The Annual Stalking of Bambi

Today is Testosterone Day in Ohio. More conventional people may also designate it as Orange Day, but I'm not real conventional. When you can sense it just by opening a living room window, it's T-Day.

I'm referring, of course, to Opening Day for deer hunting season.

It's guaranteed that if I drive anywhere in the next week, I will see several deer hanging from trees, dripping on garage floors, and lolling over pickup tailgates. (Especially the bucks. You NEVER put your tailgate up when you get a buck!)

Life demanded that I make an errand run today. My route took me past a house that is apparently a hot spot for hunters. Two mega-duty trucks pulled out in front of me, thick black exhaust rolling from the jumbo pipes rising above the cabs. Two more trucks waited for me to pass, so they could join the cavalcade. The drivers and passengers were sporting the universally recognized neon orange. One by one, they all turned the same corner. I envisioned fourteen overgrown boys piling out of the monster machines, smacking each other on the back, popping the lids off their Michelobs and reliving the take-down of the 12-pointer swinging from the tree in the front yard.

These men may or may not have surprised their wives with a bouquet of roses in the past fifteen years or spent a dime on a family movie night. Vacations to Disney or the Grand Canyon may be a foreign concept. But! By golly, they've had this week of vacation approved at work since the first of January. Every year. Without fail.

When I was in high school, all of my male classmates who hunted were allowed to take a free day on Opening Day. The notion of allowing the females the liberty to enjoy a day for shopping wouldn't have been entertained. Sure, the men were hunting and providing for the family. But we all know that's not why men pull on their boots and Carhartts and perch precariously in homemade tree stands in subzero weather waiting for the elusive stag to have an unfortunate meeting with the wrong end of a shotgun. The fact that the family gets a little deer jerky and enjoys a steaming pot of venison stew is a side benefit.

Several months ago, Tom brought home an eight point buck head that one of his friends at work had parted with. The friend was cleaning out the Man Cave. I'm not, by far, the best decorator in the world, but our house is not a log cabin or in the country. I wasn't thrilled with this monstrosity hanging on my wall. I appreciate benevolence, but...

Tiffany was even unsure what to think about it.




We recently came to an agreement, with the help of an acquaintance. This guy had reason to step on our front porch while the Thing languished in the bad weather, and upon noticing, he declared an immediate need for it. He desired to own it to the extent that he offered us his own deer, should he get one this year. When we didn't respond to his offer quickly enough, he increased it to include a really nice Pack-n-Play for Tiffany.

The Pack-n-Play is lovely girly colors and suits Tiffany perfectly. We're waiting for the call that will fill our freezer. And somewhere, there's an eight point buck hanging on a cabin wall, with a bunch of strong, tough Davy Crocketts beating their chests and telling fish...I mean...deer stories.

Those City Slickers Miss Out On All The Good Stuff!

The following incident was published in our local newspaper, and with the exception of * is verbatim.

*names and addresses changed to protect the innocent?*

"At 1:27 p.m. Saturday, Lady A, 83, 123 Letter Avenue, stopped at 234 Edgetown Road, in front of Unit 121, to let a passenger into her vehicle. Lady A's vehicle lurched forward, striking the garage door. A vehicle in the garage owned by Lady B, 234 Edgetown Road, was pushed forward. Lady A then attempted to back out of the garage rapidly. In doing so, her vehicle sped across the street and a yard, striking the house at Unit 172. She then pulled forward back across the yard, crossing the street in a 292-foot half-circle and coming to a stop in front of unit 109. Both vehicles sustained non-functional damage. Lady A was cited for failure to control."

I always knew Barney Fife was precise, but...292-foot half-circle???!?

More Things That Shouldn't Be

Something just doesn't seem quite right here...





At a place where I can fill up my tank...




and get the van washed...




I can also use my food stamps. (Well, if I had food stamps, that is...)

Yeah, plenty of great healthy food at this place!! (I'm warning ya...do NOT get me started on making me pay for my neighbor's pop and potato chips! It won't be pretty, and at the very least, the innocent clerk at the grocery store should get the striped shirt for free if she has to play referee!)

But first, I'd like to suggest a consultation with a marketing professional, or maybe hiring someone slightly skilled in creating coherent signage.

Am I getting the special of the day, a good car wash? (Why would I want a bad one?)
Is gas only $2.00? Is that per gallon or per tank?
Are the cigarettes the deal, or are we playing some kind of 3-pack card game?
Is there a qualification process for the free lighter?



Am I the only one around here that thinks this is a little wacked?!?

Why You Should Choose Your TV Shows Carefully

We absolutely LOVE the Carol Burnett show. There was a 48 hour marathon on a few years ago, and we recorded a large portion of it. We've watched it over and over. Yeah, there's some scenes that are most assuredly NOT child-friendly...that's what they put a fast-forward button on the remote.

Savannah can do a pretty darn good Carol impression, and it cracks us up every time. In one of the episodes, Carol and Harvey Korman are sitting in a diner, and he has just been released from prison. Carol is portraying some loud-mouthed, gum-cracking floosie girlfriend and Harvey is nervous about attracting attention to himself. Seated at a table behind them is a biker guy. Carol raises her voice and sarcastically drawls something about "motahcycles and moooorons, moooorons and motahcycles". When Savannah repeats this, she gets the voice inflections PERFECTLY and we simply double over laughing.

Tonight, Tom and I were out walking with Tiffany and Dylan. The kids were happily riding in their little trailer while we strolled through our small town. Well, actually Dylan kept asking to go home, and I have no clue what was up with THAT, but we just kept telling him to shush it or we'd walk all night. The one police officer on duty passed us no fewer than 3 times. He waved each time, I think. See, they do like us!

Almost done with our walk, after a good hour of exercise, Tiffany was torturing Dylan with hair pulls, so Tom helped Dylan out of the trailer and he walked the remainder of the way home. Our house is on the same street as one of the two bars in town. This bar just so happens to be the tavern where bikers routinely hang out...LOTS of bikers. As we rounded the corner and the bar came into view, Dylan noticed a lone motorcycle parked outside the door of the fine drinking establishment. What didn't phase him was that there were three men standing within ten feet of the door.

"Motowcycwes and mowons...mowons and motowcyces...Dat what Sissy say!!!"


...........



We were not within earshot of these guys, but they're probably wondering why I was attempting to contain my grin when we walked by and said "Hi". My voice was only slightly squeaky.

Did I mention I was headed to Stuffmart to buy Zips, per Dylan's request a few days ago??? (Apparently when I tell him to "zip it" he thinks that's a possibility.)

I Bet Mayberry Didn't Have This Kind of Citizen

This is another one of those "What makes people tick?" posts. The kind in which I make a slight attempt to figure someone out in writing, then admit defeat and just go with laughing at how foolish they are, and feeling bad about how sad they must feel inside.

We've lived in this house for a little over 5 years. We've had the same neighbors since we arrived at this address. The family to the east of us is very nice. One kid. Both parents work full time. Typical American people. The people to the west of us...

Mid 50's, OTR truck-driver man, chain smoker, beer can ever present, filthy mouth...wife generally never comes out of the house except for a post office run...hopefully NOT typical American people!

They. Hate. Us.

(For the record, we have NEVER had issues with our neighbors. Never. None. We've had quiet neighbors, loud neighbors, druggy neighbors, churchy neighbors...we've invited, and been invited, to neighborly dinners...We're fun people.)

What we AREN'T...is politically correct, or particularly particular about our yard, our vehicles, or our children's outdoor toys. We also aren't prone to letting other people dictate how we live, or how we take care of our yard, our vehicles, or our children's outdoor toys. This has landed us on the fecal roster with our neighbors due west. Not caring that we're in this present predicament has only made it worse.

We are not your average American family. We have 6 kids. We are foster parents. We drive vehicles more than a decade old. Our kids aren't involved in 37 sports. Mom and Dad are in charge. We're home more than we're gone. (Well, not Dad - Dad works a lot to keep food on the table.) We also inhale and exhale several times throughout the day. And there's the problem.

These neighbors seem to think that the local police department has nothing better to do than listen to them complain about us. They have filed some of the most ridiculous, albeit hilarious, complaints.

*Gabe's home health aide blocks the sidewalk with her car.
A: The car was a Geo Metro - TINY
B: No one's using the sidewalk at 5 in the morning, anyway, even if she DID block it.

*They found pears in their yard that our kids threw.
A: I watched squirrels carrying pears from our trees all over the neighborhood.
B: Our kids were throwing APPLES at bats to watch them swoop down. They weren't anywhere near the neighbors yard.

*They went to village offices to request we be required to obtain a building permit for Preston to slap 5 boards up between the shed and a tree and call it a fort.

*Tom stands outside while she's mowing, staring at her, to make sure she doesn't come over on our property.
A: She rarely mows. He does it. (Probably to get away from her screeching.)
B: Tom has way better things to do in life than deny people the privilege of mowing our yard.
C: Tom's good, but he doesn't have telepathic powers strong enough to keep a riding lawn mower carrying a chubby middle-aged woman from veering onto our lawn.

*We, particularly our children, harass her so much she doesn't even come outside anymore because we drive her crazy. Our children smile and wave at her. They look at her through the (our!) windows.
A: She doesn't come outside anyway. She's very reclusive.
B: Naughty kids, you, smiling at the grouchy lady!

*We park our vehicles in our driveway, which isn't a driveway, and they can't see to back out of theirs.
A: Hrm...gravel, dirt, tire tracks...looks like a driveway to me.
B: Police officer checked the backing situation by pulling the cruiser into their driveway and checking sight line. HE had no problems, and documented that.

The list could go on, but I should save some web space for other people. Otherwise I'd be accused of being selfish.

Speaking of being accused...we've been told:

*We're stupid
*We're poor
*We're bringing down the whole neighborhood
*We should help the boys fill out McDonalds and Wendys applications because that's their future. (Because we home school) (This irritated the police chief, who was happy to point out that, on average, home schooled students do better than publicly-schooled children in a variety of ways. As my sister said, "It's good to have Barney Fife on your side.")
*It's nice to have money, so they can use their dryer instead of hang clothes outside.

These people are just plain mean. I've never met anyone like them. I can't comprehend how people can act this way, because I'm just not a nasty person. I'll admit to having grouchy days, especially when there's no coffee around, but I'm not a mean-spirited person. I like to give people the benefit of the doubt, but this couple just begs for the snark to come out of me! Have they ALWAYS been this way? Why in the world would they get married if they're both so nasty? They just prove that Misery Loves Company. How sad!

We have had several people suggest that we apply to Extreme Home Makeover for a home redo. (Not that our house is crumbling, but we could for SURE use a better layout for Gabe, and it's an old home that needs a lot of repair. More rooms for foster kids would be great, too.) BUT!! Who wants to be chained to these neighbors forever??!? No, when EHM decides to do a complete relocation, maybe THEN we'll apply! My request would be - move us just outside city limits, in a NON-extravagant home that doesn't require outrageous taxes, and turn this place into a Village Park.

If these neighbors think 6 kids are bad, let them deal with the whole town playing basketball in their back yard!

Strange Things in Our Neighborhood Recently

It's Friday. Yeah!! Only it's Tom's weekend to work, so that really means nothing...

We brought this little fellow home from church a couple weeks ago. Not like this...



...he actually managed to cram himself into the vehicle, but the ride seemed longer than usual, for some reason. He currently resides on our front porch, until I can decide how to fillet him. Thanks so much, Friend-at-church-who-thought-you-were-funny-letting-my-kids-have-this....Your time is comin'...

My sister sent me an email with a automobile industry suggestion...we live reasonably close to the DIY, cheap-furniture company, Sauder's Woodworking ( WHY it's called Woodworking is beyond me, since it's sawdust and glue in a cardboard box that you hopefully don't screw up too bad when you put it together yourself) - apparently, Sauder's is taking over the manufacturing of cars now...



Yes, some assembly is required.



Now, I'm all for entrepreneurship. I'm all for the American Dream. I'm all for profiting while helping others...I couldn't face my father if I wasn't!

I've seen Pampered Chef and Tupperware advertised on some vehicles, in a basically non-intrusive, not in-your-face sort of way...

But...






uhhh....




rarely does this happen, but...

...I just don't know what to say...

The No Solicitation Rule In Our Town Isn't Just for THAT!

Dear EKG Construction Company Annoying Sirs:

Would you please quit sending your representatives to our door? Yes, we're aware that we need a new roof. We realize that you offer financing. I wonder how many more times we'll have to inform you that we simply can't afford your services. We were dumb enough to let the first guy give us an estimate. You were dumb enough to think we'd fall for the price tag. We didn't. We won't. In all honesty, we can't afford a new roof at the present time, no matter how cheaply you offer to perform the job. We've heard from reliable sources that perhaps that isn't an inaccurate description of the quality of work you provide. We don't intend to gain first hand knowledge.

I'd like to offer a bit of advice. For future reference on future victims clients, your sales personnel may experience slightly higher success rates if they bother to get dressed, eradicate the cigarette odor, and use Visine to mask the bloodshot eyes. But that's just a suggestion.

Your Beer Goggles Are Broken

It isn't often that I consume alcoholic beverages, but on occasion, I partake of a certain refreshment that shall remain nameless but who's initials are ...
















Tom prefers a tribute to Jimmy Buffett, and I will acquiesce if there isn't any Corona available.

















We make NO apologies - we DO fruit the beer!











We live just 6 or 7 miles from a winery, but we don't think we're snooty enough to visit. We are, however, considering a recipe of our own, and if the smells wafting from our backyard are any indication, pear wine might not be a bad idea.








But no matter how you slice it, this is one beer you won't find either one of us slurping down on a hot summer day. This is simply a remnant - evidence, if you will - that we can indeed co-exist on this planet with our neighbor. We have a long and sullied history with the guy. He took a disliking to us upon realizing that we had no intentions of spending countless hours grooming our lawn to his specifications. We're hopeful that his offer to purchase a broken down riding lawn mower is a gesture toward an eventual peace treaty. He must not have had a pipe, but he did leave this can behind when he finished making repairs to the confounded contraption.


I say all this as a segue to a comical, and mostly one-sided, conversation that took place between me and a different neighbor one day last week. This little smidgen of a man is apparently a confirmed alcoholic. He's probably mid-40's, 150 pounds or less, and just slightly resembles a bird wearing thick spectacles. Clearly, he's as familiar with his way down the liquor aisle as he is unfamiliar with good pickup lines and/or compliments.

I was holding baby T. in my arms, strolling down the sidewalk for a short break from the house, attempting to calm her down. (She's a bit colic-y in the evenings, and while I might be able to wind down with a bit of imbibing, that's generally frowned upon in these parts for 5 week old babies.)

I didn't even see this gentleman sitting on his front steps until I heard him say "How old is the baby?". I told him she's a month old.

"Well, I hope it's a grandchild, 'cause you don't look old enough to have kids of your own."

SuperTom and the Case of the Pulled Plug

Let me begin by saying that the person who invented the karaoke machine should be drawn, quartered, hung by his toes, flogged, paper-cut, tarred-and-feathered, and forced to join the French Foreign Legion and be forever doomed to wearing those silly towels flapping from under his hat!!

We took the kids to see the fireworks at a nearby lake. It isn't easy loading lawn chairs, strollers, diaper bags, car seats, snack sacks, drinks, camera and of course, the kids, into our van, but we managed. The 20 minute drive went smoothly enough, but I should have known the minute I stepped out of the van that all was not well. One of the boys muttered to me "Mom, I don't know what kind of music these people are playing, but they need help!" - or something equally as frightening.

Apparently, there was a family reunion, or some such event taking place at the very public state park. This group of people had the bright idea to haul along The Singing Machine from Hell to "entertain" the unlucky attendees. We showed up as some poor sap was wailing "Crazy".

These people butchered everything from Patsy Cline to Elvis, Sara Evans to Gretchen Wilson. How can you butcher Gretchen Wilson??!!?? Most of her songs are already slaughtered and hung to dry!

Savannah's eyes couldn't have rolled much further back in her head. Preston and Bucky split with friends, without even pretending to sit with us for five seconds. The mosquitoes were pretty heavy, so I bundled the baby into her baby sling and Savannah and I set off to look for HER friends, leaving Tom to sit with Gabe and D. while darkness finished closing in.

Upon returning to our chosen location, I was surprised to hear the weeping, wailing and gnashing of teeth still happening. (I'm thinking that if the rich man asked God to send Abraham with ear plugs, instead of a drop of water, God might have had more mercy on him!) The mosquitoes were driving me insane, and the ...ahem...MUSIC...was pushing me right over the edge. I told Tom I would wait in the van.

The fireworks started a short time later, after the National Anthem was broadcast throughout the park. These people continued to sing during the explosions!! I could hear them with the windows shut! People were moving away; they weren't silently leaving - they were picking up chairs and stating their displeasure while they were going! Nothing deterred the crooners. They were giving it their all. I didn't see any alcohol sitting around, so they couldn't even attribute their indiscretions to the over consumption of libation!

I had managed to block out some of the concert, until I overheard someone screeching "I Miss Back Then" or something like that - This under-achieving, not-so-meaningful ballad had something to do with garden tools actually plucking out weeds, construction accessories actually being used to hold up dry wall, and how saying 'down with that' meant you'd been puking your guts out. Somewhere in the middle of this song, the noise stopped, but other than brilliantly stating 'thank you' to the back of the leather seat, I thought nothing of it. Until the fireworks were over, and Tom brought the kids and paraphernalia to the van to reload.

T - "Well, they know how I feel about their karaoke!"

D - "Oh? Why's that?"

T - "Because I jerked their orange extension cord out of the outlet!"

D - "Oh?"

T - "Yes! I'd had it!"

D - "What did you do?"

T - "They were singing some stupid song about a hoe; I walked over to the orange cord, followed it to the outlet, jerked it out and flung it across the yard. I heard one of them say, 'Well, that's it'."

D - falls off her chair, noting that Tom was wearing his Superman shirt when this went down...cackle...guffaw...choke...tells kids...they cackle...they ask Dad to re-enact the scene...

...the moral of the story? Obviously, Superman approves of Family Friendly activities.

At Least It's Not White Underwear

This lovely scene outside our village caught my attention. I had to do a little research, because as patriotically beautiful as it appears, it just didn't seem right.



The flag should not be used as a drapery, or for covering a speakers desk, draping a platform, or for any decoration in general. Bunting of blue, white and red stripes is available for these purposes. The blue stripe of the bunting should be on the top.

The above, along with much more flag etiquette, can be
found here, and here.

The Flag Code is apparently a "voluntary" protocol, but I do know that you don't want to disrespect people's patriotism or step outside your authority if the flag police are watching. Tim Russert even managed to stir up controversy after his death because someone who obviously ignored Flag Code ordered flags to be flown at half-staff. Good ol' George W. and the insidious John McCain have also been in hot water for not following the rules. They signed flags for admiring citizens. That's a big No-No. Then there's always Mr. Obama, The Man Who Just Recently Discovered That Displaying A Flag On Your Lapel Makes People Happier.

I suppose I need to get rid of my red t-shirt bearing a flag picture and the words "Kiss me, I'm American", now that I'm up to speed on what's acceptable...??

I Should Go to Bed Before Breakfast

Today is my sister and brother-in-law's wedding anniversary. 32 years ago, I was hiding in the basement of Hilltop Chapel crying my eyes out, because Deb was leaving me forever. Never again would I see her in her Gerber Baby Juice can curlers, make cookies with her, or hear from across the room the crack of her gum on her back teeth.

I don't see her very often now, but I'm pretty sure she uses a curling iron, she owns and operates a restaurant within her B&B, and she STILL cracks her gum.

If you're in the Nappanee/Amish Acres, Shipshewana, Auburn-Cord-Duesenburg Museum area this summer, stop by and see her.

The Saving Place

Speaking of helping people...

I recently had the opportunity to spend some time waiting at the "service desk" at our local Kmart. I don't frequent this store often, because it seems when I do darken their doors, it inevitably means doing time working on the so-called virtue of patience.

Naturally, the phone had to ring itself off the grimy desk countless times while I waited to exchange some little boy clothing for even smaller-sized little boy clothing. (This was done in an effort to keep my older children from referring to our precious 2 year old temporary family member as "Homeboy".) I also worked on avoiding eye contact with a gentle(?)man who was, more patiently than I, waiting for the team member to make phone calls for assistance on how to issue a Western Union money order. It appeared that this man believed that $100.00 would get him from Northwest Ohio to Texas to sell the cattle he owns there. I'm not sure of the details, because I have a hard time eavesdropping while not making eye contact, but that whole thing sounded slightly fishy to me. He looked like a shady drug dealer to me, and I can only hope that if his story checks out, he's driving a Festiva, which is about the only way he'll make it 1200 miles on 100 bucks. And hopefully he doesn't need to transport his cattle by himself.

The clerk behind the desk was a pleasant if slightly unkempt woman of probably about 55 but she obviously hadn't learned the value of either giving up smoking or utilizing Oil of Delay, so she looked a little antique-y. She further strengthened my belief that Jane Seymour is the only woman on earth who can make long hair look good past 50. She was responsible to answer the persistant phone.

"Thank you for calling Kmart. What can I help you discover today?"

WHAT????

Discover? I realize it's most likely got something to do with the fact that Kmart and Sears are partners and Sears has something to do with Discover, and they're trying to subliminally trick you into using your credit card to buy Tide the next time you're in their store, but "What can I help you discover today?" ???

Well for starters, let's do an Easter egg hunt with only Cadbury Caramel Eggs. Then we can move on to how to make a size 12 body look like a size 5, followed by the perfect non-fading hair color, and which purse matches my eye color the best. We can finish it all off with the Fountain of Youth.

"What can I help you discover today?"

Oh good grief!