Totes Ma Goats

Totes Ma Goats.  It is this phrase that has made me feel older than the "old granny skin" I have on my hands and face (a thoughtful observation from my seven year old). I'm not exactly sure I quite catch the slang phrase, "Totes Ma Goats".  My Google research tells me it's something to do with the word, "totally".  My friend gave me a tote with this on it and I've been way too embarrassed to admit to her that I don't know what it means.  But never mind that.  It's a cute tote and I am apparently cool "toting" it around.  

Totes serious

Speaking of goats.  We finally had baby goats!  The miniature donkey look a-likes  arrived...like 3 months past my expert guess due date.  There are four girls and one boy and they are Totes Ma Goats the cutest ever.  We missed the actual birth by only minutes. But I'm proud to say I can add another nod to placenta and after birth experience to my farm resume.  I got there just in time to watch the after birth action and then for the first time in my farm life, I watched the momma eat, yes, I said eat, the placenta.  Bon Appetit!  

She can totes fly with those set of ears!

It wasn't long before we noticed the littlest goat/donkey being head butted to the side by her momma. Rejection and I wasn't having it.  Not on my watch, not on this farm.  I called out to the general public and before I could click POST my friend came to the rescue with a brand spankin' new pack-n-play along with all the excitement to care for the runt.  Big Dog loaded up the kids and headed to the feed and seed to purchase the necessary items to bottle feed.  My friend whipped up the formula and was ready to go, ready to bond, ready to be surrogate when meanie momma decided she'd go ahead and let her baby nurse.  So now I have a brand new pack-n-play and no need to bottle feed.  

Big Dog.  He's a goat magnet.  They totes love him.

What to do with that pack-n-play?  Hmmm.  Well since not a lot of time goes by around here without major happenings it wasn't long before the sweetest use for the pack-n-play came to be because....

Totes the most precious twin girls I ever did see!

B had her babies!  Tatum Margaret and Collins Kay were born minutes before New Year's Eve.  Our hearts instantly grew bigger and prayers soared to heaven for their fragile health.  Born at just 32 weeks, the girls proved themselves to be mighty champions right away.  Momma and babies are doing well and the daddy....let's just say he's smitten!  The world is certainly a better place now. They are so delicately beautiful and their mom radiates with the only kind of glow a momma can shine. I feel like our own family has grown by two more.
Aside from all of the bundles of joy excitement on the farm still persists.

The girls continue to pace the fence line. Strange thing.  They fly right over but haven't figured out how to fly back in until the sun sets.  And then they are suddenly smart and figure it.  Kills me. 

Rosie is still "in" with the pigs.  They love her and she loves them.  I think she is learning to root like they do.  And yes.  The pigs are fat.  Like ginormous.  How they walk and carry their weight is painful to witness. 

This little lady here better watch it.  "Last Chick Standing" will learn a nasty lesson when the other chickens behead her.  Sadly, that's what happened to the other chicks.  Massacre Ranch out here I tell ya.  I watched her do this for about 5 minutes.  Like if she just keeps trying she will get through.  No.  And if she does, she's brunch!  

Shelly is still all up in my business.  I tried 50 times to get a calendar worthy photo but I got nothin' but Nosey Posey and Shy Sly.  Yes, I need to paint the fences...again.
Winter on the ranch sucks is not very fun.  Here's to looking to Spring!  I'm ready for green to replace the brown, flowers to bloom and if I'm lucky, catch a pig taking a swim in the pool!   In the meantime, I hope to spend any and all free time I have gushing over those tiny miracles from heaven.

Made you yawn! 

Joy Joy Joy

If it doesn't bring you joy, toss it.
For those of you who have a hard time letting go...this is for you.  A  friend of mine was telling me about a book she read.  Basically, if you have something in your closet that doesn't bring you joy, toss it.  For the next several weeks I found myself tossing articles of clothing and shoes left and right.  Asking myself, "Does this sweater bring me joy?" took all the guess work out of whether or not I should keep it.  Forget the, "when I lose 10 pounds I'll wear it" reasoning.  That ain't happenin' since I just successfully polished off a cherry cobbler.  

http://www.amazon.com/Spark-Joy-Illustrated-Organizing-Tidying/dp/1607749726/ref=pd_bxgy_14_img_2?ie=UTF8&refRID=0H44K7EX7VV52S55R179

 The beauty of this concept is that it can apply to more than a pair of pants from 1995 or heels that are killing your feet.  Eventually, I started to consider the abstract things in my life that do not bring me joy, crush my spirit and break my heart.  If it's not good for the soul it's not good for you.  Is it a relationship, a lie I keep telling myself, a habit, bits of social media or activities?  Now, I am well aware that doing laundry does not bring me joy but someone has to do it.  Waking up to cranky kids does not bring me joy but you gotta do what you gotta do to get those little sweet cheeks off to school.  

What are you doing, tolerating, wearing, keeping, or hoarding in your life that does not bring you JOY (insert meditation and ponder here)?  Start with the dusty pants in your closet.  If lacey push up bras do not bring you comfort they can't be bringing you joy.  Then muster up the courage to take a look at the things that steal your joy.  If you are a list maker then get to listing.  You will be in "check that off" heaven. For the over achievers out there, take this wisdom and run with it.  I took it to the kitchen cabinets, pantry, home decor and more.  Let's just say the Good Will now knows me by name and they have a receipt ready before I put the car in park and open up the hatch.  

No wire hangers here.  I saw Mommy Dearest at a young age and clearly have issues.

There.  That's it.  That's all.  All you have to do is ask yourself, "Does this bring me joy?" and you will begin a healthy purge of bondage to the things that do not bring you joy.  It sounds silly but I have a much better chance at getting somewhere with this than any cliche New Years Resolution.  Just try it.   It's the gift that keeps on getting rid of.  
   Want to get serious about this whole Joy Project?  Check this out: http://www.jolynneshane.com/join-my-30-day-shop-your-closetcapsule-wardrobe-challenge.html

Merry Christmas From the Farm

Ahhh, Christmas.  My not so favorite time of year.  The stress level around here is off the charts.  Everything is off the charts.  The kids are greedier than ever.  They are constantly fighting and the expectations are ever so unreasonable.  Like you, I have a flurry of things to do and not the time or energy to do it.  The demands our culture has put on Christmas has left me defeated yet again.  Coffee:30 anyone?  No? Vodka:30?  Okay.

Aren't they cute?  Just the perfect picture of Christmas right here! Mason prefers "Boxers Only" attire these days.

If you really want to get me worked up just ask me my views on Elf on the Shelf.  I highly recommend we don't go there.  My heart tends to shrink just thinking about it.  Here is a little ditty that goes down in my car upon after school pick up Every. Single. Day.  From December 1st until the last day of school before the long awaited Christmas break begins I get punched with this:
"Mom, Ricky Bobby's elf left him pajamas!" "Mom, Ruby Lou's elf takes baths in marshmallows!" "Mom, Bessie's elf zip lines from chandelier to chandelier!" "Mom, Dicky's elf plays house with Barbie!" "Mom, Sally Sue's elf baked cinnamon rolls and iced them too!" "Mom, Jessie Mae's elf toilet papered her bedroom!" "Mom, Big John's elf poops chocolate chips in his potty!"

We have the lamest elf ever.  Look at him.  Nothin' to see here. He's not even the true Elf on the Shelf.  He's stuffed! How lame is that?   He's just chillin on the ladder where he's been for the last three days because Big Dog has forgotten to move him.  No Mission Impossible positions here. 

Really!?!?  How do I explain that our elf is totally lazy and boring?  I mean, who has time for the Pinterest inspired creative, over the top, you are amaze-balls mom of the year shenanigans anyway? Never mind that at least one of our five kids is up at any given golden moment throughout the night.  They either catch us moving the despicable elf or notice that he's already moved before they fall asleep. I feel like a total liar all Christmas.  "Oops! Elfie fell and since I'm a parent it's okay if I touch him to help him up." or  "Gee, honey.  I don't know why Efie didn't move last night.  Maybe the flight pattern was a little too crowded and it wasn't safe to fly." X three nights in a row!  I think I'm having a hot flash.  It's really hot in here.   ****PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT**** Do you suffer from Elf-itis?  Is the Elf on the Shelf causing you to lose your ever loving Christmas mind?  Has Elf-itis created tension between you and your partner?   You are not alone.
Some common symptoms of Elf-itis are:
unintentional aggression towards the innocent elf chronic Pinterest browsing elevated instagram and facebook envy nightmares involving you and the elf in a shoot-out outside Santa's workshop loss if interest in where the little $%*&@# lands each night elevated heart rate just thinking of your next plot sweaty palms when restraining yourself from strangling the little *&%$%#
If this is you there is help.  No judgement, just help.  Please call 1-800-send-thelf-packing

And then there's the crack.  The Christmas crack that comes wrapped in gold boxes, shiny tins and cute containers.  Christmas crack gets me every year.  You know, the chocolate covered peanuts crack, peppermint infused cookies crack, the salty mixture crack, peanut butter ball crack.  Crack, crack, crack.  And the 10 pounds it leaves you with.  Dear Mom, if you're reading this, I'm still waiting on the Rum Balls crack.  

Speaking of crack...these are the crumbs I left behind to "share" with my tribe.  

Now to the farm part.  Knock on wood....we have yet to experience the joy a busted pipe leaves us with this winter.  Would you mind knocking on wood for me? Thanks.  I need all the superstition I can get.  Our four goats that are expected to birth any day now....since October, are STILL pregnant.  There's nothing quite like watching and waiting for a milk sack to drop.  It may take a Christmas miracle.  My friends are pretty sure I've made the whole thing up.  And then there's the pasture gates situation.  One more gate goes down and we will have ourselves a livestock-nado.  A chicken lost an entire wing before going missing.  And our well.  Well, let's just say we don't have water more than we do.  The scattered and random sink holes have me convinced we live on a sacred cemetery.  But the pigs are fat and happy and I have 25 baby chicks in the barn that promise to increase the egg production near the end of spring.  Life on the farm is better than ever.  Not really.  Ok, so I may have asked Santa for a house in a neighborhood with a no animal law and only ten square feet of yard. 

Just a wing.  No chicken.  No clue. 

To sum things up, here is a sample of our Grand Year in Review:

Henry (7) loves football, soccer, and basketball but refuses to eat anything but Ramon. (Henry is also lucky to still be living with us after he affectionately described me as "squishy" read about that here) Susie Grace (7) has a serious addiction to television and refuses to eat anything but candy. Mason (11) continues to amaze us with his intense ability to play video games 23.78 hours a day.  He eats everything, non-stop. Parker (13) is extremely helpful on the farm and is involved in competitive robotics (competitive robotics is serious business).  He eats his weight in Ravioli daily. Lauren (18) joined the Army and will graduate high school this year.  She eats three square meals a day. Carol (39 forever and always) is homeschooling and has no idea what or when she eats. Big Dog (40 and furry) is sporting a beard past November, duck hunts and prefers to eat beer.  
Despite the crowds, Christmas crack, and cranky kids, I try my best to stay focused on what Christmas is truly all about.  Beyond all of the half lit/pre-lit trees, broken ornaments, glitter (I hate glitter), Elf-itis, sticky candy cane hands, Christmas card paper cuts, and financial hemorrhaging, there is a Savior that stands for us, reigns over us and His grace is more than enough for us.  He came as a babe, as a precious lamb. He came to redeem us.  To draw near to us.  To call us his very own.  He is the one true gift wrapped in the light of unwavering love and grace. May you receive the gift that is the one true meaning of Christmas! Amen!

Hallelujah, Merry Christmas everyone!  http://www.barkvines.com/hallelujah-violin-cover/
PS: My lashing out on the elf is of personal struggle and strife.  I admire all you elf enthusiasts out there!  You are creating memories for your family and adding to the magic of Christmas.  You go Elf advocate!  May the red and white force be with you.