A Bitter Diatribe

Fall is definitely here. The leaves are glowing with color, the breeze has become brisk, and the days are shorter.  And everyone on Facebook is putting up pictures of pots of chili, kids posing with pumpkins on a carpet of bright leaves, blah blah blah. 

Except me, because I can't seem to get anything done.  I have all these ideas, and Facebook and blogs don't do anything but frustrate me.  How do all these people manage to take all these pictures and get them on the Internet?  How?  Everyone does it. 

You have the High School kids who are like, "Look, I'm going to take a picture of myself with my cool cell phone and put it on Facebook so all my friends can tell me how pretty I am!  Then I'm going to do it again every single day!"  Please stop doing that.  Its annoying.  It makes you look self-centered, even though you may not be.  And some of you are wondering why I'm friends with High Schoolers on Facebook.  I am now wondering the same thing, because I just remembered that I am thirty years old.

Then you have the young married people who are like, "Look, I'm going to take a picture of this delicious dinner I just made and put it on Facebook so all my friends can tell me how delicious it looks!"  Well, why did you make it?  To take a picture of it or to eat it?  Just eat it, already, before it gets cold.  We're all busy eating our own food.  We don't really care about yours.

There are also the pregnant people who are like, "Look, I'm going to post a picture of my pregnant belly so all my friends can tell me that I'm the most beautiful pregnant person they've ever seen and that I look great!"  I love pregnancy.  I love babies.  Really, I do.  And all of you pregnant people do look great.  I'm just jealous because when I was pregnant I looked like a monster.

Also, there are the young families who are like, "Look, I'm going to post another sixty-five pictures of my kids so all my friends can tell me how beautiful my children are and how perfect my family is!"  Okay, I really do like seeing family pictures.  Just not quite so many.
 
Sometimes I feel like all this Facebook and blogging stuff is just a big popularity contest to see whose life is more perfect.  I'm going to start putting fat pictures of myself on Facebook to make other people feel better about themselves.  Oh, you think the pictures I have on Facebook ARE the fat pictures?  Oh, no, those are my skinny pictures.  Wait till you see the fat ones.  Then you'll really feel good about yourself. 

Okay, disclaimer.  If I sound bitter its because I am.  None of these mean, sarcastic remarks are directed at anyone in particular.  I'm just angry because its two o'clock in the afternoon, I am still wearing stretch pants, my pink eye has returned so my eye is swollen and I'm wearing my glasses that are broken and taped with electrical tape, and Benaiah absolutely refused to take a nap today until just now.  Run-on sentence?  Yes.  And I keep gazing out at the beautiful fall day, wanting to be out there, but it just didn't happen this morning and now both kids are asleep.  Which is good, but I really want to go outside.

So yesterday evening I decided to join the ranks of Facebook picture-takers all over the world, take my kids outside to enjoy the crisp fall weather and snap some pictures of the little darlings.  Beans were bubbling on the stove and all I had to do to finish supper was whip up some cornbread.  Jiffy cornbread.  From a box.  You heard me, I make cornbread from a box. I don't make very good cornbread from scratch, okay?  So sue me. 

Anyway, the evening light was perfect, slanting trough the trees making the leaves glow with breathtaking vividness.  I decided to put Benaiah in the stroller and walk to the mailbox first.

Except that the stroller was still folded up in the trunk of the Nova from when we went to the Folk Festival at Beavers Bend last weekend.  Yes, its Tuesday and I haven't used my stroller since Saturday.  Of course, normally I would use it every day to run 12 miles with my kids, then post it on Facebook so all my friends can tell me that I'm Super Mom.  NOT.  I usually forget I even have a stroller.  Thats how much walking I do.

I could've just gotten it out, except that the Nova is on a trailer because while we were cruising through Beavers Bend we hit a bad spot in the road, smashed the oil pan, gushed oil all over the road, and had to trailer the car back home, where it now sits on the trailer until Ben can get to it.  My brother Joseph, who thankfully was available to come retrieve us from the side of the road where we sat like a family of hobos, helpfully said, "Well, at least oil pans are cheap."  Yeah, unless its a custom oil pan for a '63 Nova.  Then its like $300.  He didn't know. 

Anyway, I didn't feel like fighting my way through all the crap in the carport and climbing the trailer to get the stroller out.  And I don't know where the keys to the Nova are.  I think Ben hides them, but I'm not sure.  He's wierd like that.

Plan B.  Put the kids in the wagon and pull them down the road to the mailbox.  Except that the wagon is still full of leftover cans of pop from our Halloween party last weekend.  Yes, it was over a week ago, and no, I haven't finished dealing with the aftermath.  I forgot about the wagon full of cans of pop.  There were 65 people here.  Cut me some slack.  I've been busy jogging with my kids and my stroller.  NOT.

Well, the light was fading fast, so Patience and I hurried to transfer the pop from the wagon to the ice chest.  Not sure why it wasn't in the ice chest in the first place.  Patience transferred approximately one can and I did the rest.  Finished that, bundled the kids up in quilts in the wagon, and bumped them out to the yard where I started snapping some photos. 

I sat Benaiah up in Patience's lap and had her wrap her arms around him since he can't sit up yet.  Well, that lasted about 5 seconds.  He started to slip down, I snapped pictures and loudly encouraged Patience to hold on to him and she started to panic and yell back, "Little bit heavy, Mama!"

A little perspective here.  Benaiah is 4 months old and weighs 19 pounds.  Patience is 2 1/2 and weigh 24 pounds.  Benaiah's head is 19 inches around.  Patience's head is.....19 inches around.  Benaiah wears size 4 diapers.  Patience was wearing size 4 diapers until just a few moths ago when we potty trained.  Perhaps I shouldn't expect her to be able to hold him up.

The light was really going now so I quickly sat Benaiah back up, told Patience to hold on tight, and started snapping more photos.  He started to slip again, then my phone rang.  It was my neighbor, Ada, wanting to know if I had any cumin.  She was making chili and had no cumin.  Of course I had some, so she buzzed over on her four-wheeler to get it.  We chatted for a minute, then she buzzed back home to her chili.

Needless to say, by this time the light was gone.  Guess how many good pictures I got?  Zero.  And in the last hour, while I've been trying to write this, Benaiah has woken up and I've nursed him back to sleep twice, and Patience woke up from her nap because she had wet the bed.  And I am still wearing stretch pants.  And I have no idea what I'm making for supper.  Probably left-over beans from last night.  Want me to take a picture of them for Facebook?  Why does no one post pictures of their leftover beans and cornbread from a box?  Hmm?

So, will I attempt another photo op this evening?  Maybe.  Now I have extra laundry to do, so it'll be a miracle if we make it outside at all.  But the reality is that I can enjoy my beautiful yard, the beautiful fall day and my even more beautiful children without taking pictures of them.  Its nice to have the pictures to capture memories, and someday I want to learn to be a real photographer because its something I'm interested in and I really do appreciate nice photos.  But right now I've got some sheets to wash and a little girl who wants to sit in my lap.

Getting good pictures doesn't seem so important anymore.

P.S.  For those of you who feel like your life isn't as perfect as is should be compared to all the other Facebook/Bloggers out there, be of good cheer.  You are not alone.  I am basically failing at life in general, so you're probably doing better than me.  And all those people whose lives look perfect online?  It isn't real.  They don't post their fat pictures, either.

A Trip to Remember

A couple of weeks ago we drove up to northwestern Oklahoma to visit my older brother and his family and help them begin the project of adding onto their house.  My nephew, David is four years old and they're expecting a baby girl in just a few weeks.  Ben was kind of at a standstill on our new cabin (block being laid), so we told Daniel and Rachel we would head that way, stay a week or so, and turn Ben loose on the project.

So we loaded kids, luggage, scaffold, ladders, guns, books, snacks, drinks and various other paraphernalia into the big black Chevy Duramax, hooked onto the tool trailer, and rumbled away.  We did not bring the dogs.  Or the kitchen sink.  Those are about the only things we left.  I have no idea why we take so much stuff when we travel.  Maybe because it fits.  Perhaps we should scale down our vehicle and just drive a VW Bug.  Then we could only travel with a toothbrush, and maybe the children.  Seems like it would be much more simple.  I'll talk to Ben about it, but I don't think it will go over well.

So we drove along and I read Agatha Christie's Death on the Nile aloud to Ben.  The children were remarkably quiet and good, and the trip was quite pleasant, except for the fact that my left eye kept feeling irritated, like there was something in it.  Well, technically there was something in it.  My contact lens.  But this was something else.  I kept rubbing and looking at it, but didn't think much of it.  I was much more interested in learning who committed the horrific murder on the Nile.  I'm not going to tell you.  Read the book.

We arrived in Enid around 8:30 that evening, and after all the hellos and hugs and happy-to-see-yous, we all went to bed.  Of course all four of us were sleeping on one room, which is totally fine with us because we often end up that way at home anyway.  It actually quite amazing how comfortable it can actually be to sleep with 4 people in a Queen bed.  Maybe it isn't actually comfortable.  Maybe I'm just so tired that I'm basically passed out.

So we settled in for the night, Ben and me in the bed, Patience on a comfy pallet on the floor, and Benaiah in the crib that Rachel already had set up in preparation for their baby.  Things were going smoothly.  We were all sleeping.  Why did I think the whole night would actually stay so blissfully peaceful?

Sometime in the middle of the night Benaiah started to fuss.  Not unusual.  He still wakes up to eat at night.  What was unusual was that I couldn't open my eyes.  I tried, but I couldn't.  I felt of them and realized they were both completely crusted over with grossness and glued shut.  I literally could not pry them open.  What should I do?  Try to feel my way to the bathroom and open them?  Try and get Benaiah?  I opted to head to the bathroom, but in the process of groping my way blindly to the door I stepped on what I strongly believed to be Patience's head.  She must have rolled off her pallet.  I retreated to the bed.  Benaiah was getting pretty worked up at this point, so I felt my way to the crib, sat down on the bed and tried to nurse him.

All this time Ben hadn't moved.  I wondered if he was really asleep or faking it.  My guess would be faking it because no one can sleep with a baby crying and someone stumbling around, running into things.

I reached over and tapped him on the shoulder.

"Babe?"  I whispered loudly.

He mumbled something that sounded like, "what."

"Well, my eyes are glued shut and I"m trying to nurse Benaiah and Patience is in the middle of the floor."

Silence.

"Babe?"  I whispered a little louder.

He sighed deeply.  "Is there something you want me to do?"

Actually, yes, I thought.  Get Patience off the floor.  Go get me washcloth to soak my eyes open.  Hold Benaiah so I can get myself a washcloth to soak my eyes open.  Take your pick.  There's plenty to do.

What I said was, "Could you go get me a wet washcloth so I can try to soak my eyes open?"

He sighed deeply again, climbed out of bed, and headed to bathroom.  I warned him about Patience, just in time, and he narrowly missed stepping on her.  I think.  I couldn't really see since my eyes were stuck shut.

Roughly two seconds later he returned and tossed a wet washcloth on my lap.  It was cold.

"Its cold."  I whispered.

He sighed deeply.  Again.  I was about to be done with the deep sighing.

He said, "I didn't want to wake David up making noise in the bathroom, so I was trying to hurry."

And he promptly rolled over and went back to sleep while I attempted to peel my eyes open using an very unpleasantly cold wet washcloth on my face and nursing an over sized, wiggling infant at the same time.

Here's the deal.  I had momentarily forgotten that my husband is and absolute ogre when he gets woken up at night.  During the day he's one of the nicest people you will ever meet.  But he loves his sleep.  He loves it very much.  And he does not like it to be interrupted.  Its sort of a Jekyll and Hyde scenario.  Or maybe he's part were-wolf, only instead of turning into a wold at night he just turns into a mean person. Yeah, and we have two small children.  Makes for some interesting nights.

Anyway, I had momentarily forgotten all this, and when I asked him to get me a washcloth for I guess I had these visions of him gently, tenderly and lovingly holding a warm, steamy cloth to my eyes and wiping away my blindness and with it all my fears of the night.

Well, those rose-colored glasses came off.  They came off in the form of crusty eye goop, scraped off with a cold rag.  I blame myself entirely.  I forgot that he's part were-wolf.  What can I say?  The guy loves his sleep.  I don't really blame him.  Sleep is nice.  I wish I could get some.  I haven't had a full night's sleep in 3 years.

Needless to the say, the next morning Rachel and I went straight to the walk-in clinic, where I got some nice little drops to treat pink-eye.

Let's see, that was Thursday.  On Friday night and Saturday night I had a terrible sore throat, so I was up roaming the house, looking for Tylenol, Ibuprofen, anything.  Couldn't find anything but some cough drops, so I lay in misery, trying to to swallow because it felt like swallowing needles, then waking up with that awful post-cough drop taste in my mouth.

On Sunday Patience threw up.

On Monday Patience ran fever.

On Tuesday night I was up with Benaiah and before getting back into bed knelt down to check on Patience on her pallet on the floor. 

She wasn't there. 

I groped all around me in the dark, thinking she'd rolled off again.  Couldn't find her.  I felt around everywhere.  The foot of the bed, in front of the dresser, beside the bed.  She simply wasn't there.  We had watched the movie Taken the night before and I was becoming increasingly certain that someone had stolen my daughter.  Then I found her. Under the crib.  I dragged her out by her ankles, rolled her back onto her pallet, and went back to sleep.  She never even woke up.

On Wednesday I was hit with this terrible and weird fatigue.  I couldn't keep my eyes open and I felt like I had weights hanging from my body.  I kept falling asleep.  I tried everything to feel better and perk up.  Took a shower.  Went for a walk to the park with the kids and Rachel.  Drank lots of water.  Nothing worked.  I basically had to sleep it off.  I felt some better the next day.

Wednesday night David thought he was going to throw up.  Luckily he didn't.

Thursday Rachel was hit with the same weird fatigue.  Thankfully I was feeling better so I was able to help out so she could rest.

Friday I finally kicked into gear and made some muffins and casseroles to put in their freezer because it wasn't that long ago that I was miserably pregnant I would love to have had some casseroles in my freezer.

Saturday we said our goodbyes and came home.

It was a bit of a rough trip, but still fun.  The positives were that I really enjoyed spending time with Daniel, Rachel and David; Ben and Daniel got a lot done on the house and Patience and David had a blast playing together.

And I'm so, so glad no one else got pink-eye.

Entertainment Weekly

We entertain a lot.  And I use the term "entertain" loosely.  I actually mean that there are people at our house a lot.  I'm sure they leave entertained, although not in the way I wish.  If "entertained" means they go home saying something like, "wow, those Nethertons are wierd, " then yes, we entertain.  If "entertain" means people come to a clean, calm, quiet atmosphere with candles lit and a savory dinner ready to be served along with intelligent and stimulating conversation, then no, we do not entertain.

When we have people over I always have visions of an evening as described above.  That never happens.  The food is never ready on time because I'm always running behind.  I never look nice because I'm usually sweating.  The house is most likely somewhat disastrous because Patience likes to get out all of her toys at the same time and not actually play with any of them.  Someone will probably be crying.  Patience, Benaiah, me.  Not usually Ben.  I will probably not answer the door because I'm stirring something while holding Benaiah and telling Patience to put her clothes back on before our company arrives.  I'll yell at you to come on in, help yourself to a drink, and could you hold the baby a sec while I go make sure my clothes are all on right side out?  The other day at about three in the afternoon I noticed that my shirt was on wrong side out.  Luckily we had no company.

Now, don't get me wrong.  It isn't TOTAL chaos.  I do keep the house pretty picked up, I play background music, and yes, I like to burn some candles.  And I set the table nicely, we use cloth napkins, and Patience is expected to sit still until all the adults are done eating.  So there's some semblance of niceness.  I just never quite make things as nice as I'd like to.

I guess part of the reason I feel chaotic is because we have  A LOT of drop-in company.  One day I had four different people stop by to visit.  Hence the reason I ALWAYS have a pitcher of sweet tea in the fridge.  It would be tragic if I nothing to offer but water.  I believe there are two main reasons for this:

1)  We live on the highway were everyone in the community drives by our house all the time and they can see if we're home.  More often than not, they stop by.

2)  I'm a stay-at-home mom.  I think that makes people more likely to stop by because, well, I'm home!

I've been to people's houses where everything honestly seems perfect.  The house is immaculate, the hostess is wearing a lovely dress while pulling an elaborate dish from the oven in a kitchen that's so clean it doesn't even look like she cooked in it.  And I'm standing there thinking, "What the crap?  How does she do this?  She's even got lipstick on!  I bet she even put on deoderant and brushed her teeth today!"  And to top it all off, everything just seems effortless. 

On the one hand, its nice to be in an environment like that.  Clean.  Organized.  Relaxing.  Sometimes it even inspires me to kick it up a notch at home and try to do things a little nicer for the sake of my own guests.  But more often than not it seems to leave me feeling...inadequate.  Dissatisfied.  Jealous, even.  And I don't like that.  Not that its the lovely hostess's fault that I feel that way.  Its my own fault.

I guess what I'm saying is that I just want people to feel welcome and at home in our house.  I want them to feel like they're part of the family.  I want them to feel included in our daily life.  I don't want them to feel like I'm showing off for them in any way.  Not that people who have clean kitchens and wear their clothes right side out are showing off.  That's not what I mean at all.  Wow, I'm not very articulate this evening. Its late.  I should've been in bed hours ago.  And I just realized that I'm now to the point in my career as a mother where I think brushing one's teeth is showing off.  This is sad.  Very sad.  No wonder most people like me and aren't jealous and like coming to my house.  I just figured it out!  I make them feel better about themselves because I'm such a disaster!  Its like the skinny girl in high school who hangs out with the fat girls so she'll look even better!  Same thing, only with motherhood its things like getting dressed and maybe fixing your hair and brushing your teeth and wearing deoderant.  I didn't do any of that today.  Should I even post this?

I totally forgot what my point was.

I'm going to bed.

Pare a Pear with a Pair of Scissors

The other day I was all depressed and down on myself because I didn't have any fall decorations.  Well, that's not entirely true.  I have a pumpkin wreath on the front porch, a couple of mums in the front flower bed (which sat there for like 2 weeks before I finally planted them) and three small pumpkins strategically scattered along the porch steps.  And I didn't even do the strategic scattering of the pumpkins.  Ben did, because I bought the pumpkins and left them in the trunk of the car where he found them several days later and proceeded to strategically scatter them.  He did a very nice job.

Pumpkins and mums, that's all I've got.  Oh, I had a bowl of candy corn.  That lasted about a day because Ben and I have no self-discipline when it comes to sweets.  None at all.  Its why I'm chubby.  I admit it.  Anyway, no scarecrows, no brightly colored leaf garland, no quaint wooden bowls filled with Indian corn and gourds.  No berry swags or pine cone wreaths or fall-themed serving dishes and table linens.  I don't even have leaf-shaped napkin rings, can you believe it?  I was really depressed about it.  Felt like I was somehow failing as a housewife and mother because I had not yet iced any pumpkin-shaped sugar cookies, created any outdoor lighting out of elaborately carved pumpkins, or hollwed out a pumpkin and planted flowers in it.  All things I would really like to do, by the way.  So I spent an hour online looking up fall decorating ideas and got even more depressed.

Well, I said to myself, I'm not going to spend the money on fall decorations, and even if I felt like I could spend the money its too far to drive into town for any of that stuff today.  Maybe next week I'll do some of that cutesy creative stuff in between naps and changing diapers and laundry and grocery shopping and getting supper on the table and kids bathed and in bed on time.  And spending time with my husband, friends and family, going to church and playing with my children.  Oh, and sometimes I sleep and shower, too.  If there's time.  Of course, I said to myself, of course you will get to hollow out miniature pumkins and make taper candle holders out of them.  But right now you have things to do.

I turned my attention to the more immediate problem of dealing with the bushels of pears we had recently picked from our heavily laden pear tree.  I had pears spilling out of baskets on the little table in the living room and bowls overflowing with pears on the kitchen table.  I settled Benaiah in his bouncy seat, made sure Patience wasn't destroying anything, pulled a chair up to kitchen table and started peeling pears.  Again.  I've peeled a lot of pears lately.  The result has been 25 jars of pear butter and 6 pear pies. 

I peeled pears, talked to Patience and Benaiah, peeled more pears and thought about how I wished my house was decorated for fall.  Then a knock came at the door.  I wiped my hands and went to see who was there.  It was my friend Martha, dropping by to pick something up.  As I went to get if for her I made a remark about peeling all these pears.

She stopped and looked around.

"Oh!"  she said.  "I thought you had them there for decoration!"

Perhaps I shouldn't worry so much about fall decorations.  Sometimes life has a way of decorating itself.

Long Time, No Blog!

I haven't blogged in a long time.  In about four months, actually.  There are many reasons for this.  Here we go:

1)  I got really huge, miserably pregnant and totally lost interest in anything other than getting the baby out of my body.  I was so large and uncomfortable that I basically quit doing anything that involved movement of any kind.  How, you ask, does blogging involve movement?  Well, it doesn't, but I couldn't hold the laptop in my lap because I had no lap, and sitting at the table was just uncomfortable, especially since I couldn't scoot up very close due to the largeness of the belly.  It was a bad time, guys.

2)  I had a baby.  I really huge baby.  A ten pound baby.  Naturally.  With no medicine.  Why, you ask, did you do that?  Because at the time I thought it would be cool.  Because I did it when I birthed my daughter.  But she didn't weigh ten pounds.  Because I thought it would make me feel like super-woman.  Because when I went in to be induced (he was 9 days overdue) I didn't know that my baby was turned sideways and they would have to manually turn him inside the womb.  >>WARNING TO PREGNANT WOMEN.  DO NOT EVER, EVER, ALLOW A BABY TO BE MANUALLY TURNED WHILE IN THE WOMB.  IT IS A HORRIBLE AND INCREDIBLY PAINFUL EXPERIENCE.  IF A DOCTOR WANTS TO DO IT, PLEASE CALL ME FOR A SECOND OPINION.  THANK YOU.<<  Because I didn't know that it would be a really long, really painful labor and that I would have to push for two hours to get him out and I really didn't think I was going to be able to do it.  Please do not ask me if I am having more children.  I am still trying to recover emotionally from birthing this one.  Although he is pretty darn cute:

Meet Benaiah Philip Netherton, born July 5th.  He laughed for the first time today.  Patience was bouncing all over the bed, showing off for him and he got really tickled at her.  Brought tears to my eyes.  But then again, everything brings tears to my eyes these days.  The other day I made bread and Patience was standing on her little stool wearing her little apron helping me knead the dough.  She looked up at me with her big brown eyes, grinned and said, "Mommy, looook!  I hep you!"  I snatched up my own apron and cried into it.  Why, you ask?  I have no idea.

3)  My in-laws were here right after Benaiah was born, then we decided to remodel our bathroom so we went to stay with my parents for a few days, which turned into three weeks, then we went to Tucson to visit the Arizona relations, then one of Ben's friends came to stay with us for a couple of weeks, then I had a lot of catching up to do because I'd been pregnant and giving birth and away from home and it all just piled up and during all that time and ever since I've been deep in the throes of post-partum depression.  So there.  And yes, I am aware that that was a run-on sentence.

4)  I started reading other people's blogs and got really depressed because I decided that mine kind of sucks.  But I like writing, its good for me, and I need to keep doing it.  Why, you ask, do you need to keep writing?  Because I am an emotional disaster and I need a creative outlet so I don't just bottle everything up inside and then explode.  That does happen from time to time.  We need to keep those times to a minimum for the sake of the children.  And Ben.  And me, because after I explode I experience feeling of self-loathing.  Its just better for everone if I write something now and then, okay?

Thank you for reading.  My baby is cute.



News Travels Fast Around Here!

We recently acquired a new neighbor.  Well, sort of a neighbor.  She moved into our landlord's other rent house down the road.  Her name is Joetta, she's in her 50's, and she's very energetic, outgoing, busy and feisty.  In fact, she still barrel races in rodeos.  She keeps her barrel horse in the field in front of our house, so we see her zipping down the driveway often, and we agreed to let her bring her horse into our yard to use our water to hose the mare off after a hard ride.

Last weekend was the Smithville Rodeo and we had made plans to attend on Saturday night.  It was WAY too hot to go both nights.  So Saturday morning Ben decided to trim all the trees in the front yard with his chainsaw.  I do not understand why he decided this was necessary.  We've lived here for nearly four years and he's never expressed any interest in tree-trimming before.  I think he just wanted to use his chainsaw.  On a ladder.  Let's just stop and think about how dangerous that is.  Do you know what would happen if he fell off a ladder with a running chainsaw?  I couldn't handle the possible scenarios in my mind, so I stayed in the house, refused to watch him out the window, and tried to drown out the ominous sound of the chainsaw with music.  I do not want to be a widow with two small children. 

Around noon Patience was having some kind of wierd meltdown so I decided to try to put her down for an early nap.  I was lying down with her and she had just gone to sleep when my phone rang.  I looked and saw that it was Ben.  Wierd.  He was outside.  Why didn't he just come in and get me? 

I sneaked out of Patience's room and stepped out onto the front porch to a strange and confusing sight.  Tree limbs everywhere, Ben walking across the yard leading Joetta's mare, and Joetta sitting under a tree, dirt all over her shirt, looking dazed and confused.

I rushed (well, waddled) over to Joetta as fast as I could.  Ben followed with the mare.

"What happened?"  I asked.

Ben shook his head.  "I don't know.  I came down off the ladder and saw her horse running accross the yard.  I didn't even see Joetta till a second ago."

I bent down to try to get Joetta up.  Her arm was hanging loose and her shoulder looked kind of funny. 

"Joetta, do you know what happened?" 

She looked at me and shook her head, mumbling something about not knowing how she got knocked down.

"Joetta, I think your horse spooked and knocked you down."  I tried to explain as I got her up and walked her into the house while Ben took the horse back to the barn. She looked at me in confusion as I helped her up the porch steps and said, "What happened?  I don't even know what happened."  I told her I thought her horse ran her over. 

We got inside and I settled her on the couch then went for the phone to call  Debbie at the fire department so they could send someone to look at that shoulder.  Joetta was clearly a little confused and in some pain.  She asked me again what happened, and I explained again that I thought she had an accident with her mare.

Within a few minutes Steve and  Donald were at the house with an ambulance, Debbie close behind.  There were quite a few people packed into our living room at that point.  They were trying to get Joetta's arm in a sling and find out if she wanted to go to the hospital by ambulance or have someone drive her.  I was trying to get Rebecca, Joetta's daughter-in-law on the phone (of course we go to church with Joetta's son and daughter-in-law) and couldn't get through on her cell phone.  I had to call about seven people to track her down, but I finally found her and she said she was on her way.

About that time Patience woke up from all the commotion and was very confused about what was going on in our house.  I sat her in a chair and told her to be still and stay out of the way.  She kept pointing at Joetta saying, "Shirt, dirty."  She was deeply concerned about the dirt on Joetta's shirt.

A few minutes later my friend Zondra burst through the front door.  "What happened?  Is Sarah having the baby?  Are Ben and Patience okay?"

The joys of living on the highway.  We have no secrets. 

Zondra had been on her way home from Mena, passed our house, saw the ambulance, and was obviously concerned for our well-being.  We have wonderful friends and neighbors, and I really mean that.

Zondra joined the fray as we all tried to take care of Joetta while we waited for Rebecca to arrive.  Joetta was getting more and more disoriented, and every few minutes she would say, "What happened?  I don't even know what happened.  Can somebody tell me what happened?"  We told her repeatedly what we thought had happened, but she couldn't seem to remember anything.

Rebecca arrived, they got Joetta loaded into the car, they headed to the emergency room in Mena and people slowly emptied from my house.  It had been an interesting couple of hours.  Ben and I sat on the couch discussing the morning's events while Patience kept repeating, "Dirty.  Shirt.  Shirt.  Dirty."  She is such a clean freak.  Ben headed back out to the yard to play with his chainsaw.....I'm sorry, I meant trim trees, and I went back to doing whatever it was I do around here.  Walk around being pregnant.  Drop things accidentally and stare at them, trying to decide if its worth it to try and bend over and pick it up.  Usually I just kick it out of the way.

Later that afternoon Ben headed to the rodeo grounds to help the other volunteer fire department guys park cars.  Patience and I dolled up in our cowgirl boots a couple of hours later and followed.  On my way I called our pastor's wife to put Joetta on the prayer list at church.

"Oh, yes, I heard about that," Patrice said.  "But I thought it happened at the rodeo last night."

I laughed and straightened out the details, wondering how in the world Patrice already knew about it.  They live way up on the mountain.  Guess someone called them.

I pulled up to the fire truck parked outside the rodeo grounds parking lot and rolled down my window.

"Hey, Dwayne.  Ben told me he saved me a spot by the gate.  Can I go on up there?"

"Yep! Yep!"  Dwayne nodded his head vigorously.  "You go right on up there!  You don't need to be walkin' that far and haulin' that little'un in your condition!"

There are perks to living in a very small community and being married to one of the volunteer fire fighters. 

I pulled right up to the gate and parked in my special parking place reserved for very large pregnant women.  Remember, I am now roughly the size of a planet and any day I expect to see my own moon orbiting around me.  Oh wait, I already have one.  Her name is Patience.  And she orbits around me continuously, though somewhat sporadically.

I got out of the car and was greeted by my handsome husband, looking official in his red shirt with his radio clipped to his belt.  We chatted for a minute, then Patience and I went to find seats while he finished up his duties.

A few minutes into the rodeo he came and sat next to me.  He glanced sideways at me and grinned.

"Hot, isn't it?"

I snorted.  "You think you're hot.  Try being me."  I wiped sweat from my forehead and wondered why I had bothered to wear make-up.  It was already long gone.

He glanced at my planet-sized belly and grinned again.

"What?"  I scowled at him.

He chuckled.  "Well, right after you came in here Donald came and told me that some random person went up to him and asked if the pregnant woman talking to the fire fighter needed an ambulance or something because she was going to have her baby."

I sighed.  Of course.  Kind of them to be concerned.

Ben rubbed my back.  "Why don't you go to the concession stand and get some burgers and drinks?  I'll watch Patience."

I nodded and heaved my pregnant self off the bench.  While I was standing in line at the concession stand I had a nice conversation with a stranger.  I'm due June 26th.  No, it isn't twins.  Yes, we did an ultrasound. Yes, I've been very hot.  Have a nice evening.  Blah, blah blah.

I stepped up to the window and the lady working it (I can't remember her name - she's on the fire department) looked at me in amazement.

"You mean you ain't had that kid yet?  I thought you done had it.  I seen balloons on your mailbox last week!"

Balloons on my mailbox?  What?  Oh, yes, that was my birthday party.  I straightenend out the confusion and ordered our hamburgers.  She looked at my belly and wagged her head back and forth.

"You better hurry up and have that kid.  You look like you're about to pop!"

Sure.  I'll get right on that.  Just a moment while I go give birth because everyone seems to think thats what I should be doing. 

As I was walking back to our seat with a couple of burgers and drinks sort of balanced on my belly (it is sort of handy), I overheard someone we go to church with giving a wrong account of what had happened to Joetta that afternoon.  I stopped and butted my way into the conversation to straighted things out.  She listened intently, nodding her head as I told the story.

"I'm so glad you stopped!  Now I have the real story!"  She hustled away, probably to spread the new version of the story.

The rest of the evening was fairly uneventful.  No one else thought I was about to go into labor, and no one was injured, as far as I know.  Patience had a grand time:

We can't get over how cute she is in boots:

She had fun climbing the fence:

And she got to go into the arena with Daddy for some kid thing they did:

If you're wondering why there are no pictures of me its because I was perspiring heavily and I felt gross.  Okay, forget about perspiring.  I was sweating.  I used to perspire because that's what ladies do, but now I may as well call it what it is.  I flat-out sweat like a man.  There.  I said it.



Then we went to church the next morning, where I heard from numerous people that they had been praying for me all afternoon the previous day because they drove by our house and saw the ambulance and thought I was having the baby.  Or they thought I dislocated my shoulder because they heard something about an accident at our house involving a dislocated shoulder and they thought it was me.

Joetta, by the way, ended up with a broken and dislocated shoulder and a concussion.  She had surgery today and she's doing very well.  I actually went and picked up her mail and took it to her this afternoon.  Yes, in Smithville, America, if you go into the post office and ask for someone else's mail they will actually give it to you.  Probably because they know you, they know the person you are taking the mail to just had surgery because of an accident that happened in your yard, etc., etc.

What I learned from the incident:

1) News travels fast.  Doesn't matter if its correct or not.  It travels.

2) We have no secrets living on the highway.  But I actually already knew that.

3) Causing your neighbor to be run over by a horse in your yard is actually a very good way to make friends.

4) I am so large that total strangers are concerned for my well-being.  I actually already knew that, too.

And that's all, folks.

Of Mice And Men...And Guns?

The war on mice continues to wage at the Netherton residence.

A couple of weeks ago Ben and I were laid up on the couch watching a movie on the laptop.  We don't have a TV.  We're weird like that.  But the laptop works great for movies.  The only problem is that it isn't very loud, so when we watch movies in the living room we have to turn off the window unit so we can hear, and sometimes it gets a little warm for those of us who are pregnant.  Yes, we have window units.  No central heat and air in this joint.  Honestly I don't mind the big ugly units hanging from our windows.  I like the noise.  I like the cold air.  Its the ugliness I resent.  And the fact that I have to pin up my curtains so they don't hang over them.  It looks stupid.  I resent stupidity even more than I resent ugliness.  But you know, in the grand scheme of things I know it really doesn't matter.  In light of eternity, does it make one bit of difference that I have ugly window units and pinned-up curtains at my house?  No.  It does not matter.

Moving on.  Ben and I had our feet propped up on the coffee table, watching a movie and snuggling because we're in love like that, and Patience was already in bed so we had this blissful alone time.  So we were watching and snuggling, and I suddenly saw a mouse running along the baseboard in the living room and disappear behind the big white overstuffed chair in the corner.  The chair is where we used to sit together to watch movies before my belly got so big that we can't fit anymore. Then the mouse came out from behind the chair and ran along the other wall and disappeared behind the bookshelf.

I was very angry and couldn't even concentrate on the movie anymore.  The nerve of these stupid little rodents.  They're ruining my life.  I hate them with a passion.  We finished the movie, set mouse traps all over the living room, and I went to bed still fuming.  I fumed even more the next morning when we got up to find that we had not caught the mouse, even though we set four traps in the living room.

That reminds me of another mouse incident.  This happened awhile back.  Remember, we've been battling these beasts for years.  We had set a couple of traps in the kitchen before we went to bed because the mice had been leaving their evidence all over my kitchen.  Gross.  Me.  Out.  I'm mad right now just thinking about it.  Anyway, we went to bed and I was sleeping peacefully sometime during the middle of the night when Ben suddenly sat up in bed. 

I sat up too.  "What is it?"

"Shh."  He was listening.  "I think I heard something.  Stay here."

He reached for the shotgun he keeps by the bed and bolted from the room.

I laid back down and thought about how I wished I was pretty when I slept like people in movies.  Their hair always looks good and they never drool.  My hair is scary and big and I might drool a little sometimes.  Not fair.  Why was I thinking about that?  I got bored with my ridiculous thought process and went to find Ben.  Clearly I wasn't really concerned about whatever he thought he heard.

I wandered into the kitchen with my big, dishevelled hair.  Not sexy dishevelled, mind you.  Scary dishevelled.  I leaned in the doorway and watched my husband sneak around the dining room table in his underwear, pointing his shotgun hither and yon.  It was a very entertaining sight.  He reached the laundry room and slowly pushed the sliding door open with the barrel of the shotgun.

"Babe, what are you doing?"

He jumped when I spoke and whipped his head around.

"What are you doing in here?"  He barked.  "I told you to stay in bed!"

He was very tense.  I guess he really thought someone was in our house.  But my goodness, sometimes he acts like he has Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.  Only he didn't go to Vietnam,  Because he wasn't born yet.  Oh, and he's never been in the military.  He just acts like it sometimes.  Lets not think about what he would be like if he had been in the military and really did have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.  Oh, Lord.

I yawned.  "I know.  I just wondered where you were."

In all fairness, if there really was an intruder in our home and Ben was trying to neutralize the situation, I doubt if I would be an asset.  By the way, I didn't come up with the phrase "neutralize the situation" by
myself.  I've heard Ben say it.  I thought it sounded cool in this context.  But no, I would not be an asset.  I would probably collapse in hysterics under my big hair and be no help at all.  Well, that or I would attack the intruder with my iron skillet.  Either way would make things hard on Ben, who would be calmly neutralizing the situation with his gun.  No wonder he wanted me to stay in bed.

Ben was still poking around in the laundry room. 

"Babe,"  I yawned again and rubbed my eyes.  "I bet that's the noise you heard."  I pointed to a mostly dead mouse still flopping around in the trap on the kitchen floor.

Ben hurried into the kitchen. 

"Oh."  He lowered his weapon.  "I didn't even see that."

"Probably because you don't have your glasses on," I pointed out.  "If it was a real intruder how would see to shoot them without your glasses?"

"Instinct, Babe."  He handed me the shotgun and knelt to pick up the mouse.  In his underwear.

Instinct.  Of course. 

I carried the shotgun back to the bedroom, he followed and we went back to bed.  Situation neutralized.

So last week we were again watching a movie in the living room on the laptop.  The window unit was turned off and I was feeling a little sweaty, partly because Patience was still up and wallering all over me, but I was still enjoying eating a popsicle and watching Tom Hanks in Appollo 13. 

I was enjoying it, that is, until I saw a mouse scurry along the baseboard and disappear behind the white chair.  Ben saw it too and paused the movie.  We watched the mouse come out from behind the white chair and just hang out kind of behind the rocking chair, but within plain view.  He was just THERE, sniffing his disgusting little whiskered nose all over my floor.

"Great!"  I said.  "Now they want to come out and watch movies with us!  That's wonderful, just wonderful!"  I was so angry.  I think my blood pressure was up a little.

When I spoke the mouse jumped and dove behind the bookshelf.  Ben sat and pondered for a moment, then glanced at me sideways.  There was a strange gleam in his green eyes. 

"Babe, what if I load the .22 with ratshot and we scare it out and shoot it?"

Now we're shooting guns in the house.  Interesting.

I shrugged.  "Sure, if you want to try."  I guess I thought he wouldn't really get a shot at the mouse.  I should have known better.

He got up.  "Stay here and watch the bookshelf.  Tell me if it comes out."

He went down the hall and heard him rummaging around in the safe and the gun cabinet.  Patience tried to get down off the couch and I distracted her by giving her Ben's empty popsicle wrapper.  She started wrapping it around her feet.  What, is she Chinese and wants to start binding her feel?  With plastic popsicle wrappers?  She's a weird kid.  But hey, she was having fun, the mouse was apparently still behind the bookshelf, and Ben was ready with his .22.

"Okay, Babe.  Come slowly pull the drawers out.  I think he's back there."

Our bookshelf has two little drawers on the very bottom.  I keep my table linens in them.  Don't ask why I keep my table linens in the living room.  It just works. 

I pulled a drawer out and immediately saw that those blankety blank little idiots had chewed through one of my table cloths.  My blood pressure went up a little more.

Everything happened really fast after that. 

I pulled the other drawer out, Ben yelled at me to get back, I jumped back, there was a gunshot, and a mouse lay twitching and quivering on the floor. 

Patience stood up on the couch and screamed with delight.  "Daddy!  Shoot!  Floor!"  She pointed and laughed hysterically and jumped on the couch clutching her plastic popsicle wrappers.  I vaguely remember thinking that she isn't supposed to jump on the furniture.  I'm sorry to say I took no disciplinary action that night.  I was still looking at my chewed up table cloth and the dead mouse on the floor.

And the nice little damaged place on our pretty antique wood floors.

Ben knelt down and felt the floor.  "I guess that ratshot chewed the floor up pretty good.  I didn't think it was supposed to do that."

I shook myself out of my stupor, picked up my ruined table cloth and shoved the drawers back in the bookshelf.  "Oh, well, don't worry about it.  Its under the bookshelf.  No one will ever know."

Except that now I've posted it on the Internet for all the world to see.

Ben disposed of the dead mouse and put away his gun while I gave Patience another popsicle wrapper to wrap her feet in.  Then we settled back down to watch Tom Hanks get his crew back to planet Earth. 

Somehow I had trouble focusing.