@rt place. After getting the excersise we need and buying stuff we don’t, we pass the clearance isle on our way to the checkout. Noah runs over and says, “Nana! Grammie! Look at this bean game! I almost have enough money to get it!”
“Please put it back on the shelf.” I tell him.
He does. He looks at it wistfully and turns to my mom to hold her hand again.
My mom and my Grammie look at me with HUGE, sad, puppy-dog eyes.
Grammie asks me imploringly, “Sarah, may I PLEASE get that little game for him? I don’t really get the chance to do anything like this very often. Just let me do this, please.”
What am I gonna say to my Grammie? What? Like I could say no to her. Hey, my mom was there too, giving me the same stare.
“Sure you can get the game, as long as you’re sure you don’t mind.” I say.
“Of course I don’t mind!” exclaims Grammie.

So Grammie tells Noah that because he has been such a good listener and has held onto Nana’s hand while in the store, and he has worked sooooo hard to save up his little pennies, she is going to get the game for him. Noah looks over at me to see if it’s really ok. I nod my head yes, and he runs up to Grammie and gives her a big hug. Then runs over to grab the game and hug it to his chest until he places it up on the register belt. We finally make it back to the car (hey! I told you I parked it under a street light on a down only isle! Sorry is was the wrong side of the parking lot, but I found it, didn’t I?) Noah sat in his little seat, completely contented.

As we drove home, Noah clutched the game to himself and fell asleep on the box. He is still playing it - by the game rules, by his own rules, by my rules, by NO rules. It is his newest obsession. I can think of a lot worse things, so thank you Grammie!!!