Oh My God, I love my Canucks!

Can I just gloat for a minute????? ( I know that there's a few Toronto Maple Leaf readers out there that are dying for a bandwagon to jump on this playoff season!! This is for you....)

First, with a month of regular season play left, they clinch our division. Then, with 3 weeks left, they clinch the conference title (for the first time in our league's history). And then...tonight....with 2 weeks left before playoff season begins, they secure up the President's Cup, the #1 position in the NHL!!!!!

In Rube terms, WE FRIGGIN' RULE THE GODDAMN ROOST!!!!!

( I know I got the fever when watching the Sedins gives me goosebumps and then draws me to tears. Man, have you EVER seen a couple of players like those guys??? It's eery watching them together on the ice. You just know they've had all of these plays worked out since spending those 9 long months cooped up in that tight little womb. It's definitely part of their wiring.)

Vietnamese Salad Rolls with Spicy Peanut Sauce

These delicious healthy fresh and crisp salad rolls top the list as one of my favourites!! And, similar to having tacos, they're fun for the family to have, because we can all sit down and pick our own ingredients and wrap them up ourselves.

You'll need a few ingredients from the Asian aisle of your grocery store. These are both common items that are sold in our regular stores, however, and do not require that you go in search of them in Chinatown or other Asian specialty markets.

Find some rice paper. It looks like this.

And some rice vermicelli noodles. They look like this.

You'll want to cook up a square or two of the rice noodles ahead of time to allow them the opportunity to cool down. These salad rolls are a cold dish; thereby explaining the "salad" term in the name.

And then chop up a bunch of ingredients. Traditionally, these rolls contain lots of yummy freshness, including cilantro (I friggin' LOVE cilantro. Almost as much as I LOVE basil, which is another popular ingredient for these wraps. I love them so much I would marry them and the three of us would live happily ever after!), basil, bean sprouts, green onion or chives, shredded cabbage and a bit of cooked cold vermicelli noodle. We also like to occasionally include shredded carrot, cucumber and avocado when we make ours.
We chose to use little shrimps last night, but you can add chicken or pork, or just keep them vegetarian if you prefer.

When you're ready to start rolling, you'll need a big flat bowl of hot water. Place one rice paper into the hot water and let it soften in there for a minute. Have a damp tea towel spread out ready on the table and place the soft (and kinda sticky) rice paper on the towel after pulling it out of the water. Once flattened, start to add a pinch of each of your desired ingredients along the length of the bottom third of your rice paper. Once the filling is in there, you might want to add a bit of sauce to it -  could be a spicy sriracha sauce, a sweet red chili sauce, a hoisin sauce or a spicy peanut sauce. All complement these wraps perfectly!  Then, start to roll up, fold the ends in, and keep them as tight as you can.  The rice paper is nice and sticky, so the roll-up procedure is pretty easy.

Last night, I made a homemade spicy peanut sauce to go with the salad rolls.
I crushed up two fresh cloves of garlic, added 1/2 cup of smooth peanut butter and a 1/2 cup of hot water. I whisked this together until smooth, then added some chopped green onion (you could use garlic chives if you have them on hand),  a 1/4 cup of white wine vinegar, rice vinegar or cider vinegar,  2 tbsp of soy sauce and 2 tsp of cayenne pepper, and mixed it all together until nice and smooth.

This made an addicting, but fairly hot spicy peanut sauce. You can lessen the cayenne if you don't want it quite that spicy.
Add a bit of this sauce to the inside of the roll if you like, too. But it is also delicious to dip your salad roll into, so providing little dipping dishes would be ideal.

DELICIOUS and healthy and easy!! Try 'em!

Crying over the ROTTEN spilt milk

After the first night of searching, I had resigned myself to believe that the smell was dead, rotting starlings stuck in the fireplace flue. You might think that an odd guess, but it's an annual Spring event for us here, so it was a reasonable one. The smell was slightly different than I remember from past years, however. And I haven't yet heard the wing flapping panic that occurs in the few days before they die.

It came on rather suddenly and with a force. It was like a totally overwhelming smell of puke. We were convinced that the little dog had thrown up something nasty somewhere and began our sniffing search. We were a sight to be seen, I imagine; crawling around on our hands and knees with our noses to the ground and the sound of deep nasal inhalations, similar to a beagle searching out the smell of rabbit. Low to the ground, we searched the house, smelling cushions, blankets, carpets, clothing and couches, and, although able to pinpoint an approximate area near the upstairs fireplace, we were unsuccessful in finding the offensive odour.
Before going to bed that night I remembered the starling Springtime ritual, and concluded that the smell was dead rat birds in our chimney.
I left a note for B.Rube that he'd have the fun job of removing the rotting birds.

Last night as I was tucking S.Rube into her bed in the loft, not far from the chimney, the smell fucking hit me. And I actually gagged. But I started the deep nasal sniffing again, getting closer and closer to the ground and eventually the smell, but was still unable to find it. I finally enlisted the help of B.Rube to take over the job of the beagle. Clearly this wasn't dead birds in the chimney.
And he found it......
An old sippy cup that, at one time, had contained the remnants of chocolate milk, and a drop, the size of a pea, that had leaked onto the carpet.
DISGUSTING. and very hard to get out. I couldn't believe the power of the stink. That shit is strong; like, it was rapidly taking over the house! Getting rid of the rat birds would've been soooo much easier than getting this out. It buries itself deep into the carpet and underlay. and it breeds, faster than rabbits.

I cleaned it with warm soapy water and then sprayed the hell out of it with some Nature's Miracle, after I made S.Rube open the cup and look inside.

And, to think, I actually like eating stinky cheese.

What's wrong with you folks??

Let me just remark that I can't believe that my fucky duckies didn't get one friggin' comment today! That shit is goooooood. What's wrong with you folks??
I know that you all wonder about stuff like that on the farm. I bet that at least half of you weren't even sure whether ducks actually copulated or whether male ducks fertilized the eggs after they'd been laid, similar to the reproduction life of a snake.
Well, now you know. They definitely copulate.
I love how he falls over when he climaxes! And, did you catch a glimpse of his unit after he was done?? It was that long squiggly thing that was dragging close to the ground, collecting bits of dirt, grass and poop, while he was strutting around squacking "I'm da man. Da Man."

I find it all fascinating (clearly) and I'm having trouble accepting that you all don't feel the same way. It's sweet duck love!

Let's Get It On

.....featuring the Rube Ducks. (and make sure your sound is on for the full experience.)

I'm June Fucking Cleaver

I finally bit the proverbial bullet this past week and implemented a dinner menu plan for our family. A big part of me begrudges it all because I just hate to be cast into a mould that way; set on a schedule, where the desire to eat a particular-something tonight is ignored and replaced with the obligational meal written under "Saturday" hanging on the fridge. (which happens to be my delicious mac & cheese tonight however...)

It makes me feel like June Fucking Cleaver and that makes me puke in my mouth a little. I still try to fight being crammed into a traditional stereotype. Let me kick and scream a bit, would ya? Or at least throw the f-bomb around. I tend to get bitter after a short time of squishing my parts into that mould. I just don't fit well.

But, the harsh reality is that I AM a housewife and, with that, comes the role of providing good consistently healthy food to the family.

A few years ago when I started to eat the Wild Rose diet, I began the horrible habit of cooking 3 different dinner meals in order to accommodate everyone in the family.  It seemed easier and less stressful that way. The little Rubes were hungry by 5 pm and, although T.Rube is a fantastic little eater, S.Rube is the opposite. Picky picky picky. And, that's stressful, as anyone with a picky eater knows! It became easier for me to present her with food that I was sure she'd eat rather than worrying about whether she was starving herself or not. What this meant is that the kids were getting crap - a vicious cycle of chicken nuggets, french fries, hot dogs, kraft dinner, noodles, pizza and grilled cheese. Then, after serving up the kids shortly after 5 pm, I would prepare something for myself: something veggie and brown rice or a big salad.  Then, as B.Rube doesn't get home until 7:00 pm on his work days, I would, most nights, enter the kitchen (or, rather.... just stay in the friggin' kitchen because, let's be real here, I hadn't left the kitchen in a long long time already at that point....) for Round Three. Where I would somehow complete some shitty-thrown-together-with-added-protein-variation-of-a-meal for the wage earner when he arrived home.  I say 'most nights' because there are nights where I just can't do it. By the time Round Three reaches in to smack me upside the head, I say fuck it.

There are just so many things that WERE NOT working with this dinner arrangement.
I was worrying all day about what we were all going to eat but not often making decisions until I was standing in front of the cupboards or fridge that evening anyways. At times, it was a definite source of stress that I carried with me through the day.
Nobody was really eating well or very balanced. The straw that broke the camel's back for me was a couple of weeks ago when S.Rube got sick. She was down and out for 9 friggin' days. High fever, absolute exhaustion and zero appetite. It was apparent to me that she really wasn't eating well enough to provide her body with the strength and fight that it needs. She definitely was in need of an intervention.
I was spending about 3-4 hours an evening in the kitchen, through three rounds of dinner prep and dinner clean-up.
It was creating very bad habits for the kids with regards to their food. S.Rube will only eat those few things that she loves and is not open to trying anything new. She prefers to be able to request her meals.....like the Princess that she is. (and the one that I have clearly created!!??)


So....a schedule. I could kill all four of these above-listed birds with one schedule stone. Last Saturday, we created this week's plan. Each of the little Rubes selected one meal. B.Rube selected 2 meals. I selected 2 meals. And we planned for one flexible meal or, in this week's case, Vietnamese noodle take-out.  On Sunday, the girls and I shopped for everything we needed.


I posted the schedule on the fridge and off we ran with it.


And, it worked wonderfully. I friggin' love it. I had no stress or angst about what to have for dinner. Soooo freeing. And then there was the awareness that I was providing well-balanced and healthy meals every night; that S.Rube actually sat down and ate everything that we were eating night after night. And the fact that I was in the kitchen for ONE round: one prep, one clean-up. I had scheduled the meals in such a way that there were leftovers for B.Rube's lunch for work the next day. The kids were in the kitchen all the time asking what was on the dinner menu for that night and excited about their own choices of tacos and homemade mini pizzas.  They had a snack late in the afternoon, close to their regular 5 pm dinner time slot, and I made them wait until 7 pm to eat and we actually ate as a family. Not something that happens very often here.  

Fuck, I guess I'll accept my ill-fated role, be June, and do what I need to do. It actually did make life easier, as much as I hate to admit it, and it felt pretty damn empowering at the same time. Because, let's face it, I'm indispensable.

Next time just rent us the movies

There's no goddamn way that I'm going up to the movie store with Jungle Book 1 and 2 in my hands and my tail between my legs.  I would seriously end up freaking out on the guy if I did.

Our movies are late back so the young man at the video store wouldn't rent a movie to B.Rube just now.
"You have got to be fucking kidding me!", I said when B.Rube told me that I'd have to drive to the movie store with the late ones before they would rent us any new ones.

I mean, a few points to the young man behind the counter....

1) They are Jungle Book 1 and 2, which are like what?? fifteen years old?? Seriously? You have a waitlist for those ones or something?
2) They were 88 cents to rent for the whole friggin' week.  We'll pay for another week, if you like?? Hell, how much are the movies themselves worth to you? We'll just buy them.
3) We've been renting movies weekly from you for 7 years now. Where the hell is your commitment to your most loyal customers?
4) We chronically bring our movies back late to you and immediately pay our fines.  More than once, you have double-charged us, and, even then, we paid.
5) It is customers like us that make up for your 88 cent fees, and allow you to stay in business.
6) You make like $8.50/hr and clearly the most important part of your job is implementing late policies.
7) And that's as important as it's going to ever get, too. Sucker.
8) I'm pretty sure that last piercing you got in that odd place at the top of your nose between your eyes hit a bitch nerve in you that you're now unable to shake.  I'd also check for metal poisoning, if I were you. (and thank friggin' god I'm not.)
9) It's bad for business. You're bad for business.
and
10) I'm going to spit in the cases before I hand-deliver these babies back to you.

Is your glass half full or half empty?

Mine is neither one or the other. It is both.
The water in the glass is what it is.
Which is in the middle of being half full and half empty.  And, with that, comes the potential to be full again or emptied completely. And full again and emptied completely. And so on.

And then there are the days, of course,  when it isn't even fucking water that's in the glass. It's straight up vodka.
(just kidding, of course.)
(you all know that I prefer tequila!)

(or in today's sunny-warm-celebration-welcoming-Spring-to-our-region's case, bellinis.   mmmmmmm...  this one's full about to be empty!)

I'm Fat....compared to the baby goats

This morning as I stood sweating in the basement wearing my tiny workout bra and little Bikram bottoms and had just completed my workout, T.Rube asked me if I was trying to lose weight. I replied that, "no, not really anymore"; that "my body weight is where it naturally needs to be." Then I made the massive mistake of asking her, "Why? Do you think I need to lose weight?" In retrospect, I realize that asking a child this is asking for a slap in the face. Which I got when she answered, " Well...yes...you are a bit fat."

"Fat? Really? I'm fat??? What's fat? Where do you see fat?? Fat?? You think I'm fat??"
I mean, I've just now gotten to a point where I no longer weigh myself! I'm happy with the way I look. More than happy sometimes even; I actually like what I see! I don't worry about what I eat anymore. I am burning more calories most days than I can consume! FAT???!!!??
I instantly went into defense mode. Man, this kid does not realize that she has entered territory you don't ever go to with a woman. She pointed cautiously to her tummy, sensing that my back was up and seeing that my fangs were showing. "Well... your tummy is fat."
Grrrrrrrrrrr.
I started to think about all the answers I could give her; about how it was all her fault; that I had gained 50 lbs while pregnant and that my skin stretched out without the ability to snap back into place; that my abdominal muscles had separated and would never be flat again; that the c-section scars had created a bit of an overhanging flap that I was just starting to accept would never be gone completely. But, I restrained myself. She is just a 4 year old, afterall, and, this, a good learning opportunity.

"I'm not fat, honey. I work hard. I run 5 days a week. I eat good food.  I am strong and I am healthy."

I've never talked about 'fat'. I have never referred to anybody as 'fat' or worried in front of my girls about being 'fat'. I realized, more than anything, that she really doesn't even understand what fat means.

So, I went back to the conversation a while later and asked her what fat meant.  She said, "It means you're really really big, like a pig. A pig is fat."
I said, "Okay, so compared to a pig then, am I fat?"
She reassured me that, "No, a pig is definitely fatter than you." Okay. Whew.
"You're more like the sheep", she said. "You're about as fat as the sheep." Hmmm. They're pretty damn big.
"What about Julio, the donkey?", I asked. "No, he's fatter than you. His belly is fatter than yours."  A point for me. The pigs and the donkey...
"How about the goats?", I asked. "Well...you're about the same as the boy goats, but definitely fatter than the baby goats. And the girl goats are fatter than you." That one kinda all equals itself out, if you were able to follow it.

Interesting that not once did she mention another actual person. S.Rube tried to prompt her by whispering "Gramps" in her ear once or twice, but T.Rube stayed focused on the farm animals and their fat stats.
So, essentially, when it comes down to it, I am fatter than the baby goats. Which I can handle.  I mean, they're like 2 weeks old.

Sweet Sweet Nothing

Rather than writing about a couple of days in Whistler, I'll write about not having a couple of days in Whistler.
Ahhhh, Whistler. I love Whistler. I have two favourite getaways and Whistler is one of them. My friend Thelma invited me and the little Rubes up for a visit this week because it's Spring Break and she's there with her family at the lovely Intrawest Resort.

But, strangely, I opted to stay home. Without even a lot of consideration. Which leaves us here at the farm, and me, unable to write about Whistler.

I am a social recluse. Funny little oxymoronic 'affliction'.  (kinda like me being a realistic idealist or an idealistic realist).  I mean to say, I am a recluse who is oddly social. Not until you know me well might you realize my reclusive nature, because I am outgoing and friendly and handle myself very well when I am out. I prefer to be home though. and I prefer to stay home. And I think it's getting worse as I get older. I could stay home for days and days on end without ever feeling housebound or the overwhelming need to break out.  I love to stock up on everything we need, and not have anywhere to go. I love the days where I wake up and know that we have nothing planned to do that day. And I don't go looking for something to do on those days either! I can kill time like nobody's business.  And, fortunately, so can the little Rubes. In fact, most days, I think those two little leisurely Leo girls are more reclusive than I am. We are total homebodies.

So, I found myself looking forward to Spring Break this week because we could do nothing..... no 7 am mornings, no lunches to make, no racing around to get to school, no extracurriculars, no Whistler.  Sweet sweet nothing.

T.Rube's Favourite YouTube Video

Couldn't help but share this. You know it's right up my toilet humour alley.
And you should see T.Rube re-enact it!!

I got a chronic case of the Nags

Today it was the loop of the shoelace on my right foot hitting the left shoe with every stride. Yesterday it was the non-existent bump in my sock that I could feel each time the sole of my right foot hit the ground. At other times, the villainous seam is at fault (I find the crotch and the arm pit area the most susceptible to this), rubbing in ways that is not going to be conducive for laying down some pavement. Or the corner of my jacket hitting the left thigh each time I raise my leg. Sometimes that little pebble stuck in the tread of my shoe feels like a fucking boulder until I finally stop and pick it out. If I can even find it. Occasionally, it's the overwhelming desire to have to pee or poop, but I haven't had to actually resort to squatting behind a tree yet.

On almost every run, it's something; one of these above-listed nags. And that one thing sticks with me for a while, sometimes an entire run. And sometimes the nagging thing is real, and sometimes it's more about my head and its need to find something to focus on, and my challenge to overcome it. The fact that my head has to make shit up in order to try and distract me from relaxing into the run tells me clearly that physically I am in good shape. Because if I had any sort of injury whatsoever or even mild discomfort, my head would be focused there. No shin issues, calves, knees, hips, ankles, feet or toes. No blisters, no missing toenails (although one has started to split), no stitch in my side, and no chafing.

I kinda underestimated the severity of chafing until I started running longer distances. Those workout clothes that had always been great for weight lifting, a bit of cardio or the odd class here and there became highly unsuitable for running longer distances, where the monotonous repetition of my movement picked up on the subtle problems with the clothing I wore. I have a Nike workout bra that has a seam under my left armpit that picks and chafes at the skin. I'd never noticed that picky seam before.  I've had to accept that I can no longer wear this bra. And I'll only wear my three favourite running pants for any distance over 10 km (two Lululemon and one Running Room), after rejecting 10 others for bad seams in the crotch. Seams I'd never felt before.  It's kinda like when I'm in Vegas and choose my most comfortable shoes to go out walking for the day, but realize after walking for 4 hours that not only are they uncomfortable now, they've actually given me blisters. Not until we put these items to the test can we really see their faults.

I've had a couple of recent chafing issues. On a particularly snowy day a month ago, I headed to the gym for a 12 km run on the treadmill. And I decided to wear this cute little Lulu running skirt that I bought last season but had never had the opportunity to wear through our chilly fall and winter.  All was fine and dandy until about 7 km in when I started to notice that the inside of my thighs were rubbing, and with each step it got worse. I ended up with a very irritated area of skin there. Will be sticking to my pants for now, unless it's a short distance.
When I did the Vegas race in December I made a chafing error that I hadn't considered before. I run with an ipod strapped to my left arm, as you can see in this picture below. I have always run with it there, even at my longest training distances, so I didn't give it any thought when I strapped it on that day. By the end of the race,  the underside of my arm, where the strap sat, was absolutely raw. I realized that all those months of training, and particularly the longest distance days, were all during our cold and rainy season, where I was layered up with shirts and jackets, and never had a bare arm.

But, no chafing error can feel as bad as the one the guy next to me is experiencing... The Bleeding Nipple.
This is a common issue for men who run. (some sort of karmic payback thing I figure...) Women are protected, you see, because we wear good running bras. (good reason to be wearing a good running bra, right?!) But, men often just have a light loose shirt on and, over a long distance, chafing occurs. My Vegas running picture was my desktop pic for a month before my father-in-law saw it, and inquired about the man running behind me. I had never noticed the bleeding nipple before! ( Clearly, I was too focused on how damn good I looked at Mile 13, even though I felt like I was going to a) throw up, b) pass out, c) shit my pants or d) all of the above right at that moment.)  This guy's black bib indicates that he intended on running a full marathon that day, but this picture of us was taken as we approached the half marathon finish line. Unfortunately, this guy's race was cut short because of his right tit. I bet he wished that he had bought the Bodyglide at the Expo the day before! I'm sure that this guy's error, too, was that he had not fully considered the dry climate and how our sweat turned to salt on our bodies that day. The grit from the dried sweat on his chest is what killed him, and his nipple. And it's clear to me looking at him here that he is not wearing proper running gear. Don't make the same mistake, boys!

As I eliminate the real Nags, like the socks that don't fit quite right and the picky seams,  and I try to anticipate all of the factors, like being layered up vs. bare, and whether my sweat will dry to abrasive salt, I realize there will almost always be something.  That's the true challenge of running. The mind game behind being successful at it is continuously working to overcome the Nags.

"Here Kitty Kitty..."

As I walked across the parking lot leaving the gym this morning, still red-faced from my hour long sprinting session,  a sloppy old man getting into the safety of his 1987 Impala, sang out a "Here Kitty Kitty.." at me from behind the smoking cigarette hanging from his mouth. It took me all of about 2 seconds to realize that there was no Garfield or Whiskers wandering around,  and I found myself cringing.
He was talking to me.

Clearly this man is either too old to know the term "politically correct" or too redneck to even care.
Could be either, based on observation.

And then, strangely, this feeling of smugness comfortably settled in over me, and I strutted my sweaty ass back to my F350 and hoisted myself hawtly up into the truck.
He was talking to me.


I think that maybe if I was 20 years younger I would pretend to be shocked, angered, appalled and offended by it. I'm pretty sure I even friggin' marched in the Toronto streets once or twice to bring awareness to the sexual harassment issue, in my more 'political' days.

But, at this stage in the game, I'll take it.

BB and Xena, both Princesses in their own right

Is it tolerance or resignation that allows good 'ol Xena the ability to bond with the sweet, but annoying, BB?

The Best Kind of Gifts

It's true that the best kind of gifts are the ones that just keep on giving. Here it is the middle of March, and I have three Christmas gifts that I received this year that just continue to provide me with daily pleasure.


#1. From my mom and dad, used all day long, but appreciated the most first thing in the morning:

THE KEURIG

I wasn't sure initially how much we would use this thing. I don't drink a ton of coffee - usually just a cup a day or so (which has admittedly increased now to 2-3 cups a day...but my Starbucks habit has substantially decreased!)  The coffee that I like to drink is as black as tar, and made up mainly of jet fuel, and the rest of the family doesn't appreciate that same strength, so a coffee maker like this one is perfect for us. We can personalize our individual coffee drinks. Keurig sells a thousand different types of coffees and teas, and I've been ordering boxes from the States to pinpoint my favourites.
So far, hands down, my top choice is the Green Mountain Dark Magic blend. It is a rich, deep, dark and creamy coffee without a bitter taste, and more than enough of a morning kick to get me going.  And it comes in Decaf too. We also love the Bigelow's Green Tea and the Celestial Seasoning's India Chai Spice Tea.
A definite two thumbs up to the Keurig system!



#2. From B.Rube and the kids, used all day long, but appreciated the most on Movie Nights or parties:

THE WARING PRO POPCORN MAKER

Now, some of you may already know about my extreme popcorn obsession. I eat popcorn every day. I wrote about it a few years ago...   http://aruralrube.blogspot.com/2008/09/my-mom-gave-me-popcorn.html. And this year, we stepped it up a few notches by going pro!  And it's about friggin' time!!! This machine is amazing - can't say enough about its ease of use and yummy healthy results! I just add a tablespoon or two of olive oil and the kernels (and, of course, a bit of salt when it's all done).... delicious treat at the bar!!



#3.  From my brother-in-law and his longtime girlfriend (but, seriously, mainly from the longtime girlfriend, because it's kinda weird to think of my brother-in-law buying me this gift), used all day long, but definitely appreciated most as the night progresses:

PANTY BY POST

What an awesome and exciting gift idea! (and certainly not solely enjoyed by me!!) This is a local Vancouver idea that you may have seen on the Dragon's Den a couple of years ago. It is a subscription for beautiful, high quality panties that get mailed directly to the sexy recipients. I received a 6-month subscription for Christmas, so am 4 months in, and LOVE every pair that have arrived in my mailbox! This is the pair that I got yesterday.  I totally highly recommend this unique gift idea - perfect as wedding season fast approaches too, as they have cool bridal packages.
How can you NOT like this gift???

Need: More Calories!!

Today was one of those days where my run felt better at the finish line than at any point while I was out there doing it. It was only an 8 km, but I struggled real hard at times. My legs feel really strong - stronger than they've ever been. My breathing was laboured and my energy level was low, though. I guess it should be expected with my brief interruption this past weekend. I took 3 days off, dehydrated myself completely and stopped eating for 2 days.

Yeah, maybe, just maybe, that'd explain today.

The Awe of Pretty Poo

Well, it's official. T.Rube is definitely my daughter.

After just having a beet poo (see my older post on beeturia), she insisted on me not flushing the toilet and forced her sick older sister off the couch to have a look. S.Rube was satisfactorily awed by the deep reddy-purple poo and they both marveled at it for a minute before letting it go, watching the dyed toilet water swirl as it disappeared.
Was really worthy of a picture actually. I missed the opportunity.

(And, let me add... since that old post in 2008 when I said I'd only eaten beets 4 or 5 times in my life.... Well, I've eaten a shitload of beets!  I guess that was kinda my rediscovery to them and they've become a staple in my diet ever since.)

Some Kidding Essentials

There's very little that we have to do for Rosie and her babies. We make sure that she has a bit of grain, lots of nice green hay, and fresh water each day, and she does the rest. Everything is going just fine!

Because Rosie required no assistance from us in delivering the kids, she naturally chewed off their umbilical cords immediately after giving birth. One of the first things we have to do is cut the cords again, shortening them considerably from what they are, and dip the ends into iodine to sterilize the area.

Here's T.Rube's demonstration of the umbilical region. She named this goat Brownie. S.Rube named the other one Chocolate Chip. Together, they are a sweet treat.

The other more unfortunate thing that has to be done with kids is disbudding them. Not a fun job. These Boer goats would grow horns otherwise (like our billys do) and we would prefer to not have horns on our goats, for their own safety. With horns, goats get caught in fences, and their playful sparring becomes dangerous when they're headbutting one another with a full set of horns. It is general practise to debud a goat, unless the intention is for them to head to the butcher. (as was the case with our billys, although we intercepted their intended destiny and created a new one for them!) And, this horrible job has to be done when they're 3-7 days old, just as the buds are starting to form under the fur on their fuzzy little heads. The unpleasant task is done with a circular debudding iron, and it essentially burns the little buds right out of their heads. It is likely a little uncomfortable as it is happening, but the kids seem to get over it right away afterwards.

Here's what debudding looks like as it is occurring. As you can imagine, the smell is pretty bad.

And here's what our goats look like the following day.

A Thumb? You found a thumb?

Well, that's over with. And the Butt Doctor found nothing up there save for a couple of little hemorrhoids, an old boot, and a thumb. I think I have a feeling I know where the boot came from.  But, the thumb! The thumb baffles me.

It is neither good news or bad news that he didn't find anything conclusive. It was kinda just an examination to rule out a thing or two.

The whole afternoon procedure ran as comfortably and smoothly as Ex-Lax. In fact, after Sunday's starvation, exhaustion and did-I-mention-a HORRIBLE headache, I felt great on Monday, even though I couldn't even have a drop of water all day, until after the procedure at 5 pm.  I would have gladly licked the rain droplets that gathered on the hood of the dirty car as we left for the hospital. The upside to this state of dehydration is that I'd stopped peeing out of my butt early that morning.

The nurse settling me onto my gurney into my gown behind my curtain was friendly and comforting; remarking that I would be way too young to have experienced any of the long list of ailments I had to say I'd never had, including heart disease, heart attack, stroke, cancer, hip surgery, hip replacement, high blood pressure and dentures, bridges, and partial bridges, and then covering me with an incredible warm heavy cotton blanket.  The next nurse wheeling me into the Operating Room smiled lovingly when our eyes met, and sang a song about Rainbows and Sunshine to me as we entered the sterile room, before administering me a good shot of sedation. The third nurse, who looked remarkably like the cartoon nurse in our picture here below, commented on how lovely and healthy my skin looked.
It was almost like the Butt Doctor wasn't even in the room.
I drifted off to some other realm within seconds of the sedative entering my body and before I could finish the sentence, "Is that the sedative you're putti...."

I didn't feel a thing and woke up comfortably 40 minutes later.
I'm thinking that next time, I'll ask to do it without the sedation. With all the good lovin' that the nurses provide, it could be a memorable experience. right?

Stick that camera up my ass and get this over with

Yeah,
I'm starving, have a major headache and am peeing out my ass as quickly as I can drink something down.
Good times, good times.

Riding the Porcelain Prince

I've been debating all week whether to share the details of my upcoming weekend and the procedure to follow on Monday.
It ain't pretty. But, then again, really, there's not much that I tell you about here that IS pretty.
And I DO talk about poop an awful lot. So, this is really no different.
But you gotta promise me that you won't be visualizing any of this. Because that's where it could get really ugly.
And I promise to keep my camera far away from anything to do with it.

You see, the Bum Doctor will be having his way with me on Monday.
I must admit that relief totally washed over me when I learned that I would be put completely under for this little act. I mean, I can only imagine the extreme degree of clenching that would occur otherwise.  I would guess that one's ability to relax during a procedure like this is seriously compromised, as the old guy probes away. (What kind of person becomes a Bum Doctor anyway?? As perplexing as the choice for Dentist. Having to deal with people's stinky mouths or stinky assholes... don't know which is worse.)
So, yeah, all things considering, I'm very glad that I'll just be asleep for the whole thing and not conscious of the extreme (consensual! what was I thinking??) violation that will be happening.

Unlike this gal, who is very much awake and apparently looking forward to the impending insertion. The nurse, too, is far too happy about what she's witnessing. (and may even be getting off on that iv pole she's holding in front of her!) And the doctor.... well, I'm not convinced that he's not going to stab her in the ass with that thing. Is that really the way that's he gonna hold the offending apparatus? And can we talk for a moment about the size of that beast?? It's about the size of the CENTURION (said in a loud deep Greek-accented voice) vibrator that I used to sell that would make the girls in the room giggle uncomfortably; that no women would ever buy, let alone stuff up their butts. aaagggghhhhh. I seriously didn't need to see this little cartoon with the ginormous probe.

And, from all accounts, the procedure itself isn't even the bad part. Rather, it is the preparation for Monday's event that is the hardest to endure. The part that I will be conscious of.

The cleansing of the bowels. The ultimate bowel evacuation.  niiiiiiice.


I suspect that I won't be wanting to go too far from home this weekend. For the next two days, I will be riding the porcelain prince. (not to be confused with driving it) (and it's really not nearly as sexy as it sounds, although I'm trying to glamourize it in order to hide my fears). The pills start today after dinner and continue through until Sunday, when the even stronger pills start and I have to starve myself for almost 2 days. Talk about an uncomfortable situation.

Exciting shit, eh?

Damn Oprah...

...has me crying as I'm folding laundry. Am I a fucking housewife or am I a fucking housewife???

Rosie and her Baby Girls

New baby girls!!!!

The coolest thing about having female kids or female lambs is..... we get to keep 'em!!! The boys head off to auction (or worse...the freezer!), but the girls get to stay and breed. Especially when they breed and deliver as easily and successfully as Rosie did!! Good stock.

So, yes, Rosie had two girls. Which makes Pitchick the big winner of our Kid Contest. Congratulations Donna!! And also to Peg and Lani, who came damn close.
Thanks for playing everyone!

Here's some cute pics I snapped up this afternoon, with Thelma's help. It was a tough job, but someone had to do it....
(and...yeahhhh...I couldn't resist sneaking another Vulva shot in there for y'all!)