Sharp dressed (wo)man

When I trudged out yesterday to my post box by the road to check my post, a lady stopped and asked directions. She was very genteel and well-groomed in her Beemer that probably cost as much each month as my house. During our brief chat she quickly aquired and maintained a kind of nervous please-stop-talking-so-that-I-can-drive-away look.

Now, as a SAH mother of 4 under 3 1/2 I do adopt a sort of ... erm, relaxed appearance. My long hair is caught up in an untidy bun, I'm in sweatpants and a shapeless t-shirt that may or may not have all manner of nameless baby-induced stains on it. When I step outside I do so in my barnyard footwear, which is admittedly cracked and worn and maybe just a tiny bit aromatic. I do bathe myself once a day and brush my teeth, but still ... The look's a bit bohemian.

Anyway, when I got back in the house I happened to glance in the mirror (something I ordinarily avoid) and just had to laugh. If *I* had stopped and been speaking to me I would have been able to casually say: "Breastfeeding and cloth diapering, eh? Good on ya." before pulling away in my sleek silver car. The most amazing detective prodigy since Sherlock Holmes? Nope.

You see, I had pins stuck all over my shirt! One small safety pin over my left breast to mark which boob I'd last fed out of and two big diaper pins from where I'd taken Bitty Girl's nappy off in the bathroom prior to putting her in the tub, plus a straight pin that I'd used to divest Boy of a splinter. I guess this is my way of making certain these dangerous items don't end up on the floor where baby fingers can find them until my addled brain can remember to replace them in their proper places.

That or I'm subconciously re-living my punk days.

Whatever ... I'm obviously a mommy fashion diva! (the sick stains on my shoulder were very artistically placed!)

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Farm news: I have a predator. I don't mean that I own one, I mean that it owns me. Farming small stock presents it's own unique challenges and one of them is that predation risks are higher. Face it, your average small dog can kill a chicken, or a slew of chickens if it can corner them in a tight space. a marauding cat will kill and eat as many dibs (my own word for a baby chicken - this comes from my Mum's rural kentucky youth: a transposing of the letters in 'biddy' most likely.) as it can catch. Goats and sheep are prime targets for larger dogs.

These casual killers are just that: killers. Dogs can run cattle or horses but rarely are able to kill one. Poultry especially practically have big bulls-eyes painted on them. If your chickens start dying it could be any number of things: owls, foxes, 'possums, racoons, weasles, even rats. Some are easier to get rid of than others. Skunks, for example, will get chickens in much the same manner as raccons or 'possums, but are so stupid you can almost walk up to them. In contrast, if you have a 'coon you're in for a lengthy battle of wits.

So I'm lying in wait, as it were. I've shut doors, put up chicken wire, and am just waiting ... and I'm looking good doing it and all! Why yes, that IS baby poo on my sleeve, thank you for noticing!