I'm Protein Prepared.....

What's that? You don't recognize the dish? Why, it's my special Cajun chicken.

Go ahead and laugh - just do it behind my back. I don't know if my tender heart can take it today. It's been a day.

Yeah, this was the outcome of my barbecuing 10 fresh chicken breasts. Fuck. My intentions were so good - to be protein prepared! And then I had to go and have a fight with one of the Chaw girls and forgot completely about the chicken on the barbecue, until I could smell the chicken-turned-charcoil continuing to fossilize as it burned at the 600 degrees that I had the barbecue cranked up to. UGHHHHHHHHH

I tried to salvage some of the meat on the inside, but there are only a few things in this world dryer than the meat left inside those breasts - one involves a nun and the other is the turkey on grandma's kitchen table. no go.

It was just one of those friggin' days. This here chicken symbolizes it.

Not quite what you were hoping to find.....

No sexy sexy today, kids..... Sorry. I just can't do it. ..... keep the schedule, that is. ( I can still manage the sex.) I know I'll lose a few visitors here on Wednesdays ( like my dad ). That's okay.

My fear when I first started this whole thing, rather spontaneously one weekend when the Chaw girls were too damn quiet for my liking, and it was pouring rain and miserable outside, was that I wouldn't be able to commit to it. I don't know how other daily bloggers do it, but I can't keep up! Maybe if it was a job, with even the tiniest bit of income, I could find the time. Maybe.

So, you may have noticed that I've done away with the schedule that used to be posted on the left here. You'll still see lots of farm updates, my parenting and relationship ideas, and, of course, sex talk and toys. Just not on a regularly scheduled basis. So, you'll still have to check up on me sporadically to see what's happening with the whole Rube family.

Here's my tasks for today:

a. Wash, dry and fold at least 10 loads of laundry. (they're fine to remain in piles on the couches downstairs FOR TODAY. Tomorrow, I'll put them away.... )

b. Download QuickTax and, at the very least, get started on filing our income taxes. (EEEEEKKKKKKK - Is there anything more intimidating than starting THIS task? really?)

c. Put T.Rube down for an early morning nap, because the little rube is absolutely miserable this morning.

d. Barbecue 10 chicken breasts that I bought at Costco yesterday in order to provide myself with quick, easy, tasty, and healthy protein for my snacks and lunches.

e. Do the chicken chores - fill up food and water. And collect the eggs.

f. Tidy up and vacuum a bit so that Debbie can babysit tonight, while I go to workout.

g. Feed myself and the kids.

Yeah, okay.... so, it's the furthest thing away from the sexual position you came here to find today, isn't it?

How about trying this and reporting back to us...... (thanks for your cooperation)

The Goslings join the Rubes

As you can see, a gosling or two is the perfect pet for a bossy almost 4 year old. They would follow S.Rube to the ends of the earth, and she'd be more than happy to take them there.
Poor T.Rube struggles just to keep up.
(don't you love the cacophony of sheep in the background? The only thing missing for you all is the sound of dear Julio, which I'll capture for you at a later date.....)

To the Woman in the Superstore Parking Lot today...

You suck. There are very very few people in this world that I experience and come across that effect me the way you did today. Your extreme lack of generosity both stumped me and angered me. You left me standing in the parking lot in disbelief and fighting back tears. I'm glad my girls were still in the car so they didn't hear me call you a fucking bitch. Cuz that's what you are. Seriously.

Okay, I know you're old. So, maybe you don't remember how difficult it is to just get out of the house with your two kids, let alone go grocery shopping. Well, let me remind you. IT'S A FUCKING CHORE, alright???? It takes all the energy, preparation and organization that I can muster and I'm usually still 10 minutes late and have forgotten something. By the time I got to the Superstore today, I had already been in the car for over an hour and made 2 other shopping stops. I was tired. The kids were getting tired. Maybe you couldn't see that I had two small children with me. But, you'd certainly have been able to hear them as you walked your cart back beside my car. You know, I've tried all day and evening to try to figure this one out; to know what the hell you were thinking. I'm left empty of reason.

It was all because I couldn't find a loonie for the shopping cart.

In my little town, it's still only a quarter. (I had lots of those.) But, when we go into the big city of Langley, I need to find a loonie for the shopping cart. Now, normally, this is the furthest thing from a problem. I mean, I sell eggs for $3/dozen. I get a TON of loonies. My pockets are usually packed with big coins.
So, I sat in the car; in the filthy crowded stinky steamed-up car, with both girls having a shrieking contest, while I searched for a loonie. My fat burner had kicked in a short time earlier, so my body temperature was up at about 104. And I had inconveniently forgot my water at home, so I was rapidly shrivelling up by the second. I looked through the coins in the ashtray, in my wallet, in the backs of the seats, in all the pockets of my HUGE Petunia Picklebottom diaper bag. Failing that, I emptied the diaper bag completely upside down; its contents sprawling across the front passenger seat, along with all of the other shit that was piled up there. Still no loonie.

But, I did have 4 quarters. I would trade somebody their cart for my quarters. Or their loonie for my quarters. easy peasy japaneasy. There were people all over the place.

I saw you and your old man loading up your minivan across from me. I saw you start to walk your cart back to the cart return, directly next to where I was parked. I jumped out of my car to intercept you with a smile. "Can I trade you my quarters for your cart? I can't seem to find a loonie."

(Now, let's just get this straight for a second here..... this isn't an unusual request. Really. You may have been blindsided by it, but it's not odd. I get it all the time. )
So, your response of "No, I need it." caught me offguard.
I clarified for you, "No, no. I have the quarters to give you. I just don't have a loonie." as I reached out the stack of quarters towards her. We were only standing a couple of feet apart. I could smell the hot dog you just scarfed down when you left the front of the store.
You walked past me to return your cart and retrieve your loonie. I should have fucking jumped you for your cart right then and there, you know? Talk about blindsiding you! ahhhh, the things we realize in retrospect, eh? But, I was in too much disbelief. Really. I stood there with my mouth agape and said, "Are you serious?"

You said, "Yes, I need it for next time."

WHAT???? Look, there's no shortage of loonies around. Have you checked your pockets and your wallet and your vehicle and pretty much everywhere? Aside from my apparent and seriously unfortunate shortage today, there's no moratorium on loonies, alright? You don't need to hoard your loonie. This isn't the fucking 1930's anymore. You'll have another one before you need to come back to the Superstore again. I can almost guarantee it. And, if not, then you better hope to hell that you find somebody that is more considerate than you were today.

I stood there shocked, watching you return to your van. I yelled out again, "Thanks a lot, lady. Thanks a lot. ............You fucking bitch."

And then I turned to the next lady, who happily received my 4 quarters in exchange for her cart.

The Little Shit

Ironically, just now as I was trying to come up with something witty to tell you about, my daughter shit on the living room carpet. What makes this even more interesting is that it wasn't little T.Rube. It was big S.Rube, who will be 4 this summer.

My first instinct was to rub her nose in it. But, I reminded myself that this was my daughter and not my dog. And then I reminded myself that even my dogs haven't shit on the floor for about 9 years....and that maybe rubbing her nose in it would be a fine way to handle the situation. Better than spraying her down with cold water or strangling her, which I also thought about. And then I reminded myself that I'd have to be the one to clean the shit off her face afterwards and that would be worse than cleaning up the floor (it would get into the little crevices along the nose and even into her nose.....) Plus, when I rubbed her face in the feces, it would just spread the shit around further and deeper into the carpet.
So, I dumped that idea. She's lucky. That would have been gross.

My Sunday Secret

Spring Cleaning

I got to do my favourite outdoor chore today - pressure washing. There's nothing more satisfying than pressure washing, particularly when you live at the dirty Rube farm. When I pressure wash the vinyl deck, it is an instant gratification.

Keeping in mind that we live in the Pacific Northwest and that it is a very wet winter season we've just come out of, the deck grows a coat of grunge and slime in order to survive the winter. I got to strip it off.

I popped the little white iPod headphones into my ears and cranked up the music, just before cranking up the pressure washer. I was lost in my own world for a few hours, even dancing and singing at times. I'm sure the sheep were laughing below. I know the goslings were.

S.Rube and I have been playing hopscotch together lately. We took a break halfway through to have a game......

The Gatherer of Fucking Animals.....

.......strikes again.

The Scene:
Saturday morning at the farm auction. B.Rube and S.Rube head out to sell one large white New Zealand rabbit at 8:30 am.
At 10:30 am, the phone rings here back at the farm.

B.Rube: Hey, how you doing?
J.Rube: Good, just heading outside to do some work and thinking that you should be here too
B.Rube: Oh yeah, we're just on our way home. Just around the corner.
J.Rube: Good.
B.Rube: We have a couple of new additions to the farm.
J.Rube: What? rabbits?
B.Rube: No, you'll never guess.
J.Rube: chinchillas?
B.Rube: no, you won't guess
J.Rube: ducks?
B.Rube: no
J.Rube: what then? chickens? special chickens? a rooster?
(the morning auction is only rabbits and birds, so I knew it wasn't sheep, goats, llama, pigs, cows, donkeys, donkeys or alpacas))
B.Rube: goslings
J.Rube: goslings
J.Rube: What the fuck are goslings? like baby geese? What do we do with geese? Don't they fly away? Do people eat geese? Where do they live? What do they eat? How old are they? Where ARE they going to live? With the chickens? Jesus, B.Rube. goslings.


(just wait until you see them. they're the sweetest things ever.)

Figure it Out

Look. You're just going to have to figure out how to raise your own damn kids today, okay? I'm too busy raising mine.

(Better yet - leave your #1 Parenting Tip in the comments section so that at least you all learn something here today in my absence!)
(and, yes, your favourite martini recipe DOES indeed count as a tip, as a matter of fact....)

Dripping Dog Gina

S.Rube: Mom, Xena just laid on the rug and I saw her gina had something dripping from it.

("gina": pronounce as in "China")

yeah, I don't want to have to deal with a dripping dog gina, thank you very much.

A Good Stiff One....

Okay, so I'm a little stiff today. In fact, when I woke up this morning, I was still shakey. I wasn't stiff yet. The pain hadn't even settled in.

I kinda liken it to those mornings after the excessive night before, where, not only did you drink too much, but you're still drunk when you wake up. The hangover hasn't even settled in yet. Usually around midday, it hits you. Well, around midday, this workout hangover hit me.

Just don't ask me to go down the stairs. I can come back up okay, but going down is near impossible. And falling down onto the toilet is fine. Just don't ask me to get back up again.

It feels good, though. I better get some better friggin' results from this than I am from my Zone diet. That was a big downer for me this week. I'm sticking with it and have now also cut out all fruit, which makes cottage cheese and protein shakes less exciting, but is otherwise manageable.
Here was a typical day last week (minus the afternoon and bedtime snack of, you guessed it, more protein!)

5 egg whites and a cup of broccoli with 1/2 cup of cottage cheese and a 1/2 cup of pineapple.

A turkey breast sandwich (one piece of bread only, girls) with a smudge of mayo and a few grapes. One big ass salad, with balsamic vinegar and a bit of olive oil, and (a whole can of) tuna salad with hummous.

And I gained a fucking pound - after 7 days of it. What the hell? But, I persevere, because Vegas in June is calling me, and it's wearing a cute bikini.

She kicked my friggin' ass

Holy hell. I'm done.
That hot chick trainer just totally kicked my ass. My legs are like rubber and I could throw up at any given moment.

This should be fun. yeah right.

Position of the Week: PLEASE YOUR GIRL!!

Oh, buddy, you're going to be afraid that you ever asked! A couple of weeks ago, we had an anonymous commenter ask about pleasing his girl. I thought we'd talk about that today. There's no magic answer to this question. And he's right. It's much harder to please a woman than it is a man. (TV remote, beer, and a little bootie - it's hard to get easier than that!) We're not wired the same way, that's for damn sure. We don't think with our clitorises (or is that clitori?). Did you know that a clitoris has more nerve endings than any other part of the body, with 8000?

I've never met a guy over the age of about 11 who hadn't had an orgasm. I've met plenty of unfortunate women, however, who still haven't figured it out for themselves. The poor things.

Communication with your girl is key, because we're all a bit different from one another, and, even inconsistent within ourselves, (big surprise there, eh?...just to make it more interesting for you, we switch it up). What floats our boat one night might just irritate us the next. So, knowing your girl and paying attention to her cues are important.
The whole process of orgasm can take awhile, for many women. And sometimes just that fact alone ruins it for us because we get worried about taking so long and that just makes it take even longer. We need to know that you know that it might take awhile and that you're okay with this. That'll help us relax big time.

Sometimes, our apparent inability to relax or even permit cunnilingus (teeheehee) to happen has more to do with ourselves than with you. If we don't feel clean and fresh, we're not likely to be comfortable with you down there. So, cleaning ourselves up is an important first step.

(and you should participate in this too - that includes your fingers and fingernails. and any major stubble on your chin. THAT hurts!)

Unlike men, this orgasm thing for us isn't so much a physical act (although that part is necessary too). It is way more "mental" for us and the need to have our mind play a part in the event is crucial.

Start out with a tease. Make out with her a bit, with confidence and in control. Lightly bite her bottom lip as you move away, refusing to give her more. Move to her neck and down to her shoulders. Tease her as you go. Come back up for a quick, sexy kiss again - and then jump right back down to her breasts.....and so on. I don't need to write a play-by-play here, right? You KNOW what I'm talking about because you've all done it. (and, if you haven't, then you should probably just forget it anyway because you're obviously not cut out for this sex stuff.)

So, by the time you get 'down there', you should make sure that she's in a relaxed and comfortable position for what's coming next. If she's not, then work it into your teasing routine and get her comfortable.

Continue to leave her wanting. Even once you've made it there, come back up to her hips. Kiss and lightly bite at her hips. and then across her belly. and then back down again.

Okay, really. I can't emphasize playing this teasing game enough. It is what enables us to tap into the mind part of the sex act. Make her KNOW that she's going to just shudder when you actually hit the clitoris for the first time with your tongue. But don't do it. Not yet.

Make her squiggle and raise her hips to you. Finally, just do one little quick tongue dart. And make sure you find the right spot. Even if it means that you've involved your fingers in your game in order to slightly part the lips. Take a quick look with your eyes if you're not sure where you're going.

Because I gotta tell you. There's nothing more distracting and unsexy for us than you putting all of that effort into the 1/4 inch slightly left of the clitoris. or slightly right. or slightly up. or slightly down. I realize that could be a bit stressful and intimidating - knowing you have to get it right. But, seriously, don't do it unless you're going to get it right. Feel it with your tongue. Your tongue should not just be some flabby wet thing slapping away (although, at times, that'll do it for me) at a bunch of folds and a button. It should be a strong and soft and smart extension of YOU. You have nerve endings in your tongue. Use them. Finding the right spot isn't hard once you actually pay attention to what your tongue is feeling.

So, now that she's lying comfortably and totally wanting more, and now that you've found the spot that you're looking for, you're ready for the next step.

Variety.

Change it up. None of the techniques that you've tried are probably bad ones or wrong ones. You may just have used them for too long or not long enough. That's the tricky part. We probably don't want a hard, tip-of-your-tongue flicker for more than 20 seconds. And 20 minutes of the dog lapping technique is 19 minutes too long. It is the combination of all of them that works; that ultimately brings us to the place we need to go.

Just before a woman is going to orgasm, she knows it. There's a short buildup to the orgasm of maybe 10-30 seconds or so. The difficult thing for you (as if all of this was easy) is that what happens in that 10-30 seconds can make it or break it. No pressure, eh?

(And, if you break it, it may take a while to get to that point again.)

So, once she enters the pre-orgasmic stage, you need to continue doing what you're doing for that moment. Her communication with you is key. Being able to tell you "yeah, that feels good." or "keep doing that." are easy and natural ways for her to tell you to stick with that for a minute. I think, similarly, then, there should be a way for her to tell you to "change it up" too, because she may require moving on to another technique, if the orgasm doesn't cum....(teeheehee)

And, the communication doesn't need to be words. Pay attention to her movements (or lack thereof). Maybe she can bring her own fingers down into the game to let you know that she wants you to try something else. That's pretty sexy, too. If she's having any trouble reaching orgasm, she should feel comfortable enough to help you, by showing you. That's even a fun way to end this one sometimes - letting her end it for you.

I asked the Chawgirls about their thoughts on "How to Please your Girl....":

KittyKat says: Sex is 90% mental and 10% physical for me. Don't piss me off in the evening and expect me to get busy after dark. Start setting the mood hours before you want to do the deed.
I don't think about sex. I'm thinking about work, kids, supper, baths, laundry, dishes, cleaning, lunches, bills...yadda, yadda, yadda. It's his job to put the thought of sex in my mind. Foreplay needs to start when he comes home. A long, slow kiss is a good place to begin. Take the kids off my hands while I take a bubble bath. Give me time to relax then I won't be completely and utterly exhausted when it's bedtime.
Once I'm in the mood pretty much anything can be a turn on. Massage, candles, toe sucking.
Turn offs.....do not E.V.E.R. grab my ass or tweak a nipple while I am doing dishes or cooking at the stove. It's a damn good way to get a knife wound.

MamaBear says: It comes down to helping out without being asked. It's a huge turn on to know he's doing something because he knows it will help me out, and NOT because I asked him to.
Pleasing a woman is so much more than sex. Everything outside of the bedroom will carry into the bedroom. If I feel fulfilled mentally, then you will probably get fulfilled sexually.
Now, referring to sex only, keep in mind that the same tricks don't work every time. Variety is a good thing. Short and sweet. Long and loving. Wild and Crazy. It can all be satisfying. You just have to be able to read the mood. if I am in the mood for long and loving, and I get short and sweet with no foreplay, I am probably NOT going to be satisfied. Communication is key.

Lady&theTrampStamp says: Obviously every woman is going to be different, so any man is going to have to figure out what exactly turns his woman on. If she is willing, talk to her about it. Otherwise you can try different things and just pay close attention to her reactions, keeping note. I think the main key to pleasing a woman is to make sure she starts out relaxed. If she is tense about something it is going to be very very difficult for her to enjoy it. If she is a mom, just helping with chores and especially the kids can be a HUGE turn on. Offer to put the kids to bed for her while she takes a bath. Then give her a massage. One thing guys don't seem to get is that if you want your woman to enjoy sex you are going to have to do some work. It isnt as easy for us. Spoon in bed and rub her shoulders and neck. Gradually switch from less massage to more caressing. For many woman, their neck and ears are very sensual areas. Caress her neck and kiss her neck and ears gently. Whispering in her ears is also a great turn on. This is not a porno movie. If you want to have hot sex with a real woman talking to her like you are stars in a porn isnt going to cut it. Be loving and sensual. Tell her how beautiful and sexy she is. Tell her how much you love her and want her, etc....Trust me this is what turns on women and not things like "I want to fuck the shit out of you."

(Now this is just a general rule. You are going to want to keep things exciting and fresh and sometimes dirty "porno" sex is great. Knowing whether your woman is comfortable with this or not is crucial.)

Some women really enjoy nipple/breast play too. The key to this though is she must already be turned on and those nipples need to be nice and perky. Otherwise it is just annoying as hell. The neck kissing, whispering can really help with this. Pinching does not generally feel good guys. Like I said before it can be fun at times but for the most part gentle tongue action is great. Don't go grabbing her boob either. Don't do anything to her boobs that you wouldnt want done to your balls. Caress them, be sensual, focus on turning her on and you will reap great rewards. Touch her body. You don't have to focus on the "dirty" parts either. The hips are another sensual area. Many woman love to be held or touched on their hips. Put your hands on her hips and gently pull her to you.

As far as the deed itself, again, every woman is different and will enjoy different things. A female orgasm does not work the same as a male one. You need to build up to it. I personally like to start out in a missionary-style postion. It gets things going and nice and "awake." A lot of women enjoy being on top the best. In this position the guy needs to be flat but on a soft surface like a bed with no blankets or pillows underneath. Sometimes the floor can be fun change though. The guy is going to need to experiment with hip positions. Sometimes you may need to adjust your hips up, sideways, etc....Another way women are different is they climax multiple times before hitting the big one. There will be waves of enjoyment and then back down. Sometimes you may need to switch positions or resume makeout steps like kissing and caressing to get her going again. Every woman is different and sometimes it can be damn near impossible to just finish. Sometimes it happens right away. Experiment, have fun and don't give up!! Relaxation, communication and your desire for her to enjoy it are the most important things.

(whew. I think that Lady&theTrampStamp needs her own friggin' column. She's given some thought to this topic evidently....)

Well, if you've made it to the bottom of this and actually read everything, kudos to you. You are now very well-prepared to please your girl. Considering that 98% of you are women, interpret and use your new learned information as you desire.... ;o)

(or FORCE your guy to sit down at the computer and read this. Better yet, click on that little link below that lets you share this blog entry with someone by emailing it to them. )

Happy Birthday Magnolia

Happy Birthday to my oldest and dearest friend, Sue! (I've been trying to post this damn thing all day!!! It wouldn't let me attach a pic for the past 8 hours. So, here it is...with or without any pictures. damn)

Man, look at that pic! Look at that hair. We've always had good hair, you and I, haven't we? Lots and lots of good strong hair. Your picture reminds me of Geena Davis.

This is probably the first time in 15 years that I've remembered your birthday. The sad thing is that it is also the same day as my parent's anniversary, so not only do I forget Sue's birthday, I forget their anniversary too. In fact, it is usually Sue who reminds me that it is my parent's anniversary and then I remember it's her birthday, too.

My memory is shitty, I admit. Sue has memories, though. And she insists on retelling them constantly so I'll never forget them. Just ask her. I have no idea whether they're true or not, though. I'm willing to bet that she makes at least half of them up.

We were inseparable from Grade 7 through to high school, I know that much. I remember that Sue used to wear this totally old Billy Bee shirt all the time before we met. (note: BEFORE we met) And she was wearing it the day we finally became friends. I remember that she couldn't ever learn to waterski, despite my dad's best efforts year after year, because she'd collapse into a giggling heap and not be able to use her muscles again. I remember her waking up in the middle of the night with leg spasms or Charlie horses and crying. I remember her mom listening to the Jackson Five really loudly and being able to smoke in her kitchen when we were 13. I remember her family showering together and her dad being comfortably naked. I remember chasing boys around Science World and spitting on people below. ahhhhhh...good times. good times. I don't remember ever fighting. Did we, Sue? We were really good friends through a potentially horrible and awkward time in life. We made it better for each other. We still make it better for each other.

We were up to no good really. And we survived it. We are the lucky ones.

We had the amazing opportunity last summer to spend 10 solid days together. Her entire family flew here to BC and stayed with us. It was just like old times, except that we're old and we're moms now. She even tried to wear her Billy Bee shirt.

I still love every minute I spend with her. And I hate every mile between us.

Thanks for your commitment to us, Sue. I love you.

Happy Birthday, my dear. Make it special. You deserve it.

I won't photoshop your head on someone's body like I did to B.Rube (although, if I did..... I'd pick someone like this.)

p.s. Happy Anniversary, mom & dad. I love you both. xo

Death as S.Rube understands it

One of the benefits of raising children on the farm is the learning experience that it provides. The cycle of life and death becomes so common that farm kids live with a different understanding than their big city cousins do. We can only hope that it doesn't become so common that they don't feel it (as was S.Rube's demonstration today....).


Even though, we've not had any recent death on the farm (this week), it still seems to have been a bit of a theme for S.Rube. Up until last night, I've not had to explain death to her. When she asks "What happened to the lamb?" and we answer that it died; that it just wasn't strong enough to make it; that we did what we could, she's never questioned it.

When the starlings come down the chimneys and into the fireplaces every spring, we have to wait until they die before we can get them. We listen to them flapping their wings for days before they do. One of S.Rube's favourite things to do with her dad is to remove the birds after their demise (once we had 5 at one time). When they're being particularly loud in the days leading up to their deaths, I joke with S.Rube saying "Please - can you just get the garbage can and the tongs and get those rat birds out of there already????".

She'll sigh, and say, "No, mommy. They're not dead yet. We have to wait until they're dead."
I'll sigh, and say, "Okay. They're just so noisy."


We also get a few other dead birds left laying on the deck, after they dive bomb straight into the glass. Considering the whole front of our place is glass (and much of the back, too), there's a few casualties. We do manage to save a lot of the birds that hit the windows though, too. We rush out there when we hear the impact. S.Rube has taken the time to examine these bird corpses carefully. Woodpeckers, finches, chickadees, towhees. She knows her birds. Dead or alive.

Here's a picture of the bird-loving rube imitating a dead house finch she's found on the deck that day:


There have been a few other deaths - there was the loss of Uniqua, the minks.
Nothing really graphic or tragic (unless the mink impaled on a pitchfork is considered graphic). And nothing that she's been really attached to.

She started asking about death last night for the first time - right before bed. She said, "Rudy got really sick and then he died. " (Rudy is my friend's dog) "Our dogs aren't going to die, though, are they, mommy?" (ugh. are we EVER prepared for this conversation?) "But we can get new dogs though, right? Nice ones like Xena and Beeser?"
She asked again tonight at dinnertime. "Will our dogs die then, too, mommy?"

Shortly after this, she was downstairs watching TV and I was cleaning the kitchen. T.Rube had missed her nap today and fell asleep on the living room floor while playing. I left her there while I finished cleaning up.
S.Rube came upstairs and walked into the living room. She walked over to T.Rube and lay down at her head. She looked closely in her face and started to reach out to touch her. I was lovingly watching her adore her little sister. It was so sweet.
But, I didn't want the big rube to wake the little one up. So, I stopped her with, "Just leave her, honey." gently.
She turned to me and, with little to no affect whatsoever, as though her sister was nothing more than a starling stuck in the flue vent, said, "Mommy, is T.Rube dead?"
I tried not to laugh. "No, of course not, baby! She's sleeping. She never falls asleep on the floor like that, though, does she? The poor thing."
"Maybe she's just dead."
"No, babe, she's not dead."
"I think she is."
"No, honey, she's sleeping. I'm sure of it."
"No, I'm sure she's dead, mommy."
"Do you want her to be dead?"
"yeah"
"Yeah?"
"yeah"
"What do you mean yeah?"
"Oh, no look. She's not dead."

Whew, eh?

I need to warn you....

My life is about to be just too busy. My diligence, commitment, devotion, regularity (and I'm not talking about my poop!) and borderline obsessiveness (okay...you can remove the 'borderline'. I've been obsessed.) has to change.
I am going to try to strive for Progress, not Perfection (as has become a popular Chaw expression, thanks to Chawrenee). There may be days where I don't post, even if it is a Monday. (or, God Forbid, a Hump Day!!).

I have a job to do now that I've been avoiding for a couple of weeks (sorry, Deb, if you're reading this. I'll have something to you guys by the end of this week. I promise.). I've been making my blog a priority and I shouldn't be doing that. bad rube.

Also.... remember that hot trainer nutritionist chick from the supplement store? Teri?
She's now my personal trainer. Well. OUR personal trainer. There are five of us that have hired her to kick our asses into shape twice a week for the next couple of months - and that's in the evenings. Starting Wednesday.

And, now that the nice weather is here, we're just out more - far fewer days spent lazing about in our jammies all day. Far less computer time.

Don't get me wrong. I'll still be here. I just need to give myself permission to back off a bit. So, there's room for other things too.

Thanks for being so understanding.

She flashed us her C!

awwwwwwwwww, I'm all misty-eyed. Weddings always do that to me. (I think that's one of the reasons that I've never gotten married. I'm a little afraid of the waterworks actually. It just wouldn't be pleasant.)

Chawalissa just got married..... woooooeeeeeeeee. She was the only other Chawbacon girl that had been living in sin. Now, it's just me.
We've all been working on the wedding for a while now! All of us bridesmaids. (and, no, Chawshannon, you WERE NOT the maid of honor. Screw that. You KNOW that we didn't want to put that kind of pressure on her to have to choose between us. We all just come together as one large lump. The Chawbacon Lump. God.... that just doesn't sound very nice, does it? That's what we're called...cuz that's what I named us. Chawbacon. I can't believe you guys let me name us that. and we kept it. It makes people envision a big brown hairy guy. a bit of a stretch from who we are, wouldn't you say? although, on some days, I'm sure the Chawbacon Lump DOES look a lot like a big brown hairy guy.)

Besides, she TOTALLY would have chosen me as her Maid of HonoUr, had we granted her that privilege..... (franky, because I'm her favoUrite.)

We all had to pitch in on the research and preparation for this huDge event. Because although Chawalissa was stellar at putting together her 'short'lists, she was the only one who would define them as short. And, incapable of making a decision on her own, particularly of this magnitude, of course she turned to us. Who wouldn't?

First, it was the location, hotel, chapel and dates. Later, the dress, the tiara, the hair and the makeup. We wanted Chawalissa's day to be something beautiful and special!!!

We've been nervous all weekend.... I mean, first someone took Chawalissa's fiance's luggage (now and forever known simply as Chawhusband, along with all the rest of them. (well, except for B.Rube, because he's the only one that's still not an actual husband.)) Then, they lost their marriage license and had to go back for another one. 8 pm on Sunday night could not come quickly enough for us.

We gathered together early for a few drinks and some anticipatory chatter. We said our hellos enthusastically and exclaimed how nervous Chawalissa must be at that very moment! We had last minute visits to the bathroom, to the lambs, and off to pour another drink as the hour reached eight. We couldn't wait to see her finally come down the aisle. We waited. and waited. and waited. We wondered if we were at the wrong chapel. She DID say Garden Chapel, didn't she?? It might have been Gazebo. Gazebo. Garden. No, it was definitely Garden. Where is she????? She's really making me nervous now. My heart is pounding. I just keep getting that well-spoken Elvis dude! Everytime I hit refresh, he just pops back up again! Someone call the chapel. Find out if we're in the right place. Chawsherri will call. She likes to call. They're closed? How can they be closed?

And, then, finally, as I hit refresh one more time, there was Chawalissa's fiance (soon-to-be-Chawhusband) standing with Mr. Officianado. (or whatever qualifications he may have to perform this sanction of marriage....).

I could hear Pachabel playing into my ears from my flimsy cheap Walmart headset that makes me want to sing "Vogue." OH MY GOD, it was starting!!!

I flipped back quickly to the Chatzky screen and typed something that looked like this:

i's= onnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn

dsh'es thete!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!11

Man, she looked beautiful. absolutely beautiful. And soon-to-be-Chawhusband sure cleaned up nicely too.

As I listen to Mr.Officianado speak motivationally (this is where I get a bit misty-eyed) about love and marriage and commitment, I catch a glimmer of Chawmarisa's earrings in the bride's ears. and I imagine that I can hear the tinkering of "here comes the bride" playing from Chawrenee's garter belt that the bride's wearing. And I can see the light shine on Chawalissa's mom's bracelet on the bride's wrist. We were there. You better believe we were all there.

Halfway through the ceremony, Mr.Officianado takes a moment to acknowlege the many voyeurs out here in cyberspace, spread apart in so many directions by so many miles. He motions towards the webcam. Chawalissa turns to the camera. And with the most enormous and beautiful smile (and revealing her incredible face to us for the first time), she does something that none of us will ever ever forget.

I can't even begin to believe what I'm seeing. No friggin' way! That soon-to-be-Chawhusband of hers has already sparked up a joint in celebration. Mr. Officianado raises his hand uncomfortably, not quite sure how to handle the scene; wanting to remind him of the No Smoking during the Ceremony rule, but desperately wanting a drag himself.

Chawalissa is oblivious to it. She has only eyes (and a C) for us! A C FOR US!! She flashed us a sign and not just any sign!

I quickly switched over to Chatzky:

shawe gabve a CCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCC

She flashed us a fucking C! Can you believe it? Talk about reaching our hearts. Like, seriously. It is kinda like cutting our fingers and bleeding into each other a bit. It bonded us further than we already are. MORE than your friggin' Travelling Pants girls, Chawalissa. Deeper and further and longer than that. Kinda like the union of marriage you made tonight. There's no getting rid of us now - you flashed us a C at your wedding....your virtual Chawbacon friends (who have evidently become soooo much more than that.)

We are your Chawgirls forever...... Congratulations, beautiful bride. I know you guys are ROCKING Vegas at this very minute and I wish that we were there. How I wish I was there.

For the record, that was one HAWT kiss. Everyone thought so. ( I totally believe all of the crazy sex shit that you tell us about him now.)

AKA "Playdate"

We're calling it a 'playdate'. I mean, the kids WILL play, right? So, we're not lying.
But, really, it's an excuse to get together to play Rockband in the middle of a Sunday afternoon. (I'm even going to bring a couple of ciders.)

My Sunday Secret

Inspired by: www.postsecret.blogspot.com

Bento Baby!

Thought that I'd share some of my bento creations from this week. I wanted to show you these cool little 'plates' that I picked up at Walmart on clearance. They make perfect meals for the girls at home here.... where no food is touching each other. This was T.Rube's - she had some chili and some pasta shells with broccoli and cheese, and some yoghurt for dessert.


Here was a lunch on another day. Even mac & cheese isn't a sure thing when it comes to S.Rube. She may or may not choose to eat any of it on any given day. (and, yes, for those of you wondering, she DID eat the chocolate chips first.) Hers is the one with the cucumber, her only vegetable option. T.Rube got soybeans.

And, finally, S.Rube's school snack on Tuesday, complete with a slice of her homemade banana bread, some ham, cheese, crackers and fruit snacks. I always put a sticker in her school snacks, that she puts on the back of her hand at snack time, and thinks about me.

In a weak moment on Friday night, I ordered a whole bunch more of the Wilton's silicone cups - all different shapes, sizes and colours - from Amazon.com. I'm super excited for their arrival!!

To the Sweet Young Couple at McDonald's Playland yesterday....

......who weren't really a couple at all.

(Well, actually, you ARE both part of a couple, except that neither of your spouses were with you.)

I wonder if they know that you spent 3 hours sitting at a miniature table on miniature stools in a room that is overwhelmingly loud, so that "your girls could play." I only know that you spent 3 hours there because I was eavesdropping. And, I heard you say to your daughter (the only words to her the entire time I was there), " C'mon, we need to get home. We've been here for 3 hours now." So, I'm not exaggerating. Look, nobody sits for 3 hours in that space. Except for two people totally caught up in each other and holding onto every possible second together. (and the occasional selfless grandma on a rainy Saturday.)

It was so cute how you bickered over who wanted to run back up to the counter to get one of the girls more chocolate milk. I swear I heard you giggle like a girl during that interchange actually, buddy. Do you giggle like that for your wife?

I liked how genuine you sounded when the girls would return to the table and you'd suggest excitedly that they go back up and play. I don't think they're onto you at all. You're pretty safe there. For now. They looked to be about 7 though, so I wouldn't expect innocent ignorance for much longer.

I saw the way you caught each other's eyes. I even saw your knees knock into each other. (When they're up at your chest, because of the little stools you're on, they're easy to see.) So, I noticed, too, that you didn't move them apart for a long time.

In fact, I could almost see the steam coming off them. It made you both a little warm, didn't it?
(it made ME a little warm.... but, then again, it might be the hydroxycut (or, rather, the ThinRG that I started taking on Wednesday) that was doing that).

At that point, I was still actually entertaining the idea that you WERE a couple; that one of the girls was yours and the other one was her friend. And, I was, admittedly, getting a little turned on by the energy you were giving off.

And then you started talking about having cheated before.
And how you even went to therapy with your wife after the fact, because you were committed to working on it.

And you started talking about how you were uncertain how happy you really were and how your husband doesn't really cater to some of your emotional needs. (ooooohhh....big fucking revelation there, eh?? Don't think that this guy'll be any different, k??)

You are clearly interested in one another. Your energies were creating a fucking light show at the end of our mini table.
I wanted to pull you both aside at that point and yell, "STOP!!!!" Pay attention to what is happening here. Get yourselves out now.

But, what good would this be? And what good is this letter even? never able to reach its intended recipients? It's too bad. We could easily learn a thing or two from people out there in the world who have no forum for feedback. Imagine being able to tell a perfect stranger what you really think? Or having some sort of anonymous commenter ability? where we can fill out a card and submit it.
(That reminds of this website that my friend, Renee, brought to our attention that had 'johns' rating a particular girl they were with and providing comments/feedback on the service she provided to them. I wonder if reading bad comments helps motivate the girl to give a better blow job that night at work?)

In any case, if there was any way that I could get this letter to you two, I would. Just to let you know that I could see what was going on between you today and that, if it was any of my business, you should just walk away and quit entertaining the idea and the thoughts.

And, by any chance, did you step outside of your little love bubble long enough to notice me pull out the baggy of broccoli that I'd brought from home to add to my small garden salad and grilled chicken breast? Because you could just back me up here and confirm that I actually DID do that. and that I wasn't eating fries and a filet-o-fish or anything like that.
(I'd appreciate it.)

(and can you please kindly keep your girls from climbing up the slides? my oldest was a bit scared to go down because they were kinda monopolizing it.)

Thanks for your consideration
J.Rube

It's just a shitty job sometimes

While I'm standing here just now getting caught up on email, I can smell shit. I've just changed T.Rube's diaper, which is definitely in contention for being stinkier than she's ever produced before. So, I imagine that the smell is still kinda stuck in my nose. Is this even possible? For a stink to be stuck in your nose?

Not only was it the stinkiest diaper ever, it was a messy one. Probably goes hand-in-hand. (although sometimes she surprises me by popping out a few rock hard reekers. )
And not only was it messy, but the diaper ended up on the floor upside down at the end of the change table, after T.Rube kicked it. So, then, there was stinky shit on the floor, on her legs and butt, and on her feet. Did I mention how stinky this shit was???

I got everything cleaned up, got her down for her nap, and have come to the computer to check email, because I'm addicted like that. I still have my shoes and my coat on. I haven't unloaded groceries from the truck. In fact, the truck door is still wide open waiting for me.
But, checking email comes first. (as is writing this to you. Cuz I'm still standing here 30 minutes later.... )
There's the shit smell. I check the bottoms of my shoes, and the girls' boots at the door beside me. I did take the time to carefully wash my hands right after the change, but I still give them a once-over and sniff at a few spots. (apparently, they were just age spots though).

Then, when I look down, I see it on the left arm of my jacket. a smear. It's already dried even. It looks like dirt. Sure enough, it's what I'm smelling. There's shit on my arm.

WARNING: If you do not yet have children and any part of this story tweaked you or grossed you out in any way, you are not ready for a baby.

Realistically and potentially, there's shit on your arm for years.

Dagaz

I've been thinking a lot about values and what we pass down to our kids. Ever since Easter, it's been on my mind. I was telling someone around that time about my parents and how they are, by far, the most giving people that I know. They do the things that they probably don't want to be doing. And they do them positively and with humour and with grace. You'd never ever know that they might not want to be doing some of those things, for they undertake to them joyfully.

"Undertake to it joyfully." Man, what a valuable valuable thing; to be able to pass something like THAT down to your kids?

Throughout my mid to late twenties, I got quite interested in runes. I have a few sets of them around here still - a nice little clay set that I made myself one cold, wet winter in Squamish, with guitars, djembe drums, hot tea and overflowing ashtrays, when the climbing season was in hibernation . (ahhhhh....that was a magical winter.) Runes are an ancient Norse Viking form of magic and divination, that were also used as an alphabet for many different European nations and languages. Each of the 24 symbols holds meaning, and is believed to provide insight and recommendations to whatever thoughts you might want answers for.

"Undertake to do it joyfully" is a piece of my favourite rune; the one that holds the most significance for me - Dagaz. Dagaz looks like the infinity symbol (it's up above in that pile of runes on the right side towards the back) and is the basis for the tattoo on my lower back. Dagaz means Breakthrough/Transformation and the meaning behind the rune makes me shake in my booties when I think about it, cuz there couldn't be a more powerful and significant message for me and my life. It's too damn deep for me to even get into here and now. I've just tried and deleted it about 8 times. Believe me, it's significant shit! It changed the course of my life.

The end of it stated: "Considerable hard work can be involved in a time of transformation. Undertake to do it joyfully." aaahhhhh big sigh

It is a value that my parents live and breathe. It is a value that I try to live and breathe. And it is certainly a gift that I want to give to my children.

There are a whole bunch of values that I hope to pass on to my children. These are a few:

Making a list like this (even if it's a mental one!) is a good place to start the process . I'm sure that you recognize a few of your own values up there, too.

Sitting down with our spouse and coming up with a list of important values to us both is a good thing to do, if you're the type of people who are able to do stuff like that. (Personally, we're not. We talk about it at times, but we wouldn't sit down and make a list. Mostly because B.Rube wouldn't really be interested in the least. )

Figure out what strengths we each bring to the family - what values are easy for us to demonstrate and model, because they are just seemingly inherent to us? Those are good ones to start with. We know that modeling values and behaviour to our children is the most effective vehicle for getting our message out. So, some of them we're already reinforcing just by naturally doing them.

Which means that you're probably also reinforcing a few that you'd really rather not.

So, recognize the ones that you're going to have to work a bit harder on. For example, you want to teach your kid the importance of tolerance. If you yourself struggle with handling situations with tolerance (be it with the kids or with your spouse or parent), it is unlikely that your child is just going to easily pick up the value. They won't know what it is.

Who we are, how we present, what we say, what we do - are all very very important. We gotta walk the walk.

And, then add the next step: Label the behaviour for the little rubes. So that they know what these values are and what they look like.

So that they know that sharing their candy with their sister is called being "generous".

And that arguing about not wanting to do something is called being "assertive".

And that putting up with the bossy cousin is called being "tolerant".

And that following through with cleaning up the playroom before bed is called "reliable".

And that undertaking to do it joyfully is called "positiveness". (and Dagaz)

It means that we need to start paying attention more, though, and find the opportunities to make the statements. Believe me, there are opportunities in every single bit of behaviour that we see! even in the negative and undesireable stuff! (we'll get into that more specifically on another day.)

So, rather than just saying, "Good for you!!" "Good job!!" "Alright!! Good work!", you say, "Good for you! Look at how generous you're being! That's awesome." Or "I can see how thoughtful you are being by wondering whether your sister wants more chocolate too. That's very thoughtful of you! Good for you." (even though I KNOW she wants to steal her sister's chocolate).

Rather than your family just cleaning up the house and the kitchen because "you have to", frame it so that "tidying up shows respect for yourself, each other and your home."

Or, point out behaviour you see in other people, to help your kids see it too. When you see a car broken down and someone stopped to help, point out how "helpful or considerate or thoughtful" that person must be to stop and help, rather than just pointing out the broken-down car on the side of the road. When someone holds open the door for you while out, point out to your child how "kind" that person is.

Give meaning to the things that we do.

And undertake to do it joyfully.

p.s. I want to dedicate this post to my parents and take the opportunity to say Happy Anniversary to you guys ( a few days early....). You're the best. Don't EVER doubt the things you passed on to me.

Timeless Toys

In J.Rube's mind right now.....

I wonder if doctors ever play a guessing game with themselves about how a woman patient "tends to her garden." So that as they head into that next pap smear, they contemplate whether that woman is balder-than-an-eagle-done-away-with-the-grass-altogether-and-cemented-it-all-in, stripping-like-the-airport-runway-with-a-nice-tidy-row-of-lettuce-up-the-middle, a-complete-lawn-but-very-nicely-mowed-like-the-golf-course-green or an-absolute-overrun-and-out-of-control-wildflower-meadow. (and you hope to hell that the flowers are the only thing you're smelling.)

I'm sure they've been shocked before by some 60-year-old woman with a full Brazilian. Or, conversely, the hot 25-year-old with the Enchanted Forest.

I've entered the Zone

Yesterday spontaneously (but, really, more like "finally"!) became the day when I figured out and implemented my new weight loss/exercise plan.

After joyfully leaving the shoe sale, I headed to Starbucks, where I bought a paper, sat ALONE, had a grande extra caramel caramel macchiato (that's not the part where my new regime started) (that IS, however, my usual Starbucks order.) And didn't have to take care of a damn soul besides myself. hallelujah!

I was really waiting for Popeye's Nutritional Supplement Store to open at 10 am.
I wanted to buy myself some Hydroxycut or other similar fat-burning miracle.

Teri is a hot body builder nutritionist chick that works there and we got talking. She inspired the heck right out of me, I tell you. She's inspired that fat right off my body. Who needs lipo, when you've got Teri?

I left the store with a fat burner, a protein powder, Teri's business card, a solid plan in place and more motivation to do this than I've felt in a long time.

(heck, Teri was talking me into training to compete in the Masters bodybuilding (35+) in a year's time. I made the mistake of telling her that I entertained the idea 10 years ago. )

So, 10 lbs by June 9th. I started yesterday.

I've dug out my Zone program from a few years back. The Zone is a high protein, low carb diet, which virtually eliminates all starchy carbs, like pasta, rice, potato and breads. I've had a lot of success with it in the past. As of yesterday afternoon (right after my grande extra caramel caramel macchiato), I'm on it.

Last night's dinner was a spinach salad with balsamic vinegar and olive oil (with peppers, celery and broccolini), and a barbecued tenderloin. I skipped the baked potato.

Breakfast this morning was long-cooking steel cut oatmeal with 6 almonds mixed with a scoop of protein powder. Lunch ( at McDonald's) was a garden salad with a grilled chicken and some Paul Newman's low fat thai dressing (which isn't really part of the Zone, but has only 1 g of fat for the entire package (of which I used half!.

I'll keep you all posted.

The pair from the flyer

As planned, I headed out of the house at 7:20 am yesterday morning, with a new appreciation for leaving the house kids-free. I had nothing, but myself and my purse (note: PURSE, not diaper bag!!) over my arm. (okay, and my makeup bag, because the car is still the best place for applying it). I had no cute bento snacks packed. I had no sippy cups. I had no diaper and wipes, no extra clothing, no blankie and choochie, and no little books or toys. It was me again. Just me again. And it was so easy to walk out.

I arrived at the shoe sale to a lineup longer than my wide angle lens could capture; longer than I could see the end of; longer than I ever imagined. But, with my new attitude and excitement just at being alone, I had no problem with the thought of joining the masses.





Behind me stood one of only two men that I could see. He was accompanying his wife, who claimed that it was HIM who wanted shoes. Not too likely, partner. Admit it, you're whipped.

You couldn't pay B.Rube enough money to join me at a 8 am shoe sale. even if it was 4 days later and 2 pm in the afternoon. even if he was promised special favours. even if I exchanged cleaning out the barns for a year. This was not the place for a man. That was clear.

When the line started moving forward about 20 minutes later, my heart started to pound a bit. I got a bit nervous about what was about to happen next. Mostly, it was the unexpectedness of things and the crowd. Out loud, I said, "Wow. Did your heart just start pounding like mine?" to the few women around me. One of them answered with, " I know! It's crazy how excited we all get about shoes, eh?"

I was referring more to my agoraphobia, claustrophobia and fear of the unknown. but, yeah, shoes are pretty heart pounding too.

As we walked in, we were handed a large canvas bag, and were shuffled forward to the shoes. THE SHOES!!!

The racks were organized by size, not style. It took me a few minutes to find the 7-7.5 racks, mostly because I just needed to take a moment before jumping in. By that time, most of the shoes had already been scooped up into someone else's bag. The protocol was that you just grabbed every possible shoe that you liked (or didn't really like) that may (or may not) fit you and threw it into your bag and continued up the aisle. Within minutes, these women had 50 pairs of shoes each in their bags, and were headed for the chairs.

Now, understand, I went to the sale to buy the one pair of shoes that I'd seen in the flyer. As I reached the end of the first 7-7.5 aisle, I realized that the likelihood of this was dwindling.

I muttered to the woman next me at that particular moment, "I guess there's no chance in hell that I'm going to find the pair that I wanted from the flyer, is there?" She smiled sympathetically, "ummm...no. Probably not."

I don't wear heels often. I just needed a new pair of black ones. I bought a brown pair that I loved last year. I now wanted a black pair. Having abandoned the idea of finding that pair from the flyer, I settled on a couple of others to try on.

Neither of them fit perfectly, but both of them were alright - both kinda cute in their own way. One was a little big; the other a little small. I kept searching the piles for the other pair.

(For, you see, all of the 50 pairs of shoes that each person brought to the chairs to try on that didn't fit or otherwise make the cut, were now lying in huge heaps around the store. ) There were shoes everywhere. and they were all different sizes, all mixed up. What a nightmare. I didn't find that pair. Not in my size, not in a colour other than black, not even in some other size. nada.



I settled on the two that I had.

And got up to check out the purses, sunglasses, tank tops, skirts, tops, and shorts (all of which I also purchased!!!) and almost tripped over a pair of shoes. I looked down.

and you know it.... it happened again....unbelievably true..... the pair from the friggin' flyer!
"Now, what were the chances that they were my size?", I thought to myself.

With my track record this past week, pretty damn good, I'd say!

I slipped my foot into them.

Like Cinderella placing her foot into the glass slipper. You better believe they fit.

Selecting the Right Material

Let's have a little lesson on toys....
Sex toys can be made from just about anything (think: zucchini), but most are composed of one of the following materials:

Silicone
Watch it wiggle, see it jiggle ... silicone is the ideal material for just about every kind of sex toy. Lifelike with a soft, smooth texture, silicone quickly reaches and retains body temperature, making your sexual experience wonderfully warm and realistic. No hard edges, no snags or imperfections - if you run your fingers over these toys with your eyes closed, you might think you're touching skin. Silicone also cleans up pretty well; it's non-porous, so you can easily wash your toys with soap and water without having to worry about having an allergic reaction. Because you can boil silicone, sex toys made from this material can be fully sterilized and are safe to share. Just make sure you clean them thoroughly between uses. In addition to being durable, silicone toys are nearly hypo allergenic; very rarely do people experience allergic reactions to them. The only drawback to this wonder-material is the price - because silicone toys are hand-cast, they can cost significantly more than their rubber or jelly cousins. If you're looking for a high-quality, realistic toy that will last a long time, silicone is a good way to go.

Jelly
Jelly toys can be quite nice, at nearly half the price of their silicone sisters. While not as smooth or silky as sex toys made from silicone, jelly toys can still bring you a tremendous amount of pleasure. The secret is lubrication - use lots of it. Usually available in bright space-age colors, jelly toys are crafted from a thick, translucent, flexible rubber that isn't quite as jiggly as silicone. In fact, if you stroke a jelly toy with your finger, your digit is liable to stick or skid a little on the material. Another weirdness is the smell of jelly - kind of like warm plastic. Most people don't really mind it, but some sensitive sniffers might not care for the scent. You don't want to use soap or boiling water to clean your jelly toys, just warm water and a gentle touch. Unfortunately, that means these toys aren't safe to share unless you want to use a condom on them, but they're so inexpensive, your partner can just go out and buy his or her own! If you want a smooth, good-quality toy at a reasonable price, try jelly sex toys.

Rubber
While silicone and jelly are wiggly and wonderful, most sex toys are made out of simple latex rubber. Quite a bit firmer than silicone or jelly toys, rubber toys are still soft and somewhat flexible - but nothing like the real thing. When you play with a rubber dildo, you know it's a rubber dildo. Regardless, latex rubber is very popular because of its low cost, versatility and resilience: it's cheap and it does the job just fine if you aren't too picky. It won't last forever, though. Latex toys wear out much faster than silicone or jelly toys. And because they are very porous, rubber toys can be very hard to clean properly, so no sharing without a condom. Finally, some people are allergic to latex and can't use it at all. Also, rubber latex toys come in a wide range of colors, although "flesh-colored" and black seem to be the most popular. If you're looking for an inexpensive toy that's less likely to smell like chemicals, rubber latex might be your best choice

Plastic
Plastic is the big-city cousin of rubber: it's hard, cold and completely inflexible. Think "silver bullet" of adult film fame. However, some people really like plastic ... there's something about the cool, sleek casing and the strong internal vibe. Since many plastic toys have a metallic silver exterior, they have the added bonus of appearing sophisticated and high-tech. Plus, because the motor is encased in hard plastic instead of smooth rubbery material, you can really feel the vibe. Plastic vibes aren't a top pick for internal use or in-out thrusting, but they make wonderful clitoral teasers. To clean it, soak a cotton ball in rubbing alcohol and wipe down your toy. If you're nervous about bringing alcohol in contact with your sensitive genitalia, you can follow the alcohol wipe with a gentle water wipedown. Try a plastic sex toy if you like the sensation of cool metal and a hard, pulsing vibration

Other Materials


Cyberskin - toys made from this material become warm with use and are the closest thing to skin-to-skin sensation you'll find in a sex toy. One step up from silicone, and the price reflects it.


Metal - used mostly by S&M aficionados, metal toys are rare and potentially harmful: imagine a metal phallus clanging into your pubic bone. Ouch. Proceed with caution. Also used in PC muscle exercisers, like ben-wa balls.


Glass - in more recent years, entire lines of glass dildoes have emerged. They can be frozen or microwaved for added cold/heat stimulation. There have been no incidents of breakage thus far.


Vinyl- similar to rubber, this inexpensive material is a favorite with fetishists.


Acrylic - its firm texture makes acrylic perfect for PC muscle-strengthening toys.


Lucite - this hard material provides firm pressure, making it a favorite for prostate-stimulating toys.


Leather - used for harnesses and restraints, many people find leather tough and sexy.

Code Word for Sex

A man and woman decided they needed to use a code word to indicate that they wanted to have sex without letting their children in on it. They decided on the word 'typewriter' and refer to the act as 'typing'.
One day. the husband told his five year old daughter, "Go tell your mommy that daddy needs to type a letter".
The child told her mother what her dad said, and her mom responded, "Tell your daddy that he can't type a letter right now cause there is a red ribbon in the typewriter." The child went back to tell her father what mommy said.
A few days later the mom told the daughter, "Tell daddy that he can type that letter now."
The child told her father, returned to her mother and announced, "Daddy said never mind with the typewriter, he already wrote the letter by hand."

To the Anonymous Male Commenter

We had an anonymous male commenter last week put forth the request (or challenge!) to educate him on the mystery of satisfying women. That's like asking how they get the caramel in the Caramilk bar. I don't know if there's an easy answer. I'll see what we can come up with in upcoming weeks for you.

Position of the Week: The Spoon

Awwwwww....this one's a snuggly one. (either that, or the chick has fallen asleep and that dirty bird is trying to break in!) There's something about having skin-to-skin contact up and down your entire body that makes this a nice one. The woman in front feels like the guy is being affectionate and loving, even with very little effort. So, it's a win-win.


This isn't a position of great depth, so if the diddy is itty-bitty, then this won't be the best lovelatch to try. But, it is a nice intimate one. And it is a nice lazy one. And it is a nice quiet one (I don't call it the "guest room position" for nothing! There's no chance of the bedposts knocking the walls with this one.)



This position also requires very little physical gymnastic ability, so is good for the injured, the aged, the overweight, and the pregnant populations. The only problem you might run into is finding the right hole. No need to be squeaky clean here or to have brushed your teeth either. A little lube might help, though, because there's often not a lot of foreplay involved to set this one up.

If any one of you dare ask me which one the guy is and which one the girl is, I may have to slap you....or, better yet, I'll spank you. (hmmmm.... maybe that's what we need.... a few accessories....).

Let's see what some of the Chaw girls had to say about this one:

TR says: This is a definite favorite around here. It works well when I'm feeling tired and don't want to do much work. :) It's also a great one to use when a child might walk in on you. You can even stay under the covers with this one! It's very close and intimate and allows for some nice, easy snuggling immediately afterwards. There are some positions that you are anxious to get out of as soon as the deed is done....this is not one of those. I could spoon with the hubby for hours. :)

Squeaky VanDusit says: We love this position, but it seems to only happen when we're sleeping at my parent's place. shhhhhhhh. We make a game of it and see just how quiet and unassuming we can be. Performed it in the same room with others before?? ....perhaps.... The funny thing, too, about this one is that we seem to kiss more than we do when we're facing one another! So long as you can crank your head around, you'll be just fine.

KittyKat says: This usually begins as a Sunday morning cuddle. (after one of us gets up and settles the baby down for another hour or so.) It's nice to snuggle and catch a few more minutes of sleep. Then a little rubbing and stroking start happening. The guy has access to all the goody bits on the girl. Either one can take control and set the pace on this one.
It's an easy one to stop and pretend like you weren't doing anything when the older kids walk in. (it's so much better to say that Daddy was hugging Mommy than that Mommy was riding Daddy like a pony.)
It was also one of the few that we could do when I was 9 months pregnant and the size of a cow!

Lady & the Tramp Stamp says: I am a few weeks behind on the sexual positions thing. We tried the reverse cowgirl this afternoon, though. It took awhile but once we found a good position it was great. Evidently, though, he liked it a lot more than I did and that was the end of that.

I have found this one is not a very good position for guys with small junk. My ex and I tried this position when we were married and it just kept falling out. I had to hold the fucker in and that didn't really work for me.

Mama Bear says: (I am laughing my ass off that Lady & the Tramp's ex has a small dick!) I actually really like this one. Since my legs are together, I feel like I get more "friction". I never have an issue with him pounding my cervix with this one either. I feel like it's a very sweet cuddly position. I like to think this one is more for "making love" than down and dirty raunchy sex. (I love both, but it's a mood thing) I feel like this one is more about "me and my needs". LOL. It's on my list of faves for sure.

Tomorrow morning.....

....this country girl is getting up early, ALONE, and heading to the 8 am opening of an annual shoe sale. There's a pair of Richard Tyler shoes that I saw in the flyer that I want.

B.Rube doesn't know it yet, but I may just stay out all day long. I figure I'm due for a day on my own.
Thanks, in advance, for your support, B.Rube. I know it'll be forthcoming tomorrow.

Thanks Dr.Jones!

Last Friday, the girls and I headed to the doctor. I had forgotten about T.Rube's 18-month shots! (Oh, how life changes from one kid to two... I'd never have forgotten S.Rube's shots, that's for sure. Then again, she also has a wicked first year scrapbook that poor T.Rube'll never have.)

Our doctor is an hour away and worth the drive! I found her a couple of years after moving here in 1997. She was located conveniently close to my work at the time, which is now inconveniently far from home. They're always good about giving me the first appointment after lunch, though, so I don't have to wait too long after driving for an hour to get there.

When I arrived, I noticed a little letter on the reception window advising patients that one of the doctors was moving to a neighbouring community. I asked whether that meant that Dr.Jones would be on her own after Dr.Davidson's move.

The receptionist turned a bit white and said, "oh..did you not know?? Dr.Jones is retiring in May." WHAT??!! No, I didn't know. How was I to know? I don't ever use the doctor. They hadn't mailed anything out. They are merely hoping that everyone makes it in there before she leaves next month. Thank God I remembered T.Rube's shots, I guess.

I have to say that I kinda knew it was coming. I mean, she is 63 years old. She's done. But, I LOVE her. God, I love her. We both totally cried when she said her goodbyes to me. I hugged her and sobbed. She's been there through so much with me in the past 11 years.

But, more importantly, I was desperately worried about what would happen next.

We have a HUGE doctor shortage here. That's what happens when you have free health care and no privatization, and you border a country like the US who does. Even our own doctors don't want to stay here. We have a decreasing number of physicians who are graduating and an increasing number of physicians who are heading over the border. It doesn't fare well for us. What good is a system of free health care, if you don't have a doctor?

Finding a new doctor is near impossible and finding a female doctor is even worse. You can go to a provincial website for a listing of doctors who are receiving new patients in your area. The list is small. I checked it.
Our government is offering all sort of incentives to doctors to immigrate here and open your practise, and they are making it increasingly easy to transfer your credentials to make sure you've been trained well.

Apparently, the new doctors in South Africa are freakin' desperate to get out of there! They're young and fresh and cute and opening offices all over our country! There's something to be said for politicial unrest, I guess. There are a fair number of new Indian doctors, too. Yep, South African and Indian mostly, and you can throw a few Brits in the mix, too.

In my city, there were 2 available doctors. Both have received their medical degrees in India. Neither of them were female.

Next, I searched a slightly larger neighbouring city. This search had better results - with 14 doctors that were available to take new patients. The breakdown of the list is as follows:

7 of these doctors were trained and received their degrees in South Africa, 4 of them from India, 2 of them from England and 1 from Bulgaria. Only one was a woman.

First thing on Monday morning, I got that list up and called Dr.Claire Rawson's office - the only woman available. She is able to take us as new patients.

WHEW!

(oh... and as I was leaving Dr.Jones' on Friday, she said, "I gave you a prescription a couple of times (YEARS ago!) for a sleeping pill. Why don't I give you another one, good for a whole year, before I go? Just in case...."
I wasn't going to argue. Thanks for the send off!! I'll be sure to think of you every time I pop one.)

(and I hope to hell that the South African is as liberal with the drugs as my dear Dr.Jones was)

Trying to Find her Smile

In the Kitchen with the Rubes

I just...

....cried watching Paradise Hotel.

Coco & the Trips....

.... isn't the name of some hip band (although it could be).

They are our first set of triplets born here on the farm. As is typical with triplets and quadruplets, malpositioning is often an issue, and it was in this case, too. These babies were born 5 weeks ago - one at 8:30 am, one at 3:30 pm and another one at 6:30 pm. (In both instances of the second and third lambs, we had no idea that poor Coco wasn't finished yet. Shame on us.)

The third lamb was delivered by none other than B.Rube, with his arm inserted up to his bicep, and me holding onto her head and front legs as strongly as I could. As B.Rube exclaimed through our silence in the minutes that followed him ripping the stuck baby out of there, "Wow - that was the weirdest thing I've ever done...."

We have been supplement feeding two of the three babies to ensure that they get enough food. The third one wasn't interested in taking milk from us, so is evidently taking a lot of the milk for himself.

One of the things I love best about them is where one of the little girls sleeps - right on top of Coco. This is a usual position for her. I wonder how long Coco'll let her get away with it....