Caroline's Canine Safety Rules

There is no denying that we own a dog who we love and adore.  Genga is just one of those special dogs that come into your life once in a blue moon.  I see the love her and Caroline have for each other, and proudly reflect on the love and special bond I shared with my sweet Bailey.  Although Bailey was with us for Caroline's early years, he passed while she was still young enough to not really get to understand how fabulous he was. So, now I am so grateful Caroline has the chance to grow up with a "great" dog and learn so many lessons from.  With that said, Caroline had a few lessons of her own to teach Genga this morning. 

This morning was a cool and rainy morning, so Genga basked in getting her first blow-out as I took the hair dryer to her coat as I was doing my own hair this morning- yes, I blow dried Genga's coat...don't judge.  Genga assumed the position of resting in the closet (it is a large walk in that is part of our bath) while I finished getting ready.  Caroline came in for her turn and what happened next was one of the sweetest exchanges I have seen.  I asked Caroline to get on the step stool so I could put her hair up.  She said "ok, Mommy, but I need to tell Genga something first."  Assuming this was another delay tactic I said "ok, but hurry up.." and waited to see what would happen next.  Caroline sat down with Genga (who was staring at Caroline the whole time) and said "Genga, I lub you bery much and I want you to be safe so there are rules you need to know about."  I did my best not to giggle as I had no idea where this was going and stood there to see what came out of her mouth next.  Please note, as this list of "rules" was given to Genga, Caroline held Genga's face with her left hand and was using the fingers on her right to "count" out the five rules which were to follow.  Here are the rules in Caroline's order.

1- "Genga, always listen to mommy and daddy.  They lub you-well, I know Mommy does,  bery much and my mommy wants you to be a good girl- remember though...I am your mommy and you are Pam's mommy but we can talk about that later."

2- "Genga, never-ever go to the road.  There are cars that go by fast and you cannot play in the road...pwease do not get hit, so do not go to that road.  The road is BAD and you cannot go up there- okay?"

3- "Genga, please do not eat a chicken.  Mommy will get mad at you and you do not want her to be mad at you..."

4- "Genga, when you go outside I need you to listen to me when I call your name.  Pwease do not go to the neighbor's house as that is not your yard.  You have a nice yard."

5- "Genga, pwease, pwease, pwease always be with us.  I lub you bery much and do not want you to get hurt.  So, don't leave me or mommy...or the house...or the yard. Okay?"


The tone of her voice and how Genga sat there without taking her eyes off of Caroline melted my heart.  I love these two together and am so glad Caroline and Genga have become so close.  As we walked out to the car (we left Genga in today so she didn't have to be out in the yucky weather) I told Caroline to watch her step as it could be slippery.  She turned and said "wait!  Rule #....(counting on her fingers at this point)...6! Genga, watch where you step so you do not slip and fall and get hurt."  She then got in the car and said "Mommy, thanks for saying that--I forgot to tell Genga that in the bathroom."

And so, this is the begining of Caroline Knight's "canine safety rules to follow" list that I know may grow later on today.

One can only hope.

Kerri

Random- one of my "lists"

Do you have those "lists" in your head that come to light every now and then?  You know, ones like: "top 10 people I would like to meet before I die" or "people I would have dinner with" and so on.  Well, driving home last night, I heard a song that reminded me of one of my own "lists". 


10 people (in no particular order, or ranking) who I want to have a beer with one day: 


1- Toby Keith
2- Trace Atkins
3- Paula Deen (I want to drink beer and eat something with a stick of butter as the main ingredient with her)
4- Tony Stewart
5- Collin Firth
6- Pink
7- Tommy Lee Jones
8- Al Pacino
9- Bradley Cooper
10- Andy Cohen from Bravo


I should add that I do not need to limit this to just drinking beer--these are people I would like to sit with and drink.  Hear their stories, shoot the breeze and gaze at....ok, that was directed at #9.  Now, I said no rank, but that might be a little fib.  Toby Keith is on the top of this list and has been for years.  I want to drink all-American brew with him, talk about the military, go thank soldiers (if my dad drank, he would be doing shots with us...but he will be at the table telling stories for sure) and run around with an American flag tied to my back or something. There is something about him that I like and just think is bad ass-- and I want to do shots of whiskey with the man.  Now, there are more people on my list, but they are not famous (per hollywood standards, but to me they are celebrities in their own right) yet they are just my fabulous friends who are a hoot to hang with- when I can drink. :)


Cheers!
 

Reality bites...

So, I must admit that I do waste about an hour or more of my life a week watching "trash" reality shows such as the RHWof____ and others.  I do not like this about myself, but it is like watching a car wreck- you just cannot take your eyes off of it.  I also enjoyed them because they make me feel better about myself, and they remind me that the "crazy" I have in my life is nothing like the hot train-wrecks glamorized on TV...for all eternity.  With that said, I am starting to get pissed that these "real" people are making BANK for nothing more than showing their asses.  Now, I know everyone has a price, but when you are a mom, wife, friend, etc., can you really sleep at night knowing you pimped your soul for cash?  Times are tough, and money is tight, but glamorizing dysfunction and being a bitch on TV is not really what one should call a career.  What ever happended to going to school, learning a trade/getting a degree and working? 

So, today while checking my celebrity gossip of the morning - remember the car wreck...you just cannot help it- I saw something that made me vomit in my mouth a tad.  Did you know you can buy--yes, BUY...with your HARD EARNED money- a Kardashian mask?  Not just limited to one pimped out child, but apparently several of the clan to choose from.  For those who are contemplating buying one, I have a really affordable alternative that I would like to share.  Why don't you get a sharpie and a piece of paper and just write "talentless, media-whore pimped out by mother" on it and hold it up to your face.  Heck, leave out the "mom" part and just put "talentless whore" and you got the best knockoff money doesn't have to buy (I know someone I could give the second one to by the way).  Now, props to them for creating the dynasty they have made for themselves, but really---who gives a flying #*%^ and who would buy this piece of crap?  If there is someone out there who would do this, please contact me as I will sell you a photo of my dog's ass for 1/3 of the price.  Same principal, right?

So, I am collecting orders for the "ass" you would like to be.   I have the "chicken ass", the "horse's ass" (predicted to be a top seller), the "dog's ass" and for the right price you could even bank on the "rat's ass" as part of your selection.

Supplies are NOT limited, so rush today and let me know what your choice is.  Act fast and you  can get a "two-for-one" deal...and you won't even have to look like a whore with either choice...just an ass.

Toodles!

And this is why it's named Funny Farm...

Well, I go over a week without posting and then you get a two-in-one for sharing from me today.  So, tonight just confirmed why I called this blog the "funny farm" - lord help us.  

We have a nice size flock of chickens - AKA the "feathered beasts"- that we tend to daily.  We have been fortunate enough to have some generous egg-layers are we are getting 1 1/2- 2 dozen eggs...a day.  I like eggs, but there is only so many one can use in a day.  Anywho, tonight Caroline and I go to "feed up" and hit the coop after the horses have been taken care of.  Since it rained this morning, the beasts are hungry (their snacks got wet) and are being very vocal indicating they are glad to see us.  The hens are getting more protective of their eggs and now try to get involved when we go to collect (had one fly up on my shoulder one day- Caroline thought it was cool the hen did it, I thought the bitch was trying to peck out my eyeball).  We had to reload all the feeders and swap out some lights, so Caroline was helping "distract" the critters while I did this.  I asked her to keep them occupied while I got the eggs and she gladly agreed.  Next thing I know I hear her start with "hey, why did one of you cross the road?"  That was then followed with "what do you get when you cross a chicken....." I turned and asked "what are you doing?" when she replied with "tell jokes, mommy---you told me to keep them distracted, right?"  She had a point, but I had no idea she would bust out with the Caroline Chicken Comedy hour. 

So, all eggs (tonight about 20+) were collected and the ladies didn't seem to notice.  We head to the barn to close up and I realize my egg basket is inside the house (we used the horse's feed bucket to get them right out of the coop).  Not wanting to take their bucket to the house, I think "hmmm...I bet we can get ALL of the eggs in our pockets."  So, we load up (Caroline has about 5 on her) and I have the rest...crammed in pockets and my hands are full.  The only thing I forgot to consider was how happy my sweet German Shepherd is to greet us as we leave the barn.  Yes, you guessed it. Before I could do anything, sweet Genga is barreling at me and prepared to launch into the famous bear-hug she gives so well.  So, it happened- her paws and massive body weight landing all right there...at my pockets.  I do my best to get her to stop, but remember...ahh yes, my hands are full and for some reason I just feel I cannot sacrifice the eggs in my hands.  So, Caroline calls Genga's name- only to fall victim to the hug as well.  Caroline didn't pan out so well either...she went all the way down to the ground.  The good news is that she laughed the entire time and she did the "stop, drop, save-your-egg-roll" and didn't end up as slimmed as I did. 

We tried to compose ourselves and struggled as we laughed all the way to the door.  We assessed the damage and actually were able to save some of the eggs.  I am now doing an extra load of laundry and Caroline is still talking about it.  

And so, this is why my place is truly a funny farm.

Nighty, night!

Catch up...

I haven't posted anything in a while and that is because we have been slammed!  Work going great, but we are at our peak time so it is 90-nothing day in, day out.  I love what I do, but it is making the days fly by and tis the season for already being short on time.  Then you have the upcoming holiday...really, how much shopping have I and done and how prepared is Santa?  I have got to step it up and make some magic happen so I do not disappoint anyone.  Also, I had a full-load in grad courses this term.  I would like to report that I earned 100% on both of my big-ass term paper/projects and I cannot believe it. I put forth the effort, but of course it wasn't until the 9th inning and I am just so glad I work well under pressure. I busted out my last two finals Friday night and called it a wrap.

Oh, yea, let's go ahead and throw in that I am also 6 months pregnant.  I am so excited, but I am getting big and physically I hurt...like truly, badly, deeply (my ode to that 90s band) hurt.  With no disrespect to anyone who carries a large amount of weight, but really...how do they do it?   Every joint hurts, my legs are killing me and when I squatted (mistake #1) down at the store the other day to pick something up--crap, I could barely "pop" back up.  I have been blessed with decent weight gain during this pregnancy--and I am trying to stay active--but I just feel large and not so in charge. 

Speaking of being active.  When does it seem right to say "hey, let's go rake 1.5 acres of pinestraw and re-do the barn this weekend" at 6months pregnant?  Let me tell you...not this past weekend.  Caroline and I started by just feeding the critters and moving some hay.  Well, that led to sweeping out the barn (ok, I had a leaf blower) and moving all the feed--the first "not so smart" physical move of the day.  Technically, I didn't "lift" each 50lb bag, but I did move them so I am sure my doctor would kill me if he knew.  I dislike when people think that because you are pregnant you cannot do anything.  I know I should be resting more and not do so much strenuous work, but in the same since I also do not think it is an excuse to lay around and eat for 9months.  I want to be active and stay active....but may break up with the farm work soon. The yard work may take a side road as well--seriously, I didn't realize we had so many f#^&(@# pinetrees on our property.  For the record, my barn and yard look like the bomb and as long as no giant windstorms hit and ruin all of my hard work. 

Well, I did get a few other accomplishments done.  I finally got our Christmas cards done--can I get a Whoop Whoop?  Yes, last year we didn't do them (due to a tragic turn of events where it just became unimportant) so this year, I made sure to finish those bad boys.  I will say I hope our family and friends do not laugh too hard when they see them- let's just say, the furry children make the cut...in several pics.  Hey, if I could have gotten the chickens to pose, they SO would have been included too.

Well, back to work and then I gotta do, do, and do some more.  Those cards won't mail themselves you know. :)

Peace

Two new discoveries...

I have made two new discoveries in the last 12 hours that have let my body image take a blow. 

1- I am officially having a hard time painting my toenails as my baby belly is getting in the way.

2- CBS will air the Victoria's Secret lingerie fashion show tonight.

REALLY?

Trust me, I am SO grateful for my growing belly as I am so pleased we are having another baby, but I feel as though I shouldn't be this big, this soon.  I have to remind myself I only have about 15 more weeks and yes, as the baby grows...so will my butt.

So with that said, I think I will stop by the store, grab some Ben & Jerry's Ice cream and watch those skinny beyotches strut their perfect bodies down the catwalk while I look at my sloppy painted toes...if I can still see them by the end of the day.

Ms. Uterus...you said what?!?!?

I had a regular follow-up appointment with my OB yesterday to check in on Baby Knight #2 (another girl, by the way).  I absolutely ADORE my doctor and his practice and enjoy my visits...well, until yesterday.  I try not to judge, but there are some patients seen there that make me wonder why some women have the mass-ability to procreate and others struggle their entire lives.  I showed up to my appointment, signed in, and gladly took my seat in the waiting room.  The room was somewhat busy for a Monday, but there were two women who stood out.  Not by how they looked, but by how freaking loud and open they were with their conversations (ok, really just one of them dominated the show).  The "louder" woman appeared younger than me (ok, really...Kerri "advanced maternal age" Knight...everyone is younger) and had very healthy lungs as made evident by her over-the-top tone.  She also apparently had a very healthy uterus as I was about to learn.  She was talking to the other woman about her kids.  She stated (and I quote...and will spell it just as she said it) "I used to love babies, but once I started having thum, I donst likes them anymore."  I sat there, in shock, staring at this person.  When the other woman asked her how many she had,  Ms. Uterus replied with "well, this is my fourth...but they just make too much noise and I tell my husband all the time I just need a break."  It took all I had to say "well, why don't you tell your husband to wrap it up, or back the hell off" but I just continued to sit there in shock.  Ms. Uterus (let's face it, I cannot call her anything but at this stage) sat there and took what should be an extremely blessed time in one's life and made it sound as though she was talking about a litter of puppies.  I could feel my blood pressure rise as the conversation went on...and on.  She finally got called back, the other woman left (apparently the baby she was holding was actually her grandchild...yes, she was about my age as well) and I was left there to reel in the moments I had just witnessed.  I went on to my appointment, got a big hug and congrats from my doctor with this line thrown in as well- "the fact that you are 23 weeks and we have a healthy baby doing so well is just a miracle.  I am just so happy for you, Kerri." And there it was--true concern and happiness that some of us patients are really glad to be expanding our families. With all that we had gone through --which I know others had gone through more and much worse--it is still just a miracle that we are here...with a new one on the way...growing inside...and totally kicking ass (seriously, I think we have a ninja on our hands here).  So, as I left my appointment- after taking care of my account with the insurance I pay for (sorry, had to go there)- it hit me...Why are some people allowed to pop out kids they do not even seem to be excited about, when others who are desperate to have them, have to go through so much to do so? I cannot answer that, nor will I judge God on his plan. I can say that it enfuriates me that a woman can be on her fourth child and feel so inconvienced by the "noise" yet she keeps on having them.  I welcome the noise in my house, bitch.  I cannot wait for nights interrupted by hungry cries, a small human being that my husband and I created who needs me, and having to change poopie diapers.  I look forward to my other daughter being a big sister who is just as excited--and has prayed for over a year now--for this to be happening for us also.  I guess I will add you to my prayer list as well, Ms. Uterus. I pray that you will not take for granted your ability to mass produce unsuspecting "noise-makers" and I pray they will know that you should not be "irritated" by their cries.  I pray you "get it" one day and realize where they come from and stop having them if you are so put out by them.  I pray that you will NEVER know what it feels like to not experience going full-term with a healthy child and I pray you get bitch-slapped...ok, that last one I am just kidding about..kinda :)

I don't know. I really wonder about the future and I really wonder about where peoples heads or at--I think some of them should worry where their ankles are.

A sign of true love...

When I met Jay, he was a farmer through and through and had the mentality to match (please note, this is a good thing).  When it came to animals, his beliefs were that animals were the be outside.  He was not a pet man, but they just had a place- outside.  Now, when I met him we had 30+ horses at our farm and I had my beloved black lab, Bailey who ...let me just state, had the loveseat to my sofa set as his own domain.  Jay and I met at my farm, and since Bailey was with me 24/7, he met Bailey then too.  Early on in our dating, Jay was at the house and said "hey, let's go for a ride...I want to take you to show you some land."  We started to head out the door and Jay turned and said "Bailey, c'mon."  As we are walking out to his truck, I realize that Jay is walking right into a test...a test he has no idea he is about to take.  Jay opens the back door and pats his hand on the seat to motion Bailey to sit in the cab of his truck-point for the boyfriend!  Bailey NEVER rode in the bed of a truck as he always sat in the cab of mine (yes, we both had farm/work trucks when were dating) and Jay Knight completely scored big that day with that little move whether he knew it or not.  Flash forward 10 years later -yes, the man has put up with me for 10 years now -and we have two dogs (two horses and well, you know...a crap load of chickens).  Our sweet Bailey passed last year, so we have Pam & Genga in the family.  Pam is our sweet little mutt that Jay wanted to take home- they now hate each other- and Genga is the fabulous German Shepherd who I brought into the house (ok, so I am partial).  On the day I called him to ask if I could bring Genga home, Jay reluctantly said I could but that she would have to be an outside dog.  I agreed (although I hated the idea) but wanted this dog so bad I said I would do it.  Now, for the record, Genga has a nice large pen/play area that is pretty sweet and she does spend her time out there when we are at work...she really likes her outdoor time- Jay's pick Pam, well she stays in and pees everywhere, but that is another story.    Genga started off sleeping in her pen, but was moved in the house shortly after her arrival due to the weather...it's south Georgia,it's hot!  Jay was very reluctant, but didn't fight me...well, I think he probably cursed me many a times, but not to my face so more points for the hubby.  Now we are 5 months in to owning Genga- she has her own room, she has the run of the land, she still has her pen (complete with a fan and automatic waterer that Jay installed for her) but she has lots of indoor hours to boot...lots!  Every now and then, Jay will say "Kerri, there is a large dog walking through the house" and I reply with "really?" and he just shakes his head.  Jay is very cool, he puts up with me, he fought a really good fight with sticking to the "outside dog" rules, but he has let me have my way in a not-so-direct way.  I knew I was pushing it, but have I told you that Genga is wonder dog?  She doesn't really shed (well, she does, but we addressed that early on in our ownership of her), she is clean (well, she takes showers...but we have to do it when Jay is out of the house as he is not a fan--he does know--that a large hairy German bathes where he does) and she doesn't have accidents.  She lets Caroline dress her and they play well so he tolerates that "inside" time too.  Now, one thing we (me and Caroline, my partner in crime) do is let Genga in the house in the mornings- after she is out to go potty- to spend some snuggle time with us.  This went from just letting her have full run of the house, to now some "in the bed" time with her little person, Caroline.  The first time Genga jumped in the bed (for the record, Jay was out of town) we were kind of surprised she did it, but she snuggled with Caroline and we were even more smitted--ok, the "we" being me and Caroline.  Caroline and I agreed to keep the snuggle time a secret from daddy as he is on a need-to-know-basis with this sort of information.  Well, we were doing really good...until this weekend.  Sunday morning, we were all in our room, and Jay gets up to let Genga in.  As Genga is eyeballing the jump into the bed, Caroline (God love her) opens up with "daddy, I need to tell you something...when you go to work, Mommy lets Genga in and she jumps in the bed so we can love on her."  Knowing I cannot deny it- nor "lie" in front of my child, I brace myself for the ending of what has been a really good stretch of "operation indoor dog". Before I can say anything, Jay leans over and says "I know, baby...the dog hair on my side of the bed has been a dead giveaway for the last few months."  Again, bracing myself for what I think is about to come, Jay kisses each of us on the forehead, pats Genga and walks on out...not saying a word.

Now...that is love and I know that my dear sweet hubby truly, truly loves me. 

Well, my news just got trumped. Apparently I have 18 more to go...

So, I am very excited to be expecting again.  I feel very blessed as it has not been an easy road for me and Jay.  We have been blessed with one fabulously sassy angel and after thinking it would never happen again, we are expecting a second little girl this spring.  With that said, I want to sidetrack away from our news and share news of something that has gotten under my skin this morning.  While I am working on not being mean--especially in the fabulous situation I am in--I cannot help but to be somewhat "pissed" at a news story this morning.  Yes, the Duggars (of 19 kids and counting fame) are expecting again.  Congrats on firing up that baby-factory again, crazy-haired lady, but there are some of us that cannot celebrate your news. 

Here is some of an article I read and I highlighted the points I would like to kindly remark on:

With a motto like "there's always room for one more," we weren't surprised to hear that Michelle and Jim Bob Duggar of "19 Kids and Counting" are expecting their 20th child. The entire Duggar clan took to the 'Today' show to announce the exciting news to a shocked Ann Curry who was trying to wrap her head around the idea of such a full house.
Due in April, 45-year-old Michelle Duggar knows about the complications her age may place on her pregnancy, that's why she's putting in a good hour each day on the elliptical she was given for her birthday.
"I'm really in better shape than I've been in 20 years," she said.
So could this be the last child for the big family?
"I don't know how it happened," Jim Bob joked. "We didn't want to stop at an odd number."
The couple explained that this is the farthest apart in age any of their children will be. Their youngest and 19th child, Josie, was born in December of 2009.
"We are so excited," Michelle said. "I was not thinking that God would give us another one, and we are just so grateful."
Just last month Michelle told HuffPost Celeb that although she wanted another baby, she didn't know if it was a possibility, given her age: "We would love more but, of course, I'm 45, so we don't know if that will ever happen again. But we love more."
So what's it like being pregnant for the 20th time? We have a feeling that the cameras will be there every step of the way to let us in on the chaos.

So, lets start with the mother of 19 designating 1-hour a day to her elliptical. Congrats on being in the best shape of your life in 20-years, but since the last 20 years you have been the in the shape of "round" really, what the f&%* is your comparison?  Also, who (with having 19 kids in the house) can designate 1-hour a day to work out?  I have one child and one on the way and I barely have time to make a lunch the night before school or get all of the chores done.  Oh yea, that's right...I also work 40+ hours a week so I can pay my bills since I don't have tv cameras in my home to film my mass-breeding abilities for a buck.

So, "I don't know how this happened" joked Jim Bob.  Ok, the only freaking joke here is the fact that your name is Jim Bob and you continue to use it in public. You have 19 kids a$$hole, this line is not funny anymore.  Maybe after the 3rd or 4th you could have used it, but how about...I keep impregnanting my not-in-touch with-wife, that's why we have the #20th on the way.

Ok, "we are so grateful" now, I cannot really argue with this one.  I am grateful that I was given another chance at being a mother.  After lots of loss, and stress on the family, I do feel very blessed to be able to experience this again.  With that said--you know what you have established (19 other freaking times) that you are super fertile...really, how could you be so surprised?

And lastly, "we would love more."  Ok, I would love more too, but c'mon.  I would also love more animals, but who the heck is going to pay to feed and care for them?  Again, I do not have camera crews filming my lame life (which I personally LOVE my "lame life", but I know of no one who wants to see it).

So, I am working on not trying to judge and be mean, but it is kind of hard here with this one.  I know of so many loving families who want to expand their crew and they cannot.  It is hard on them and to have stories such as this "glamorize" what really is (I think) not normal is hurtful and just doesn't seem right.  I am a christian and I know my God provides for me, but I am also aware that my God doesn't have an account at Commmerical Bank and can write a few checks for me to  bust out a few payments here and there for some of my wants.  Also, I know God (ok, lets keep this PC, and I will say "my" God) created us and designed us to be able to procreate and such, but you know...God also put people on this earth who are doctors, creators, inventors and well...even ones who have designed the condom and other forms of birth control.   Again, I don't want to sound hateful especially in my condition, but someone popping out their 20th human should not be a top news story when there are other more important things going on in people's lives.

3 more days before we find out!

Monday is the big day.  And when I say "big" I mean-- we find out if Knight baby#2 is a little miss or mister.  I have absolutely no gut feeling for one gender over the other, but I can just hear the doctor say "its another girl" and my husband's heart sink as he is faced with paying for another wedding and knowing he has a second one to worry about in the dating world.  I am just glad little one is healthy and I look forward to knowing so we can start planning-- coming up with names, planning on nursery decor, and well...planning on it all.  Caroline will not be with us for the appointment...heck, Jay may not even be with me due to his work, but I am using this weekend to decide ---ok, find-- a creative and cute way to tell our family and friends.  Part of me thought I would just keep it a secret--ok, if Jay cannot make it, I am going to hold out and make him sweat for a while before I let  him in on it-- but I have the world's worst poker face and cannot lie or keep something to myself to save my life. 

So, not that there are any prizes with it, but please feel free to cast your vote.  The good news is there is a 50/50 shot of one of the other so your odds are much better than a GA lottery scratch off.

To be a good person, or not...

Let me say that I do consider myself a good person.  I am completely aware that I am not perfect, and please note I have never claimed to be that.  I have done some really stupid things in life, but I have learned from them and use it to make myself better and grow.  I also consider myself a Christian.  I cannot toss out bible quotes on cue, I do enjoy my curse words, and I sometimes speak before I think, but I also feel as though God is my homeboy and we have a very cool relationship- so there.  Now, while I state all of this, I also think "good people" are entitled to be pissed off at times—let’s be honest, people who are always “perfect”; well they are full of shit.  I will not bite my tongue unless it means I will be kept out of the back of a police car, so if you hurt me or my family, take a strike against someone I care about, or jeopardize my family's stability,  I will sprout horns and be ready to strike.   Case in point- one person in particular is the reason (ok, main reason) I have to color my hair.  Someone else works themselves like a dog, misses out on time with loved ones, makes those needs a priority over their needs because they are hopeful they will get what has been owed to them, many times gets the cold shoulder for those times kept away, and seems to make sure this person can keep their head above water…or on the water (you know what I mean, jackhole).  Now, my loved one is not in the clear, but don’t I have to be supportive?  How many times can I keep fighting this fight before I end up in the back of that patrol car?  When can I just walk up and kick this person in the balls?  Yes, that is what I want to do---kick hard and more than once.  I don’t need to say anything to this person. They are aware of the situation, although I do not believe they lose sleep over it at night like I do, but why can’t I just walk up, say “hey” and nail them one (or, 10) time?  Why can this person continue to do what they do and not have something (or someone) ring their bell?  Why can I not be the bellringer? Why, oh why, cannot I just kick them in the balls?

I do not wish anything bad on this other person.  I actually can sympathize with this person.  I do not hate them and do not wish harm.   While not being able to pee standing up for a week or two isn’t necessarily a “good” thing, I just want a way to get the important point across.  I just want them to acknowledge how crappy things are and their role in it.  If they would just tell—tell me—“you know, I am truly sorry, I will work to make it right, or we will do something else” my desire to nail ‘em in the nads would start to fade away…well, after I get my good kick in.  I guess I need to go to church and pray.  I pray I will resist the urge to dwell on this.  I pray I will be able to let it go another day.  I pray that I will not have to see my hairdresser earlier than planned.  And I pray that a resonable solution finds its way soon.

I also pray that I can just get one good kick...c'mon, one good kick... in before all is said and done.

Open letter to my dogs...

My Dearest Genga-

You have only been in our lives for 5 months now, but it feels like you have been with us forever.  I never thought I would care for a dog so much after Bailey (the best Black Lab you never got to meet) but you have proved that wrong...no disrespect my sweet Bailey boy, but I have been blessed with two amazing dogs in my lifetime now.  You are sweet, loving, always happy to see me and quite honestly...you crack my ass up.  I appreciate how you let Caroline dress you like a drag queen and I appreciate you letting her jump, poke and chase you.  I am glad you didn't "make the cut" with your last gig as I would be so sad knowing how great you are and not have had you.  I feel safe when you are around and I know--even though you are a softie--you would totally kick ass in the event we needed you to.  I look forward to the days where you will stop your full-on-mortal-combat hugs as I am not going anywhere and I am always happy to see you too.  Seriously, you are too damn big to tackle me any more---dude, you can tone it down a notch.  I am glad you now feel at ease enough where you can snuggle and not wrestle when it is sleepy time and thanks for nipping the snoring.  Thanks for being the dog who was housebroken on day #2 and waking me up when it is time to go out...even if it is at 2 and 3am, I appreciate it.  I look forward to Caroline growing up with you and look forward to you guarding the new baby as well. 

Mommy loves you.



My Dearest Pam,

Please stop pissing on the floor.

Love, mommy

Redefine "Ear of Corn"...why yes, I think we can.

Yesterday, sitting at my desk working on reports, my phone rings.  I answer like usual and hear the ill-fated words "Mrs. Knight, this is Ms.____ from Hand-in-Hand School.  Caroline has had an accident..."  My mind froze and I started to panic.  Then Ms. ____ (I honestly forget her name), tells me Caroline is in the nurse's station with a kernel of corn in her ear.  Panic turns to "Say what???"  She proceeds to tell me that she tried to get it out, but Caroline has become "uncooperative" (you think?) and I need to come up there.  I tell her I will be there in less than 15 minutes and out the door I go.  I call Jay to give him a heads up that I may be calling from the doctor's office or the ER, and tell him what I know.  He proceeds to laugh and share the great "corn-in-ear story of '85"---that really doesn't make me feel better, but makes sense that this was hereditary and could not be avoided.   I get to school and there she is, Miss. Kernel reading a book and looking pitiful.  I do not recognize the clothes she has on as the ones she wore to school, but not wanting to get side-tracked I assess the immediate situation.  The nurse shows me where the kernel is lodged in her ear (quite impressive) and said she cannot get it out.  I start to ask Caroline what happened, but then realize we can talk in the car.  I do ask about her outfit and she replies with "I spilled something too...it just isn't a good day, Mommy."  I hug her, sign her out, and off we go.  I call her doctor and they said "huh....we haven't had one of those in a while, but bring her in, it will be fun."  Fun?  Yea, thanks for the enthusiasm Nancy, but this is not "fun" we are having now.  They inform me they cannot see her for another 45 minutes so we head home...to change out of those clothes.  Ahhh, the clothes.  Remember when you send your child to school at the beginning of the year and you pack the "spare" change of clothes?  Well, she was rocking her spare-pair, and I do not remember us owning such a God-awful outfit.  Since we sent it in, Caroline has grown about 2-3 inches, so the t-shirt is now an inappropriate mid-drift shirt and the shorts are just wrong and ill-fitting as well.  As vain as this may sound, I was glad we had 30 minutes to kill because the last thing I needed was to walk in looking like we just got out of the woods telling the doctor "yep, my baby gots corn in her ear...can yer fix er?" ---call me a snob, but that was just not going to go down on my watch. 


Well, I learned two lessons yesterday.  1- Kids will do the darndest things, and 2- bypass the pediatrician and just go on to Urgent Care of the ER when you have a foreign object in one’s ear canal.  I love her doctor's office, but the entire removal process took almost 3 hours and was very traumatic. While I know it wouldn’t have been fun at the ER either, I think they could have nailed it right away as (and I was told) they have better equipment for this type of thing and do it more often.  The sweet doctor we saw (ours was out...damnit, he would have LOVED this story) got the kernel out and went to do one last look and ....well, you can imagine what we find--piece #2, BROKEN piece #2.  Where was #2 you may ask?  Well, it was WAY down in the ear canal.  So, new game plan gets put into action.  I learned a third thing yesterday.  She may be sassy at times, but she has the strength of a gorilla and moves like Spider Man.  One doctor and three adults holding her down and they finally got the last piece out.  Her inner-ear is scratched to the dickens, and after a week of ear drops...yep, those are fun as all kids who had two foreign objects removed LOVE to get drops put in there, we should recover just fine.  She did apologize to the nurse she almost attacked and in return got one kick-ass Candy Land sticker to take home.   I had a great morning walking in her in today and comparing stories.  Caroline promised she would make sure no more corn “snuck” in her ear and went off to play with her friends. Just one more story to add to the memory book.  

Flagged as that "crazy" mom

So, with the things that my child comes up with-and the things that come out of her mouth- I feel as though I should be a walking Caroline disclaimer. I understand my child and her sense of humor, but others may not and I will never fault them for that...ok, I may laugh at them and feel sad they don't know good humor, but will not fault them. One person whom I feel needs clarity on some things is Caroline's teacher.  She is, by far, one of the sweetest people you could meet...and that is what makes me so nervous.  I don't want her to judge me as I like her, and want to stay on friendly terms with her.   I worry that since she has my child for 30 hours a week, she must be exposed to things that could really make her question our family.  Not that there is anything to question, but with the dealing of our chickens, two crazy dogs, horses and nutty family, Caroline's relaying of information could come across as "bizarre" to those on the outside.  I have probably asked for it, but I believe I have flagged myself as the "crazy-email" mom.  I work full-time and do not have the luxury of picking up my child from school every day.  I do get to walk her to class every morning, but it is not the best time to try to “catch” anyone for a quick conversation.  I decided email was the best way to pass on messages and gain insight.  I have officially sent two doozies of topics emails to her teacher, doing my best to explain something that could potentially come out of my child's mouth.  The first one was in reference to the possibility that Caroline may or may not say something about “removing" a baby - long story- and the second one, well that was today.  This week is the "so no to drugs" week and the school has "themed" cute days for the kids.  Yesterday was "sock it to drugs" Monday where the kids got to wear silly socks.  Today was "too cool for drugs" where the kids got to wear sunglasses.  As Caroline and I are getting in the car, she asked me why she got to wear her sunglasses.  I said "because you are too cool for drugs" and she replies with "ok, great! Mommy...what are drugs?"  Trying not to panic, or be too technical, I did my best to come up with a simple and clear answer…but it clearly wasn't working. I could have used the Latin medical terms for particular drugs and she would not have looked at me any different.  So, in my quest to regain control of this situation and thinking I hit the explanation jack-pot, I used our dog as part of the explanation.  She seemed very excited to remember that Genga (the “police” dog) used to get the bad guys and drugs and was very happy.  She said she could tell her class and that it was cool.  The look on her face convinced me I had a small victory on my hands.  We stopped talking about illegal substances and went on to our morning ritual of singing old rock songs and making Justin Bieber (the car) poot---another story for a different post.  I walk my little sweet pea in to class, get my morning high-five, hug and kiss, and off I go.  As I walk back to the car I start to think about her mentioning Genga in class.  I smile, kind of chuckle, and then…panic.  I fear that she has just walked in to her class declaring “my dog finds drugs!” and no one really knowing what she may mean by that…and it worried me.  I debate over sending “crazy mom” email #2 and decide to go for it.  To my surprise I get the classic “LOL- that is funny, she never mentioned the dog” response and felt better.  Her teacher is going to ask her about it tomorrow, so I will send her with a photo of said “police” dog and hope that 21 other children don’t go home to tell their parents that “did you know that Caroline has a dog that likes to eat drugs?”

Maybe we just cut our list of those who would come to our birthday party in half.

Baby #2

Well, I figure I should get you all up to speed.  We (on behalf of my crew) are very excited to say that we are welcoming a new addition to our posse this March.  While I will not go into details as I know no one cares to really know about my innards, I will add that this has been a tough journey.  We never went through IVF or other treatments (but let me tell you, the thought was brewing in the back of our minds) but we have tried for this addition for years now.  We came close last fall but had an EPIC fail a few days prior to Christmas last year---not fun, but luckily I was engrossed in fabulous family for a nice season that it helped to get through.  Loss of pregnancies is not new to us.  We have lost several and they are no fun---really, they suck.  We never thought we would have to even think about miscarriage since we were blessed to have a healthy pregnancy, and successful birth with Caroline.  So in fall 2010 when we got pregnant again, we were excited.  10 weeks in, that excitement turned into another heartbreak after a routine visit.  One emergency surgical procedure before everyone went on Christmas break and we were off to recover and mope in our sorrow.  We told ourselves it happened for a reason, but it still stung.  Jay said we should try again, but I said I wasn't sure I could handle this happening again.  So we decided to just let it go.  My new year's resolution was to offer it up...if it happened great, if not, it was not in the cards.  I had a few bad days here or there, but I felt as though I was handling it well....well, well enough. I decided to focus on other things and expand our critter crew (probably part of the reason I am a chicken farmer now). I even used my baby-emotions to get Jay to allow me to take in another furry baby.  It is very hard for a man to say "no" to "well, since I cannot seem to have human babies, at least let me have another furry one"--Jay said that was the best play I have used so far in our marriage. :)  Love the man, got the dog, and two months later found myself puking at a conference.  So here we are just shy of 18 weeks pregnant and doing great.  Due to my "advanced maternal age"--damn, I hate that label- I have been tested like crazy.  I am pleased to report that we are all clear to welcome a healthy bambino thus far.  I have an appointment in a few more weeks to find out if we are having a boy of girl.  I will say that I really do not care...I am just glad there are no abnormalities detected and I just want to go full term and deliver and healthy happy bundle of joy. I will take either and like my doctor said "it is already determined, you just have to wait to find out."  Caroline said the last ultrasound picture (it was around 13 weeks) made the baby look like Pam--our little dog--but I reassured her the baby was a human and we would see more of him/her in print soon.  So, in a few weeks, I will update what we are having and then I will let the games begin!  Jay and I feel beyond blessed at this opportunity, but we are also realistic in knowing that this is it for us.  With my age, and the trend of "lose a baby, have a baby, lose a baby, have another" I am going to end on a positive note.  With that said, we also decided we are going to "go big or go home."  I am going to enjoy this.  I am not going to stress.  I am going to wear snug shirts that show my growing belly.  I am going to get up and eat a snack if I am hungry--and not worry about late night calories.  I am going to enjoy this, not hide it and bask in the beauty of this additional blessing.  Our sweet daughter Caroline is very excited.  She pats my tummy and tells her little sibling she loves him/her and then pokes it and says something sassy.  She is sweet and caring, inquisitive and ready for her role as a big sister.  We are ready too!

Hey, Cassanova-- I've got my eye on you!

My daughter appears to be a full-fledged flirt at the ripe old age of 4.  She is cute (I am partial) and can be charming (again, partial momma here) and seems to know many young boys at school and the YMCA.  She also can charm just about all ofher daddy's friends and has used her talent to get added on to the wedding invite of someone who said we can only come if Caroline comes. For the record, she has a "boyfriend" who we really like (c'mon, he is adorable,5 and is half-italian...what's not to love) plus-his parents are cool and Jay and I are hoping to add them to are arsenal of bad-ass parent friends, but we are trying to do so without coming across as desperate...another story for another post I guess.  Anyway, back to the soap opera of "as the toddler-times turn".   About a month ago, I go to the Y to pick up Caroline.  As we are walking towards the front doors I hear "hey Caroline" and turn to see (as Caroline throws my hand away and runs to the voice) who this non-female-voice belonged to.  When I turn, I see a young man- in football gear- who appears to be roughly 10 years old.  He hugs Caroline, pats her on the back and tells her he will "see her later."  I am somewhat in shock.  "Why is this man-child calling my 4-year old by name?"  "How does he know her since he is in a different part of the building?" "What does that punk mean by 'see you later'..."  Then I calm down and think "ok, no biggie, he seems very sweet and is just being nice."  Caroline comes skipping back to me and we walk to the car.  Not one to drop it, I asked her "Caroline, who was that?"  She replies with a "he's my friend."  I asked "what is your friend's name?"  She gives me the "I don't know, mommy" answer in what I detected (and swear I heard) a pre-teen tone. I laugh it off and try to think nothing of it.  We see football cassanova several times a week and he is always the same, nice "hugger" and smiles and begins to wave at me--now, I am starting not to trust him.  We see him at the ball park and yet again, super-sweet manners "hey Caroline, how are you?"  etc. Then I hear him turn to him mom and say "Mom, that is Caroline" as he points at us as we walk away.  The mom giggles (in  my mind I am asking "why the hell is she giggling?") but then just make it back to the car still trying to pump more information from Caroline about this boy--who did I mention, I no longer trust.  We have about a week of not seeing said Romeo until yesterday....that little bastard (ok, only kidding I would never call someone else's child a name...but I am telling a story here so don't judge) is hugging up on some other little 4-5 year old girl.  Not to be outdone, Caroline runs over to hug him and....well, lets just say he wasn't as excited as he had been every other time I saw him lure my child away from my arms with his macho "athlete" swagger.  I give him the eye---YES, I gave that little punk the eye and pretty much conveyed the message of "back off you two-timing punk" to his beady little 120 month old eyes or you will need those shoulder pads for another reason--and we walk on out.  I know he is only 10, he is probably harmless and maybe even has a ton of sisters at home and is just a sweet, nice kid.  But....I know his kind in their 20s and 30s and have labeled him immediately.  I only want to protect my daughter.  I want her to be strong, but not bossy, to be funny, but not distracting, to trust, but not to get hurt and if I can nip one potential heartbreaker this early on I will.  So, I remind Caroline we need to go see her age-appropriate boyfriend and get an icecream with him.  See...nothing like treating this break-up (oh yeah, football cassanova isn't even going to look at my child again) with delicious dairy sweets this early on!    

Chicken farmer, really?

So, what started as an innocent trip to the feed store to get a few chicks for our sweet daughter this past Easter, turned into the start of a new "career" as a poultry farmer.  Let me backtrack for a second here.  Two years ago, my sweet, sweet husband called and said "hey babe, I got you a gift today!"  While Jay is very kind and caring, he is not the "spur of the moment" gift-giver as seen on t.v. To add to this, it was our anniversary (not the exact day, but from what I remember it was roughly the same week) so I started to get excited.  He told me he'd be home right after work and I would get my gift--the anticipation was killing me! Was it jewelry? Hmmm, while he has gifted me with some nice trinkets, jewelry is generally a Christmas gift so I knew that was out. Hmm...could it be a gift certificate to a day spa? As I toyed with the excitement of what this "gift" could be, I finished up feeding the horses and was outside playing with Caroline.  Jay pulls up to the barn and asks "are you ready for your gift?"  Beaming with anticipation, I said "of course!"  Then, that dear sweet man takes out a weed-eater box.  Hmm...not was I was thinking....is he serious?  Then I realized the box was moving--yes, it was moving.  Jay opened the "weed-eater" only to pull 3 hens and a cocky (yea, I went there) little rooster out of the box and let them go in the yard.  "Thanks,hon" was all I could come up with.  Then he was sweet and said "well, I knew we wanted fresh eggs, so here you go."  Glad I didn't ask for fresh bacon and sausage as well...or milk, otherwise I would be milking Katie the Cow every morning.  Needless to say they didn't last too terribly long, but we had our little "taste" of having fresh eggs around and knew we would do it again one day.

Fast-forward back to this spring. I called Jay to make sure he didn't mind that we got a few--apparently, you cannot buy just 1 or 2.  He assured me it was fine, but once they outgrew their trough-house (yes, I had an old water trough that the horses busted a while back just sitting waiting for a new purpose) we would either let them be free-range or think of something else, but he was not doing anything yet.  "This is your thing now, Kerri." So, we come home with our eight (you had to buy six, there were 8 reds in the pen...couldn't let the other 2 be alone) little hens and Caroline had her new project.  They were cute and easy...there were only 8, right?  Fast forward to two months later.  I am at work and my phone rings.  I answer and get "this is Donna from the post office, your chickens are here."  I reply with "ummm...I am sorry, did you say chickens?"  She assures me this is the number she was to call and that I had two dozen baby chickens sitting in a box on the loading dock waiting on me.  I thank Donna and tell her that a very nice man by the name of Jay will be up there shortly.  A super sweet call to said poultry purchasor and he said "great, they're here!" - I didn't ask another question.  I get home and there they are ...all 27 of the newbies.  You may just have asked yourself "27, I thought you said two dozen, Kerri?"  Yes, apparently they throw in a few "extras" ---just in case. So now fastforward 5 months and we are the proud owners of roughly 30 fowl children--well, 29 as one was murdered this weekend by Louie, the Polish Prick, I mean, Rooster.  More on Louie to come later on---at least, you now know he exists.

Parking Lot Pet Peeves and Italian Tendencies of the Young

I have lots of pet peeves, but one that bothers me the most people who illegally park in handicap parking spots when they are not handicapped. While this abuse takes place all over the nation, there is a common place -close to home- where it happens most. Where is this taking place you might ask? Well Thomasville's very own parking lot of the YMCA.  There is one vehicle in particular (I will withhold details of said car as the violator could very well be someone, someone else may know) that abuses this parking rule on a DAILY basis.  Even for a minute-and with your car running (stupid act #2)-you are not ALLOWED to park there!  So, the other day Caroline and I are parked (legally), getting our stuff, reading ourselves to walk in, and said violator comes in (at about 40mph) and parks all caddywankas (get that one spell check) taking up both handicap spots to let their kid (who lets remember is innocent in all of this) out.  The best part is that the parking lot was not crowded and there were numerous spots -legal ones- to park in just feet away.  Well, for whatever reason I had just had it and made my comment of "man, that really gets me."  My sweet child pipes up and asks "what's wrong, mommy?"  So, I tell her that someone is parking where they are not supposed to park and they are not handicapped so they are breaking the law.  Caroline looks at me and asks "so, why don't we make her handicapped so she can park there, mommy?"  While I know this was completely innocent as she is just trying to match a behavior to a rule, I couldn't help but detect a small amount of Tony Soprano in her sweet little voice and think I caught that "look" in her eye. For a second there I thought she was actually on to something...then I snapped out of it.  I replied with "well, we cannot do that, but maybe one day the police man will write her a ticket and she will learn her lesson."  Then Caroline asks more about the violator and why she is bad for breaking the rule.  Tyring to come up with a way for her to better explain, I mention how her Da(her grandfather) is allowed to park there- my father has a pass to park in handicap spots, he has a decal and also has a purple heart tag, he served our nation for 25 years and took more bullets for it than a LA crypt gang member- and not "lazy-able-body-Annie." 
What if he couldn't park where he needed to since this jackass (OK, I didn't call the violator a JA in front of Caroline) took his spot?  Well, Caroline got a little fired up when she realized that her Da just had "his" spot stolen. Again, I saw the twinkle in her eye and ...can I admit this, felt pride.  While I know there is not much I can do--lets face it, I live here, my child goes there and I am not about to become the law enforcer to someone who has no blatant awareness of their illiteracy or laziness (sorry, you cannot read that big ass blue sign, violator?)- I do know that one day they will learn her lesson.  Maybe one day while lazy-Annie leaves her car running, it will just "drive" away.  Maybe one day, someone will coordinate a fleet of permitted vehicles to block her in so she can be really late to wherever she feels she is SO important to get to, that she has to break the law with parking.  Maybe one day Deputy Dan will place a ticket on her windshield. or maybe one day I will bring Genga (AKA, my law dog) in to act as though she is "casing" the car for over-the-border drugs due to a "tip" called in. Who knows. I have more things in life to worry about and put forth efforts, but the fact that violator blatantly disregards others pisses me off. 

So, to the child of said violator, if a small quarter-Italian kid happens to not share the swing when you ask her for it (all while shouting something about her "Da") please know it is just a protective instinct....oh, and she will not be punished by me for that one.  Feel free to tell your parent when she is parked up front. 

Here we go...

Well, here goes nothing...


I have always had an interest in blogging since I like to ramble and have so many "crazy" stories that happen in my life - I feel like I need to share them so I don't lose it.  So, here we go...welcome to my mad and crazy world.  To get you (if any damn person reads this) caught up to speed, I have "bulleted" what I feel is important in getting to know me at this stage--ok, really there is SO much more, but here are some highlights.

• First of all, I cuss at times (some of those times are like a sailor) so as long as I don't lose this account due to my potty mouth, some bad words will be sneaking their way in some posts from now and then.  If that makes you uncomfortable...well, you should just stop reading now.
• I am not a gramarian...get over it if you catch a typo, grammatical error or misspelling.  I am not going for a Pulitzer here people.
• I think every being who resides on my property could have their own comedic show.  This includes humans as well as dogs and chickens.
• Speaking of chickens...we have 28 of them.  Yep, crap you not, 28 feathered friends who live on our property and provide my family, friends and random strangers an abundance of fresh eggs.  Please note, these "feathered" beasts will make many a post in the near future.
• I officially own wonder dog!  Yes, our newest family addition is a K-9 drug squad drop out whom I love dearly, almost as much as I do my hubby (kidding...ok, not really).  She listens to me, actually does what I ask her to do, exercises with me, and appreciates my inability to dance. 
• I have a not so wonder dog whom I love as well---she is just the reason I have to shampoo the carpets and experience high vet bills from time to time.  But, she lets Caroline do ANYTHING to her and she is one heluva snuggler.
• Two "retired" horses who do not give me any issues...just their love and fabulous ability to provide free therapy when I need it.  All they want in life is to be fed, given treats and groomed here and there - they are really the animal version of said husband.
• Oh, and btw...baby Knight #2 will make his/her arrival early next spring (this whole baby topic will be mentioned many a times as well...just a fair heads up, my friends).

Well, that will get us caught up for now.


Regards,
Kerri