It’s been an interesting two years. I honestly cannot believe it’s been over two years since Gracelyn and I joined Greg down here. We moved in on June 1, 2010. Wow.
Time sure does fly when you’re having…an interesting experience? I hesitate to use the word “fun.” Well, that’s not entirely true. It has been fun. Maddening at times (hence I shall forevermore be known as the Mad Ranchwife), but yes, I will say, fun.
So, just to get this down and out of my head. (One of the problems with starting a blog is that you think about it all the time and are constantly thinking of titles of posts, what to write, what will be interesting, how shall I say it, will anyone read it, should I be posting something EVERY day???????????) Aagghhhhh….like I do NOT have enough to do at the moment.
But the tiny terrorist I live with, who is now actually a delightful 5 1/2 year old little girl, is thankfully busy for about 7 minutes and 35 seconds I would project. Maybe I shouldn’t refer to her as the tiny terrorist anymore. Actually, that role has been sort of usurped by the newest addition to the ranch family…Max, the English Springer Spaniel pup. Oy vey, that’s a post all to itself. Will tackle that next.
Anyway, the short list of things I’ve learned (in no specific order, mind you):
~you can NOT fill up an inflatable pool (roughly 2 x 2 x 10ft) with water from a 400 ft deep well…you’ll give your child frostbite, or at least make the skin REALLY, really red necessitating winter wool socks, leg warmers, fleece pants and two (2) blankets at naptime…oh and hot chocolate with marshmallows on a warm day in June
~septic systems are NOT like the sewer system in town…not even close, not even in the remotest sense of the word (post to follow with details)
~chipmunks are NOT cute. Period. No, make that an exclamation point!!!!!!!! Simply not cute. Not when the ground appears to be moving and wriggling with a mass of little chipmunk bodies. Not when you watch them disappear from the gutter under the pieces of tin roof to take up residence in the attic. Not when you hear them scrabbling around in the walls at 2 a.m. And not when they get in the mudroom trying to get away from the dogs. (Yes, I successfully got that one back outside without calling Mr. Man’s Man/Woman’s Man/Everyman/Superman and with a stern warning to the chipmunk that he got one chance. The next time I was lettin’ the dogs out.)
~On pool subject above, “de-icers” are not pool heaters. Yes, I realize this might seem obvious, but I was desperate. Not until I’d bought and returned three different models did I realize that a de-icer activates at water temperatures below 45 degrees F, to prevent ice from forming. Which led me to the assumption the well water must have been 46 degrees F. Duh….
~Mice really do have beady little eyes…dead or alive. I don’t think the gory details are necessary, but suffice it to say I’ve been fooled a couple of times now, thinking the mouse with the crushed body in the trap was actually alive and just waiting to wiggle around when I picked up the trap. I know, you’d think the crushed body would have been a dead (no pun intended) giveaway, but those eyes…those eyes…
~Mousetraps do not ALWAYS work (sorry to stay on the mouse theme, but it’s the front and center topic of the day). Meaning if you think they kill the mouse dead all the time, NOT true. Enough said.
~Flies. Oh the flies. Those sticky things work. If you have about 100 of them. Bowls of basil flakes do not. Lavender oil soaked cotton balls do not. Spraying the side of the house with the windows with the most flies getting in does not work. Caulking every crack in sight…well, so far that has worked. But we’ve still got a month or so to go. I’ll let you know for sure on that one.
~It is VERY difficult to teach a child how to ride a bike when the bike-riding surface is a long, downhill (which means uphill on the way back) gravel road with serious ruts (from the inability to find someone to properly maintain during the winters–not a dig at Mr. Man’s Man/Woman’s Man/Everyman/Superman that I live with…not his fault). The only flat, somewhat, as in somewhat, smooth surface is the garage. And small, tight little circles just don’t cut it. Any suggestions anyone?
~MUST, must, must buy copious amounts of snowclothes…boots, hats, scarves, mittens, snowsuits, etc, etc, etc. In many sizes for the growing munchkin.
~MUST always have 2 (that’s TWO) extra refill jugs of stain remover on hand at all times. One to be used for the week of branding and one to be used during haying season. As in, for Mr. Man’s Man/Woman’s Man/Everyman/Superman’s jeans and denim shirts. Hardest stain to remove, requiring several applications and so much pumping of the spray bottle that I have developed tendinitis in the right hand?? Calf diarrhea. Ever seen it? Bright green, soupy, spattering gunk…do I need to say more? And while we’re on the subject, why does he find it necessary to wipe his hands on his pants? When they’re covered in engine grease/oil? Do they not hand out rags? I must ask him…
~MUST always buy copious amounts of food at the monthly shopping expedition, never knowing when you might run out of something (I HATE that) or crave calamari steaks with a Greek Mediterranean orzo salad. Right? Just not things found at the local mart, roughly 30 miles away.
~Power outages are common. Very common. And that means nothing works. Especially not the phone. So…..borrowing an old rotary phone from the dear Grammy has allowed me to call the power company. Just get it out, hook it up and voila! Phone service. However…not so great when you get the automated menu with the oh-so-sweet voice that says “for power outages, press 1.” Did you get that? “PRESS” 1. There just isn’t any pressing going on with a rotary phone.
OK, that’s enough for now. The daughter is needing some attention. The dogs have now been in and out of the house twice. Not so bad if they weren’t coated with black, brackish, cow-poop infested water from the pond which has a smattering of water left in it but would mostly be characterized as just a black, muddy, cow-poop mess. Now on the dogs. Now on my floor. Yes, I know. Don’t let them in the house. The sandbox is on the front porch. (Much to Mr. Man’s Man…oh hell, you know who I’m referring to, dismay.) (He thinks we look “redneckish.” Whatever.) And the daughter is out there bebopping around. So the door is open. Which is actually another thing learned these last 2 years. Not necessary to have the “don’t talk to strangers and don’t play in the street, watch out for cars” talk with the dear daughter. Instead, our conversation has gone along the lines of “stay on the porch, if you see a mountain lion get big and make noise, if you see a bear get small and curled up.” Not sure what this does to a child’s psyche, but there you go.
Well, one more…no matter how many times you sweep the floor in a day–my record is 5 times–it will be constantly coated with a fine layer of dust. Period. Socks will be dirty. Feet will be dirty. The floor looks dirty. AAgggghhhhhh….the things that make me mad. As in crazy, insane, loco, nutso, out-of-my mind.
Have a lovely day!!!!!