A little tale of DOH!

Did I ever tell you how I got started selling t-shirts for women?

It stemmed from the intense frustration I experienced as a pregnant woman. See, (and anyone who has been pregnant already knows this and has experienced it first hand) it seems that fecundity causes mass idiocy in people who come within speaking distance.

People - and I mean ANY people, total strangers, co-workers, friends, family, mothers-in-law ... will say the stupidest, most hurtful, and least helpful things to a pregnant woman*.

Folks invade your personal space, give you unwanted, unsolicited, and oftimes bizarre advice, tell you what sex you're having, ask you how much weight you've gained (or comment rudely), lambast you for the names you've chosen, and more.

I was just in the latter position. I was asked what we're naming Fiver. Well, he'll be named after Chuck Yeager, the pilot. General Yeager is a hero of mine. The Dumbelina to whom I was speaking asked me: "So what are you naming him?"

I said "[Firstname] Yeager. We'll call him Yeager. It's after--"

"Like JAGERMEISTER?!" she shrieks.

Jane, you ignorant slut.

I stared at her for a second as one stares at a cockroach in one's toilet, just before flushing, then snapped, "No, like Chuck Yeager. Do you know who Chuck Yeager is?"

Poor thing. I think that besides being a complete waste of carbon molecules, she's never heard of Chuck Yeager. She's not some moronic 18 year old either. She's a moronic 40 year old.

Anyway, so I decided that everyone, even the meek and timid, needed the oppertunity to have a snappy reply. Thus my Tees With Tude were born.

I think I know now why the female is the one who gets to be the mommy. (Aside from the whole having-a-uterus thing.) It's because only we are capapble of handling raging hormones and complete effing dolts without killing people and blowing stuff up.

My next big money-making scheme is a camp where moms and moms-to-be can come and use assault rifles and dangerous explosives, break glass and destroy stuff with bats and iron pipes, then get a good nights sleep and go back home.

I'd be a freakin' millionaire.



* let it be noted that normal pregnancy of a singleton is NOT a requirement. Folks will also insult, harague, and belittle infertiles, moms of multiples, moms adopting, large families ... I could keep going and going.

The quick and the crabby

I hope everyone had a safe holiday week-end.

We intended to have a quiet, relaxing, post-holiday sort of few days, but we had to get our other quail cage yesterday and this morning was a real pill (details on the Farm Blog).

Best laid plans and all that.

Do any of you know about paraffin heaters? Mine has suddenly decided it will not stay lit. I just got it at the end of last year. I suppose I have no choice but to change the wick (even though it's ridiculous - it just hasn't been in use that long! Those things are expensive.) I have (of course) lost the instructions for the heater, but the wick has 'em ... and it looks as if one has to take the whole damned thing apart to get a new wick in.

I'm v. disgruntled about it.

As a matter of fact I think I'll just be having a grumpy day, today. Grumpy, grumpy, grumpy.

*frowns*

I need to be working in my stores. The first week in December is really the last point at which anyone should order for Christmas and be assured of getting his or her stuff. Have I showed off my holiday stuff? Probably not. I got a terribly late start. I still have Hallowe'en designs I've not gotten done! Hows that for procrastination? Gah.

OK, let me go. I have to check on my smooshed duck, fix a fence, and work on the stores. Oh, yeah, ... after I feed these bad babes and toss 'em in bed, LOL.

Adventures in dog-catching

See, this is what I love about keeping livestock: never a dull moment.

[/sarcasm]

Well, we went out at the arse-crack of dawn on Sunday to the lovely Mr M's house to get the second quail cage. First we had to unload the toolbox, then with me driving the van and Evil Genius Farmer Husband driving the truck we set off. We stopped for expensive fast food breakfast (it was a treat), then headed on to Blythewood.

Now Mr. M had told me that he would 'try to get his son-in-law to help us' since the damned cage was so huge. He was better than his word. We arrived (late - eeek!) to a crowd of hulking young men ... all dressed in orange.
Now let me backtrack a second.

Just the day before, the University of South Carolina, the second oldest university in the United States, and THE USC, had pounded the bejeezus out of our arch rival Clemson*. Clemson tigers. Big into orange. Very popular with the rural crowd (it's our state cow college and a fine one).

So I apologized for being late, the young men hefted the cage and tossed it effortlessly into the truck, and I thanked them. As we drove away I silently thanked goodness I'd removed all of my Gamecock parephenalia from my van.

Here's my quail cages:

The small one is in the back on the right - already in proper position. The long one, perched up on blocks and sticking out at an awkward angle is thus because that's as far as EGH and I could get it by ourselves! It will just have to stay there until I can figure out how to shift it. EGH says we can wait 10 years or so until the babies are big enough to help.

Real funny.

So EGH spent the better part of his last day off shifting quail cages. I'm sure he was almost eager to get back to work today.

So, of course, something had to go amiss.

Seems that our tiny dog, Turkish, decided that he'd liberate himself from the bachelor pad this morning. EGH was heading out when he spotted Turkish in the neighbours yard with his feet on a duck. Very bad.

While simultaneously attempting to ring my cell and pull off the road, he misjudged the unmarked driveway and drove into the ditch.

Ahhh, Mondays.

So then we had to 1) catch a very big dog who'd shed his collar and who did NOT want to be caught, 2) retrieve and care for a squashed duck (it was one of my Muscovies), and 3) figure out how to get our pick-up out of the ditch.

Now, we pull stuff with our truck. The other two cars are 'family vehicles' and automatics. I studied the HMS Behemoth for a second and decide that it would probably do just fine. Any drive train that moves that much metal down the road can probably shift the truck.

While I went and got the tow-chain, EGH tried to catch Turkish. As he was doing so, some jerk with his dog in his car drives up (we were blocking the road) turns around angrily in my driveway, and snorts off with Turkish chasing him (he was 'chasing' the dog in the car).

Now what would YOU do if you came upon some nicely dressed bloke whose car was in the ditch and who was obviously trying to catch his dog? Even if you didn't offer to help, would you drive off if the dog that the guy was trying to get his hands on was running beside your car?

Well this moron never even slowed down and he led Turkish all the way out to the paved (and very busy) road.

Meantime, we got the chain on and the Behemoth towed the Ford out of the ditch as easily as the Clemson boys chucked that quail cage into the truck. Easy peasy. Thank you Detroit engineering.

Happy ending: my other neighbour, Mr K, and his son brought Turkish back after he wandered into their yard to inspect his hunting dogs. Here's Turkish incarcerated:

Awww! This is my goat cage that I put on the back of the truck. Don't worry, he'll only have to be in it till the babies take their naps and I can get up to fix his fence. I promise!

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*OK, Ok, 'pounded' might be a teensy bit inaccurate. We won 31 to 28 and Clemson was within spitting distance of a touchdown when the clock ran down. They attempted a field goal and missed. But it's the first time in 10 years we've won the game so I get to exaggerate a wee bit. GO COCKS!

The turkey was roasted.

Yes, it was. Ahhhhh.

By the way, yesterday's rant wasn't directed at Thanksgiving specifically, or this Thanksgiving, or my family's get-togethers (lest anyone take this too personally). It was aimed at any assumed-to-be-obligatory type gathering that's fraught with stress and run through with passive aggressiveness: weddings, showers, winter holidays, summer vacations, etc.

I was just using Thanksgiving as an example since it was, uh, yesterday.

So how was my experience? Well, the food was pretty good (it usually is at my FIL's house); the house wasn't too crowded (with adults, it was packed with kids - which doesn't bother me); folks were quietly drinking as opposed to obnoxiously drunk; Dr sister-in-law was there with her affable husband and their bright and handsome little sprog (cousin "I") who is so adorable it hurts (I'd love for her to have four more - this baby is Adorable, I'm tellin' ya - even though I know she won't, but she makes beautiful kids); and my babies were terribly well behaved. I was so proud. They were not too wild, sat at table like four little angels, shared toys (even Bulk!), and were generally excellent.

So was there a downside? I thought this was some wretched trial, Blue, to which you dragged your unwilling self simply to please others!

Well, yeah!

Heh. Seriously, most is unmentionable (I'd love to say that I follow the "if you can't say anything good ..." rule, but you all know that's bull. But this is a public blog.) I'm only ever at these things in the capacity of childcare provider for my kids. I don't mind this - it's my job and one of which I am proud - but it makes for a dull evening. The one or two people with whom I have anything even remotely in common (or wish to converse with) are off talking with other people. So I follow the babies around, drifting from room to room like a dark fat ghost, murmuring "Now let Bitty see that, too" and "Bulk. Bulk, don't touch that!" and "Do you have to wee?" and watching the clock.

I will say that we had one person cross the centerline into our lane on the way there, forcing me to edge the van onto the shoulder, and that there was a big crash right in the entrance to FIL's subdivision. I'm not making this up. Just as we were cresting the hill and I was letting out a sigh of relief at having made it in one piece I spotted the tell-tale flickering blue and red lights.

It was as if the Architects of Happenstance were saying: "See what we can do? Anytime, anywhere, when you least expect it! Don't forget. Don't ever let your guard down. We're watching you!"

Yeah, OK, so maybe I read a little too much Stephen King.

Anyway.

How was your holiday? What are you thankful for? (a big thank you to Vega Vixen for getting the jump and posting hers yesterday. I actually meant to append mine to that post but forgot.)

Five things I'm thankful for:

1) My Evil Genius Husband.

2) My wonderful children and their health and happiness.

3) My home and my farm and my animals and the opportunity to have them.

4) My stores that give me the chance to be creative and productive.

5) My blog so that I can write it all down and get it out of my head.

In which there appears a number of italics

Well I've been up since 3:45, unable to sleep. What shall I blog about?

Ahhh. Thanksgiving.

See, I don't celebrate this holiday. I don't celebrate Christmas either. I have nothing against Thanksgiving - I'm a very thankful person, myself - I just resent the whole (similarly to Christmas) assumation that everyone should celebrate it, by golly, and enjoy themselves, damnit!

When, in reality, the holiday is quite often stressful, unhappy, tense, divisive, and almost always expensive.

It seems to me that there are only three types of people at Thanksgiving. There's people who have nowhere to go and no-one to see; there's people with happy, laid back family with whom they visit and eat; then there's a huge number of folks who spend the day with a houseful of people whom they don't know, don't like, and/or are not related to (all in varying degrees).

I mean, really. Especially in today's society of broken families, blended families, extended families ... shouldn't people get to graciously bow out of the whole thing? Rather than the "you'll be there with your teeth gritted pretending to enjoy yourself while almost total strangers get drunk around you and televisions blare in every single room in the house or else (Mother in law, granddad, great aunt Hortense, fill-in-the-blank) will be SO DISAPPOINTED!"

Come on. I love my family. I love Evil Genius Husband's family. But aside from the one sister who, unfortunately, lives quite a ways away, I can see them anytime (and would gladly do so). Why is it so freakin' important to do it on this day? Why should I risk my children's lives driving on the road with stressed, inattentive, and oftentimes drunk Thanksgiving-dayers?

I'm seriously depressed about all this.

By the way, I've always felt this way about Thanksgiving. What happened last year has just added a note of the macabre. I now officially hate Thanksgiving.

(Incidentally, while we're on the subject, one would think that any reasonable person would just, oh, assume that I might not want to spend this first anniversary Thanksgiving celebrating. But I guess that's just flying in the face of the whole tradition a bit too much, eh? Don't want to be the odd man out or do anything that might upset the status quo.)

I guess what I'm trying to say is that, with anything of this sort, if you want to go and would have a good time, you should go, but no one should be obligated to attend a social event at which they are miserable because it is just expected. "Because it's Thanksgiving!" It shouldn't be viewed as a slight or the person being anti-social. They just won't have a good time. No big deal. Let it go.

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Speaking of insane pre-holiday people I have to ask this question: why do folks wait until the last second to get stuff for a holiday? If you're so freakin' gung-ho about cooking (or gift giving, or whatever) why don't you make a list and get the stuff with a bit of time to spare? (This is one of the many questions I have about the winter holidays. Another is: why do folks get crazy over getting a certain toy for their kids or gift for whomever? Who cares? Nobody's gonna die if little Ryleigh doesn't get a Deluxe Easy Bake Oven or hubby has to wait (*GASP*) a few months for a PS3. Jeez.)

I had to be out yesterday. I got my level II ultrasound (finally) and scheduled it for yesterday because EGH was off. (BTW, Fiver looks great, everything normal, weight: 1lb12oz @ 24 weeks) My mistake was needing bananas and bread and stupidly stopping at the Harbison Wal-Mart.

Sweet Mother of Stan Lee!

There were (I am NOT exaggerating) frazzled women, literally running around searching for nutmeg and whole almonds, people stacking their carts FULL of wine, folks fighting over huge containers of peanut oil. If you know you're going to fry a damned turkey for Thanksgiving, what are you doing in the Wal-Mart the day before buying oil?!

It was insane. People were snarling at each other, bumping into each other, grabbing stuff off of shelves. A gay guy sucked his teeth at me because I asked him (politely) twice if I might get to the cucumbers. Women were snapping at their kids and there was an altercation in the parking lot over something (I didn't pause to investigate).

Happy freakin' Thanksgiving. Everyone relax and have a great time. [/sarcasm]

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So, what's up with the whole fried turkey thing? I personally can't eat it. It tastes nasty to me. I also can't understand it. I mean, here you have a bird, a device in your kitchen to cook the bird, and .... that's about all you need. Seriously. I can make a delicious, mouthwatering roast turkey with just oil and a pan and my oven.

So ... why would a person purchase an expensive extra device (which will do only that job) plus the expensive five gallons (or whatever) of oil (which we go get the day before we need it, then get hysterical when it's sold out!!) to cook our bird in a substandard manner?

I know, I know, people have told me it's delicious (*gag*), it's easy (not counting the wal-mart run-with-hysterics), etc.

I think it's a combo of factors. I think it's fashion (it's NEW! It must be better!). I think it's ostentation (Oh, look what I have prominently in use in my driveway! A turkey fryer! Ohhhh.) I think it's convenience (woman doesn't have to mess with bird, oven is freed up, men are conveniently removed from house where they stand, like modern Australopithecus afarensis, around the fryer, drinking alcohol and shootin' the breeze.)

Whatever. I have no problem if you fry your turkey (Seriously, I don't care. Whatever cooks your bird. *snicker*) Just please don't be offended if I don't eat any. It's not a personal insult, I just don't enjoy it.

Now if I could treat the entire holiday like that: "Thanksgiving? Oh, no thank you!"

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PS: Everyone be safe today. Pay attention on the road, try to relax, be thankful for what you have, and don't let anyone guilt you into anything.

Chicken poor

One blog post per month?

That sucks!

As usual, I feel like a farm blog without pics is just not the same. It's kind of lame to describe stuff when a pic is perfect. Then I never get out, take the pic, upload it off the camera, resize it, edit it, upload it on my website, blog about it.

*sigh* Think I'm OCD much?

Anyway, it's raining here - mixed with sleet - and I have a barnyard full of chickens. I mean FULL. So of course it would have to piss down freezing rain. *rolls eyes*

Izzy the pony is in the sick bay since the pony stall has been pressed into service as a feed room (of sorts) and the various pens, boxes, and cages scattered about the barnyard (that are housing the chicken excess) are covered with every available bit of plastic or plywood. It's chicken shanty-town.

Well, at least everyone is warm and dry.

I also was the grateful recipient of a pygmy goat wether who has since found a good home. Did a bit of trading on that one which I MUCH prefer. I'd much rather trade or barter than exchange money any day.

I AM glad I got shed of the pygmy, though. I confess to not being a 'mini' person. I don't like small dogs, or small goats, or miniature anythings. I'm into big stuff. Witness my love of draft horses.

Speaking of big, my last big acquisition is only partly retrieved but it's SO cool! I had a lovely gentleman in Blythwood SC give me not one, but TWO very nice homemade cages! He raised quail in them and they're 4 feet deep by 8feet long and 12 feet long respectively. Both are covered. I can't tell you how much I can use these cages!

I said 'partly retrieved' because we got the 8 footer, but haven't gotten the big one. I had to figure out how to get the toolbox off of the truck because the 12 foot cage just won't fit with the box on. The stupid thing leaks anyway (the toolbox, not the cage) so we've never used it. To my relief, the box had been attached with woodscrews (yes, you read that correctly - about 8 on each side) and so was easy to get off.

NOW I have to wait for the rain to stop so I can get my cage.

And, of course, take pictures. *sigh*

Lactate!

Ok, I advocated adoption last post, let me drag out my soapbox for another fave topic of mine: Breastfeeding.

Let me say right up front that I am totally for CHOICE. A mother should have the right to choose any parenting style that suits her. Each of us makes our mothering choices based on what's convenient for us, perceived to be best for our family, etc. This is our right. I'm a firm believer in this. I am NOT flogging breastfeeding as the be-all-and-end-all-do-it-or-you're-a-bad-mom sort of thing.

I only draw the line in things that might endanger your child (like not using a carseat) or might endanger MY child (like not vaccinating your child) - but these are hot topics for another post.

Today let's talk about BOOBIES!

Have you heard about this? A mom was supposedly removed from a Delta flight after refusing to cover up with a blanket while breastfeeding her 22 month old. Vermont (which has some of the most liberal breastfeeding laws) mothers staged a 'nurse in' at the airport in protest and fascinating discussions ensued on the MSN boards, and the Babycenter feeding choices board.

What's your take on it? I agree that we might not be hearing the whole story. Several suggested that the baby was screaming disruptively, (although the Delta rep didn't say this) while some felt mom might have been exposing too much. Hold that thought. I'll come back to that.

Others mentioned that the child was almost two years old and that's 'too old to be nursing'. This is patently absurd and a prime example of warped societal brainwashing. Uhm, who are you to say that age two is too old to nurse when the World Health Organization recommends breastfeeding "up to two years of age or beyond"?

I read a few replies on the MSN board (all from men) who said that the woman was 'combative' and 'looking for a fight' by not covering up with the blanket and they all asked why she just didn't cover up.

Well, to use a good analogy from someone else: how would YOU feel if a bunch of vegetarians claimed to be offended by your eating a steak in a restaurant and asked you to just cover yourself with a handy blanket? Wouldn't you be outraged? But, hey, veggies and vegans are totally repulsed at seeing us carnivores shove animal flesh into our gobs. Would you eat under a blanket to keep the peace?

I didn't think so.

So here's MY thing: Who decided that the human breast was obscene? WHY is the human breast considered obscene? WHY is a man's nipple perfectly acceptable seen in public but a woman's nipple cause for hysteria? Because it produces milk? Where's the logic in that?

It wasn't long ago that the female navel was considered taboo, and before that, the leg. Isn't it about time to admit that there is nothing inherently dirty or lewd about a damned breast? If you say: well it's also sexual or is used for sex, yeah, well, so is a woman's MOUTH. Let your nasty mind dwell on that one for a bit. Should we also ban kissing? Or just make all women wear veils?

What sort of pathological mind looks at a nursing baby and thinks of sex, anyway? A nursing mother is feeding her child not performing a hootchie-cootchie dance. If female nipples offend you so badly, why are you looking at them?

I hate the argument of "I shouldn't have to see that".

Yeah, well *I* shouldn't have to look at white trash women smoking in their cars with the windows up and children inside. *I* shouldn't have to look at suburban women heading to the Old Navy in their obscenely huge SUVs whilst simultaneously yakking on their cell phones and failing to use their turn signals. *I* shouldn't have to look at prepubescent girls wearing flesh-baring low-slung pants with words like 'sexy' and 'hot stuff' written across the arse. *I* shouldn't have to look at pregnant just-barely-teenagers in bedroom slippers and too-tight clothing scuffing around my local Wal Mart.

We have a truly effed up conception of sexuality in this country today. We sexually stereotype our children - especially our girls, allow them to watch the STUPIDEST things on television. We honour and adore criminals and low-lives, women abusers and deadbeat dads, who happen to be musicians or sports figures, eat up sex-gossip about complete wastes of DNA like P*ris Hilt*n and K-F*d.

But a mother putting her child on her breast to eat is a scandal?

THIS IS NOT OBSCENE!

Adopt!

November is apparently National Adoption Month! How cool is that? I am very pro adoption and have a section in my store devoted to it. I have a dozen designs ready to offer if I ever get the time! (Gotta love the upcoming Consumer Holiday, LOL)

I had no idea about NAM. (thank you to Meredith from my March Babycenter board for the head's up!)

I always wanted to adopt when I was young, before I ever married. I always imagined a few bio kids and a few adopted kids all mixed together seamlessly. This probably had it's roots in the same thing that prompted my desire for a large family: growing up a very lonely only child.

Then I did get married and discovered the hell that is infertility (followed by the hell that is a worthless man). I was quite cool with adopting a brood. I don't recall how my ex-asshole felt. He wasn't much for revealing things.

I went into marriage number two with the assumption that I would never have biological children. My Evil Genius Husband was aware of all this, but had his what-I-now-know-to-be-normal, mysterious, 'wait and see' attitude.

We waited and y'all all know what we saw (five times!)

So now with a large herd of bio kids am I still keen on adoption? My view (for my own family) is skewed now by my conciousness of finances. With five already 'on the ground' (or will do in March) money must be looked at carefully. You know how I feel about thrift. I will NOT have children whom I cannot support and give the things they need. I do NOT beleive that some other entity/person 'will provide' or that 'things will work out somehow'. You just never know what will happen. I'm certain I can keep five comfortably and without stress and without depending on the kindness of strangers (or family).

So, I dunno. Let's see what happens as the years go on. Fostering would be quite cool, especially when the babes get older.

I think adoption is fantastic and that everyone (who has the means, of course) should consider it. I think it should be easier, too. I don't make any distinction in value between domestic and foreign adoption either. I think that welcoming a child into one's family is a good thing no matter where that child was originally born.

So what doYOU think about adoption? Ever considered it? Domestic or foreign? Share!

Sleepless ramble

Good morning! It's 5:20 here ... what're you up to?

Don:t ask me why I decided to blog first this morning. Probably because I'm brain dead since I've been awake since 4:00. Ugh.

I usually work in my stores until 6:30 (when the babies get up) since I only seem to have about an hour of lucidity before my brain dulls down.

This morning, however, I got awoken at 3:51 by my oldest son who's apparently 1) boycotting sleeping and has 2) a new thing of bursting into tears at ... nothing. Yesterday, it was because he dropped one of his plastic dinosaurs at the supper table. Last night it was because he ran out of drawing paper. At the sale Saturday it was because he accidentally tipped over the diet Pepsi we were sharing (*gag* I was glad it was gone. Pepsi, bleh!)

Is this HIM? Or some 4-year-old thing? Is the lack of sleep related? (Note, he still takes a wee nap early afternoon and still sleeps at least 8 hours so I guess 'lack' is a strong word. He's sleeping much less than he used to, let us say.) Anyway, any insight from you ladies who've BTDT would be lovely!

Ohh ... I know why I came over her this morning ... I got some weird spam about Blogger. Have any of you gotten an email that looks like it's just from a regular person that talks about trying out the New Blogger? It's filled with links (go HERE, Check THIS out) and seems to want both your Blogger log-in and your Google log-in.

My Epostbox seem to be spam city here recently! I just got some really freaky stuff from an eBay prankster and I haven't eBayed in over a year - well, sold anyway.

Speaking of the sale Saturday, it went fine. I sold a few chickens, bought way too much junk (Boy bid on a box of miscellaneous toys and had a blast getting to bid. Of course, *I* then got a huge box of toys which have now been scattered all over my house by gleeful babies.) I did have to lift two goats over a gate by myself and now my stomach muscles are sore. I swear, sale full of able bodied men and they'll just stand there staring at you like you're nuts before actually offering to help! Daft buggers.

Boy also got to socialize with a large group of boys (ages apx 2-7) and did quite well. They dug in the dirt, kicked dirt, and eventually threw dirt into each other's eyes (at which point I barked: "No throwing sand!" to the lot of them - none of the other mothers were around. I don't care what the modern PC playground etiquette is. If your 7 year old is hurling sand purposely into my pre-schooler's face, he's gonna get barked at.)

But Boy handled himself beautifully, playing well and putting up with some generally rough behaviour (which is to be expected) and some just plain bad behaviour (no comment), both of which he'll have to deal with next year at school.

I'd have liked to have seen how The Human Crash Test Dummy would have fared. She's much more social and vocal, but also more sensitive. Of course, she'd have been the only girl in the dirt. All the little girls at the sale were close by their mommas (wherever they were) dressed in ladybugs and strawberries and stupid little sandals (at a stock sale!) and not allowed to even squat down to peer at a bug much less actually play.

Speaking of the ladies at the sale, Mullet Woman has changed her hair! She seems to be growing the bangs out (or she was just too rushed to tease them up real big into the hair-croissant on her forehead). She's still doing the whole kinky/wavy thing with the long hair down her back and whatever grease she puts in it (30 weight?) but it really looked better. Now if she'd go buy some new pants that fit, that didn't constrict her unmercifully, give her startling camel-toe (aggh! my eyes!) and squish her not-over-abundant fat up - very like a link of sausage squeezed in the middle - so that it wells up and over her waistband in a little inner-tube of flesh under her too-tight and too-short blouse.

OK. Now that's an image I didn't need to take to the breakfast table.

Oh. Ugh. Bleh. *cough*

OK, so I'm doing this little poll by Pollingpoint about politics and current state of affairs in America, blah, blah, blah ...

When these two questions pop up, right in the middle, between 'how would you vote about this' and 'what do you think of the war':

"Do you have a gun in your home or garage?" and,

"Do you own or drive a pick-up truck?"

Excuse me? Number one, who keeps guns in their garage? Number two, what does my pick-up truck have to do with my politics? Isn't that just a wee bit stereotypical? Perhaps they should have a third question:

"Do you follow NASCAR? If so, which driver do you support?

1. Dale Jr
2. Anyone but Jeff Gordon
3. Doesn't matter as long as he drives a Chevy
4. Doesn't matter - the greatest driver ever was Dale Sr

I mean really!*

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So, all the babes are over their snots. We had one worryingly high temp that resolved itself and a spectacular bout of vomiting (courtesy of Boy, my puker) but otherwise it was brief. The Incredible Bulk is still snotting a bit but feels fine.

Of course, now I'M sick.

And how.

I feel like death warmed over. Can't breathe, head is stuffed up, coughing. Ugh.

We DID get to do Halloween, though. I learned something about Halloween make-up (buy high quality next time) and my camera (it's giving up the ghost - no pun intended - I didn't get one good pic) and the babies had a ball. We were dreadfully late due to make-up, but made it OK. Bulk and I chilled uncomfortably in my FIL's house while Evil Genius Husband took everybody around the cul-de-sac.

The most important thing is that the babies had a grand time, but I was really disappointed about the pics. Here's what I got - all are taken inside with a flash (wouldn't turn off!) so bear in mind the costumes looked a WHOLE lot better than this, particularly EGH. His costume ROCKED.

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Bitty Girl as the cat from Newton in a Bottle (she calls this creature "catball"):

The most photogenic witch in the state:

Boy as his latest obsession: Nightcrawler (X-men 2 movie version):

And EGH as Lobo (seriously he looked SO GOOD in person):

He had to put up with dumb comments like: "Hey, you're that guy from KISS!" Uh, no ... here's Lobo. Here's Kiss's Gene Simmons. They're not even close!

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I'll keep you updated on the illness thing (I know you're positively hanging on the edge of your seats fretting over the state of my nostril effusian) and I have a cool meme I've been working on.

*incidentally, my answers were: yes, yes, and #2