Sunday, April 29, 2012

Mexicali is on my mind...

Last Thursday I ventured into my local Ft. Collins Old Navy to check out the dresses that were gifted to three lucky readers.  I not only fell in love with the dresses (I now own three colors), I was completely excited and inspired by the new Mexicali line of clothing for women. Seriously. Cute. Clothing.

I kept trying to order Tapas and Margaritas from people walking around,
but everyone just kept looking at me in a strange manner.... and no one
brought me either. What. Ever.

I have been heard mumbling lately about my pathetic summer wardrobe. Most of my summer items are at least 10 years old. While the majority of them are still in decent condition, I'm over the clothes. Let's be honest, I like fashion and I get bored easily. And also, do you know what else has aged 10 years? My post two-pregnancies body. Good times....

So I did something cRaZy. I used my 20% off coupon (ONSAVE20) and purchased some actual new items from the Old Navy Mexicali line. And, unlike what I buy at second hand stores, these items are not just new to me. The BEST part is that they are so versatile that they blend brilliantly with some of my favorite things that I have owned for years. They definitely have a beachy, ethnic vibe, but also translate very well into my personal flavor that is a mixture of Boho and country chic with a heavy dose of "comfortable". LOVE.

I brought my new summer wardrobe home, laid it all out on my bed and did what any girl would do: I called my girlfriend Sarah and asked her if she wanted to play dress up and have a photo shoot with me. Naturally she said yes.

(P.S. This is another friend Sarah, not the one that befriends colorful locals and made me do the ninja pose. I always try and keep two Sarahs and two Erins on hand, because I tend like 'em.)

To set the mood, I made lemonade (because it was the middle of the day) and poured it in margarita glasses. Then I put my sound machine on the ocean setting, grabbed some maracas and we were ready! Okay, I don't have maracas (as I have mentioned before), but I do own some cute straw hats and I donned my trademark aviator glasses.

Don't you want to party with us?
I am now ready for the heat in my cool new shorts and
 bright and breezy embroidered tops.
Have you heard that not only are bright colors all the rage,
 but also tangerine is THE color for spring?
Well, it is, and you heard it here.
Plus, it looks great on Sarah!
Plus, Sarah tells funny jokes.

Then I persuaded Sarah to try on a different outfit and that is when I realized that she looks better in my clothes than I do....

She thinks my tractor's sexy.
But seriously, this adorable skirt has pockets. POCKETS!
I love pockets! Then my hands don't alert people to
exactly what is on my mind. heh heh.

Since it is common knowledge that every woman should have a maxi dress this year, I bought one in my favorite colors of green and turquoise. Then I held up the dress to show Thing 1 and he said "That is a BIG dress!". Then I laughed and  "country chic" styled my new maxi dress with a white denim jacket, some silver and turquoise jewelry and some well-worn cowboy boots. This is the perfect look for my new profession as a dog whisperer.

The Red Dog is saying "OOOOHHHH! YESSSSS!
That is the spot!"

The Black Dog, who must have been previously owned by
Native Americans, says "Cameras steal your soul."
I disagree, but her teeth chattering tells me that she
believes this to be true.

Again, Sarah is rocking yet another adorable skirt and denim combination that is always great for summer. Don't forget to roll those sleeves, ladies! Show off the arm jewelry, whether it be bangles or tattoos or henna...

This is perfect for relaxing in the hammock!
Let's face it, anything is perfect for relaxing
in the hammock.

Look at that girl! She's going places! to a party in the gnome garden with her 80's
catalog pose!

Sarah then tried on the little black dress that was $8 yesterday, and we styled it with some bright colors for a casual summer look.

I love this picture so much.

I was at the checkout, paying for my new wardrobe when something was tugging at me. I turned around and saw that it was this navy blue gauze dress with turquoise embroidery. It honestly didn't look super appealing on the hanger, as many clothes don't, but I just had one of those feelings about it. Kind of the same feeling that I had when I met my husband and he had a mullet AND a mustache. I thought "With a little tasteful styling, this could really be SOMETHING SPECIAL." Not only did I accept the date with my now husband, I also bought the dress. Both turned out to be major winning decisions on my behalf.
And to think I almost left this adorable
dress homeless in the store. It was
so clearly meant to be with me.
It's my favorite.

Here is my new sweet frock-
countrified. Yeehaw!

Here's my husband on our first date- pre styling.
I'm so glad that I accepted this man's offer.
And I so glad that he shaved the stache and cropped the hair....
So if you want to feel like a free spirited Goddess this summer (or if you gents would like your wives to feel like free spirited Goddesses), go shop the Mexicali section at Old Navy. Or if you like your yoga pants and sweatshirts, they have those too. One stop shopping!

I could eat so much while wearing this dress and
In my mind, that is even better than yoga pants!

Happy Shopping!

Peace, Love and Unicorns,

Friday, April 27, 2012

Where I announce the winners in a photojournalistic fashion

Are you excited?
First, I lovingly and painstakingly hand wrote every name on a slip of paper and
deposited said papers into my Rand's Custom Hat as Brock cleaned up the kitchen
after I destroyed it making salmon, rice and asparagus.

Then I wiped the bribery chocolate
 (so that the Things would actually EAT the salmon, rice and asparagus)
 from the faces of my children and instructed
them to each select ONE name from the hat. Thing 1 performed perfectly, but Thing 2
shockingly didn't follow instructions very well so I tried again....

There may or may not be a wooden train in there too.....


Now for the last one.... I called in the big guns.

This is what Brock looks like right before he bursts into song.

And the winners are:





Congrats ladies! Contact me with your color selection, size and mailing address ASAP and I will creep around your yard at night and paint your rake handles pink Miss Freda will send you your frocks!

Thanks for all the entries and congratulations to the WINNERS!!!!!

Peace, love and awesome free stuff,

!!!!GIVEAWAY!!!!! Get over here!! Winners to be selected TODAY!

Other than being accidentally smacked in the chin with Thing 1's skull, thus forcing my jaw out of whack, yesterday was freaking awesome. I got a bunch of interesting phone calls and emails, I played outside with my boys (who have been acting like little angels lately), I got some chores done, had dinner in the crock pot for B-rock, had my jaw fixed and had a little sumpin sumpin I like to call GIRL'S Night OUT! Oh YEAH! I'll tell you about that later because right now I want to talk about the GIVEAWAY. woot woot!


My gorgeous friend Freda from the Grand Junction Old Navy dialed me up and said that she wanted to sponsor not one, but THREE, dresses for my beautiful readers! Why? Because Freda is a Rock Star!

I went to the local Old Navy to personally scope out the dress for you all and I will be honest, I'm probably buying at least two of the colors on Saturday. Why Saturday? Because the dress is part of Old Navy's One Day Wonder promotion and on Saturday it will be for sale for a mere $8. That is right, the same price as 3/4 pound of salmon from my local grocer or one HoneyCrisp Apple from Whole Foods.

I know that you want more proof, so here are a couple of super professional shots of the dresses taken with my camera.

It's a beautiful rainbow of choices!
I LOVE the green, the yellow and..... um, all of them.
And I really want to eat some Skittles right now, too.

See how I am making a hideous face while
practically camouflaged by a door in the same color
as the dress and it still looks cute?
That's because this dress is awesome.

So, my fine friends, to enter this giveaway please comment either below or on my facebook page. You can either tell me how much you love the prize, how much you love me, or you can talk about the weird rash on your thigh. It doesn't matter, JUST COMMENT. It is really that simple! I will randomly select three winners TONIGHT, so check back! Don't waste any more time.
Go forth and be lucky.

Oh, and just in case your luck blows, here is a coupon for 20% your purchase. Many thanks to Freda and the fine people of Old Navy for offering such cute and affordable clothing!

Peace, Love and Unicorns,

Wednesday, April 25, 2012

Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow?

A friend of mine recently got me thinking about some things, one of which being Nicolas Cage's hair (plugs). And now I feel sad.... and a little dirty. I can only hope that I never morph into some odd caricature of my former self.....

But enough about movie stars, let's talk about more important things; like my hair. Obviously it must be of the utmost importance because I have spent the last three weeks doing little more than wondering if I should cut my bangs or grow them out. Of course, I care about World Peace, Justin Beiber and the Oil Crisis too. Blahblahblah. So today I made a bold move and called my hairdresser, because when I am unsatisfied with my life I naturally try and change everything that I can control. I have no idea why I think that my hair falls into the category of 'things that I can control', but I suppose that this is only one of the many reasons why I could be labeled as delusional.

While I am impatiently awaiting my hair appointment (which isn't until May), I have been trying out my vast artillery of hair styling techniques. I have implemented these thus far: Washed, unwashed, brushed, unbrushed, scrunched, ponytailed and braided. All of this hard work has only lead to one realization: my hair is flat, dingy and in need of a professional. And there is still laundry to be folded.

For instance, yesterday I tried to make myself look like a prima ballerina and I patiently braided my hair like I was Heidi of the Hills while I yodeled "Jar of Hearts" and dreamt of aprons, snow capped mountain peaks and meadows full of heather. Yet, somehow, the magical combination of my excessive whiteness, my thinning, sparse hair and my razor sharp cheekbones, I ended up looking less like a poetic dancer full of beauty and grace and more like a crazy old lady who lost her wig somewhere in her dirty house full of cats.

Doesn't this just scream, "HERE KITTY KITTY KITTY!"?
I should probably get a professional to look at my neck too...

Then I unbraided the hair and POOF! I was feeling the Tawny Kitaen vibe so hard that it took every fiber of my being not to do the splits on the hood of a car. And then I realized that I really just felt like ANY MEMBER of Whitesnake and I took a moment to practice my air guitar. When my hairband session was over, I decided to utilize my sharp facial angles and extreme dorkiness and I broke into my best Ellie Goulding pose.

You must pretend like there are sparkling rays of sunshine
glinting off of my hair. Also, you have to imagine that
I am much more flexible, British and can sing.

She obviously is not working with a misshapen neck part....

In the end, I choose to accept my role as housewife so I showed off my mad multi-tasking skills by drinking coffee while talking on the phone and reading a magazine...... !

This is just what I do. Tawny Kitaen is probably in a full blown
jealous rage. That is almost real leather on that couch and
I am most likely sitting on an ENTIRE MatchBox car- not just the hood....

I really just wanted to show you the adorable Thing 2.
And of course Smelly Cat's bunghole.
Look away from the bunghole! You can't, can you?
You are welcome.

Anyway, as I clearly have nothing better to do with my time, I decided to first install a pool. Then I implemented my Art Degree and had some "fun time with scissors" with my children.

Since I don't trust myself with my own locks, I cut their hair. What were you thinking? Craft time? Ha.

But look how freaking cute they are!

They are even cuter when they are sleeping!
Just kidding?

Stay tuned for more breaking news in the life of The Corn Fed Girl.

Peace, Love and Unicorns,

P.S. Thanks for all of your encouraging words in the comments of my last post. You all are the best.

Friday, April 20, 2012

Honesty IS the best policy?

Folks, I need to be honest with you all. You may or may not have noticed that I'm discombobulated. My normal amount of what I like to call 'charming disfunction' has been replaced with 'please stay home, for the sake of the general public, and maybe I should remove the kitchen knives while I'm at it...', which is why I haven't been writing much as of late. I just don't feel funny. Well, I feel "funny", but not in a humorous way. Instead I have been feeling funny in a vaguely despondent, socially inadequate and aggressively hungry manner.

At first I thought that this change was just a new and overtaxed part of my awesome 'mommy' persona, or maybe just allergies. But then I realized that there has been a fairly large number of stessors in my life that are out of the ordinary. Of course, I just realized this on Tuesday (because I'm brilliant like that). I won't get into the details of what is happening, but I will say that I now am in full-on insomniac-by-night/zombie-by-day mode. To combat the sum of all of my newly acquired depressing events, I have been using my logical and trademark coping mechanisms; I have been buying shoes and attempting to eat my weight in cheese. I love the new shoes, but the cheese thing is not working out so well for me.

Since I'm being totally honest, it's not just cheese that I have been eating; it's all dairy products. Considering that I typically rarely eat dairy because it gives me hives, I have upped my consumption of it by approximately.... 200%. Also, I like sugar. A lot. I'm apparently just eating all of my feelings. Yay me. It's almost time to crawl under the covers with a copy of Wally Lamb's "She's Come Undone" and a pint of ice cream.

But now that I have started the process of dislodging my head from my nether-regions and emotionally vomiting all over a couple of patient friends, I am almost fully prepared to handle my feelings all by myself. Because I'm a big girl.

That's not true. I'm totally not ready to deal with anything, which is exactly why there is a nasty layer of schmegma along the toe kick of my kitchen cabinets, but I am forcing myself to buck up, because now is the time and the time is now. I need to stop wallowing in the dirty waters of chocolate and reality TV and forge ahead into the frightening territory of mission statements and salad.

Math is hard!

I talked to my friend today and she said, "Don't let your pain be the excuse to give fear authority over you." I told her that she sounded like Wayne Dyer and then we mutually amended it with, "or....eating your weight in dairy may or may not insulate you from the pain."

Therefore, good people, I do declare that the time has come for me to start writing my book.

In conclusion, I have no fucking idea what the focus of my book will be, but I vow to make it happen. If for no one else but the 177 people that "follow" me on Google friend connect. And also because I need to get brutally honest with myself about what the bleepity bleep I am doing with my life. And I need to FOCUS and I will Persevere!

Do you like these shoes? I just got them.

Honestly? Me too. I also braided my hair like Katniss today because it makes me feel powerful. Later, I will put on my Back Off sleeping mask that was gifted to me by my friend, The Cotton Floozy, and blindly shoot arrows from Thing 1's bow at the ceiling fan. It will be the highlight of my month.

While I am talking about honesty, I "came clean" to Brock the other night. It went like this:

Me: Hey, I need to be honest with you about something.

Brock: Okaaaaay.

Me: I purposely dug through your drawer this morning.

Brock, who took a long pause with a deer-in-the-headlights expression: And what did you find?

Me: Those super thick black athletic socks of yours. I'm wearing them right now. I'm also planning on wearing them to bed because I'm cold.
What did you THINK I found?

Brock: Dammit, I thought I maybe hid money in there and forgot about it.

Me: Sure.....

Wish me luck.
Peace, Love and Unicorns,

Monday, April 16, 2012

What Parents Really Want to Hear

Even though the thought of leaving the hospital with a brand spanking new baby was the most frightening moment of my life, ("So, I really don't even know how to change a diaper and you are just going to let me walk out of here and take this tiny human with me????? This seems like a bad idea.) what I was not anticipating was how tiring, frightening and gut wrenching parenting can be on a day to day basis.

Every moment that your baby/toddler/child/teenager is in your care, your primary job as the parental unit is to keep that person ALIVE and WELL. This may seem simplified, but it is the core of parenting. It is also why I have 80% more wrinkles since having children.

On top of keeping that little person safe, you also must teach them pretty much everything about life. EVERYTHING. A parent is responsible for instilling everything from simple manners  (please and thank you) to a moral code of living (keep your ass in school and out of jail). Parents teach empathy, kindness, compassion, love, loyalty, honesty, oral hygiene and sometimes even math (ugh). Parents should lead by example (No Brock, you can't take that beer to go) and should be generous with their love (and, in my opinion, ponies and humor).

There are a wide variety of books written by "Parental Experts" on how not to screw up your kid. I'm sure that there is tons of useful information in those things, but I can't be certain as I have yet to read one. My parental style is something I like to call "I'm just going with my gut...." I also use the method of "Distraction", "Bribery" and the ever popular "Elf on the Shelf" (ours just popped in from the North Pole for a surprise inspection).

As you probably know, all of this is only part of the reason that raising children is mentally exhausting. I haven't even touched upon the brain melting parental obligation of decision making (what doctor, what school, what activity, what food, what friends, LeapPad or Leapster Explorer?....blah blah blah...). Not to mention the physical demands of feeding them, cleaning them, feeding them, cleaning them, feeding them, cleaning them, clothing them, watching them every second of the day so that they don't fall into a well or run into traffic, and hauling them to and fro. I have witnessed the direct effects of a headstrong two-year old who isn't "into" having their diaper changed. The adult in the situation staggers out of the boxing ring room, with rumpled shit stained clothes and a sweaty brow, clearly defeated every time; whilst a 20/30/40-something pound Jr. happily struts across the room in the always popular toddler combo of a shirt and no pants.

This mental and physical warfare daily routine is only a small example as to why most parents covet date night book club poker night the time of day commonly referred to as "bedtime". With the children in their rooms, tucked safely into their beds, "bedtime" is basically the only time of the day that parents can shut off their mind, pour a glass of wine and turn on a TV program that isn't rated G. It is time meant to recharge both the tiny, growing people in the house and the adults that are raising them. It is meant to be quiet, contemplative and restful. It the time of day that mom and dad can talk about (or do) adult things. (Not that they do, because by that time they are too fried to do anything other than stare at an hour of Castle and speculate on "who done it".) In reality, it can also be a time of a battle unlike non other with your precious spawn. Don't ever underestimate the will of a small person. God made them that cute specifically so that parents don't eat their young.

In conclusion, parents are thrilled to hear many things come out of their babe's mouth. We are pleased when a well timed "Please and thank you" is applied. We are proud when our tot says "May I please be excused?" and then carries their plate to the kitchen. We could almost burst when we see them say "I love you" to a sibling or friend and then follow it up with a non-strangly hug. We are amazed when our hours of chanting "You're the Best Mom EVER!" in the ear as they eat, play and sleep pays off with an affectionate and enthusiastic, "Wow! This food is great! You're the best mom EVER!"

While all of the above are great and make you feel like a parental success, don't be fooled. What we most want to hear from our well-behaved, perfectly healthy and well rounded children is a well-earned, perfectly timed (at bedtime, of course)  "I'm TIRED".

Winner, winner. Cereal for dinner.

God Bless the Children (with well manicured parks, fresh air, sunshine and enough exercise that they practically put themselves to bed).

Now, if you'll excuse me; I'm exhausted. Insomnia should be outlawed.
Sleep well tonight, and may the force be with you.


Monday, April 9, 2012

If we don't name call and categorize, how are we supposed to describe people?

I try not to get too wrapped up in anything that I read here on the Internets, specifically things that I read in the comment sections of published articles. But I read something today and it made my eyes roll so far back in my head that I now have a migraine. Or maybe I just need to drink more water and stop eating those coconut milk chocolate nests that Brock's mom sent... (damn that Easter Bunny!) Anyway, I read an article today about.... something something something... name calling Mommies. It highlighted all the "horrible" names that we mothers call our fellow mothers and went into a detailed explanation as to why the names are so wretched and how we should cease fire and live in ultra P.C. harmony. I was immediately disenchanted by the serious tone of the article, and when the writer said that it wasn't nice to call others "Stay-at-home-moms" I nearly barfed up my under baked orange cranberry bread. I knew two things right then and there: 1. This woman takes herself WAY TOO SERIOUSLY, and 2. Since I can't get those five minutes that I spent reading the article back, I would use it as my personal blog fodder. Her article was so groan worthy that it actually made me unwittingly relive a real-life encounter with the same type of person; an account that I had suppressed.... on purpose.

Whatever you do, don't call her a Soccer Mom.
Even though she is wearing that title on her shirt....
and cheering....
It's wrong and demeaning.
A hyper sensitive woman said it was so....

A few weeks ago, some of my friends who happen to be (AWESOMESAUCE) mothers of Thing 1's preschool friends, and I were having a little girl bonding time. In a bar. With martinis.
We were having such a splendid time that I'm quite certain our laughter and volume 11 talking was hard to ignore. Soon this cute 20-something chick wobbled over to us with a rum and coke in her hand and slurred something about setting us up with a group of New York Firefighters. She then made a sweeping gesture towards a herd of trolls that were standing in a cluster in the center of the bar. Honestly, even without any hot man bait, we would have waved away the hook-up intention, as we are all married. Also, we were on a girls' night out, which meant we were basically so tired of our own men that we needed a night away (but we love and respect you all so so much- xoxo). We then invited the girl to sit with us, as we felt sorry for her that she was the only chick in the testosterone laden group of misplaced garden gnomes.

This gracious invitation we soon regretted.

Let me start by saying that my friends are all funny and witty and snarky (and pretty, because I only like pretty people). We really do love our spawn and we try to do what is best for them, but we freely admit to our parenting faux pas as well. In doing this we receive much needed support and reassurance from our parental peers- because parenting is HARD. If I labeled us, it would be the "Keeping it Real Moms".

Our new booth-mate, however, was the most beautiful and special new mom to the most beautiful and special nine-month old baby girl. Miss Perfect Mom was also fairly wasted (KLASSY), so she was taking over our formerly fun conversation and filling the space with the shameless self promotion of her own pristine parenting abilities. Apparently SuperMom was trying for some kind of parenting perfection status, and then replaying it for/selling it to all of us- her captive new audience. I heard something like this..... "blah blah blah.... my stellar parenting techniques....blah" Finally, she broke out the lofty, "I really just want my daughter to know that I will support her in ANY decision that she makes. She can be WHATEVER she want to be."

Naturally, I took my cue, raised an eyebrow and asked, "So what if she wants to be a stripper? Are you going to wholeheartedly support that decision?" And then I smiled sweetly and was confident in my decision that she and I would never be friends.

In conclusion, I'm a Bitchy Mom and she was an Overachiever Braggart Mom who needed to be stopped before someone shanked her with their olive pick. How is that for stereotyping and name calling?

image from

The end.

Peace, Love and Stripper Poles,

P.S. Later, when I told Brock about the firefighters, he asked, "How did you know they were firefighters? Were they wearing fire hats and carrying axes?" This should answer any questions that you may have about our relationship.

Check back soon, where Brock and I lead a herd of sheep-like followers in a class that we title, "Stereotyping 101". He'll be the flannel clad dude in a tool belt and I will be the tired-looking woman holding a laundry basket in one hand and a spatula in the other.

Friday, April 6, 2012

I'm officially stupid. Now with illustrations!

Now, I'm no rocket scientist, but I have always been of at least average intelligence.
I was cocky smart enough to say things like, "People should have to pass a test before they are allowed to reproduce."

Thank goodness no one is requiring that I take a test now, since having kids, because I am certain that I would earn an F and a well-deserved mocking.
At least I am not alone in this den of stupidity. I know that Brock would go down with me. Most likely I would be on some sort of coma inducing allergy medication and he would have the good sense to cheat off of my paper.

*explosion noises*

I could (and do) tell you of all the ways that I have mournfully discovered my apparent loss of brain power, but today I am going to focus on my equine handling abilities and knowledge.

There are two basic ways of handling horses:
1.) Safe
2.) Stupid

If you combine my horse experience with Brock's, we have accumulated a grand total of 72 years of equine related knowledge. Neither of us would ever claim to be an expert, but we are (were) both basically proficient around our four legged friends. Yet somehow, within the last few weeks, both my husband and I went from 'knowledgable' to 'well past ignorant to the point of drooling and perhaps singing songs about Unicorns under our breath'.

Maybe it is because we haven't had our personal horses on the property in more than two years.
Maybe it is because we are no longer human, but in fact some sort of robot-zombie-parent, programmed to feed and bathe the children, clean the kitchen and watch American Idol while dreaming of brains.
Maybe it is because we need a vacation. Without the Things. With margaritas and all the sleep we desire.
Maybe it is because we are now primarily handling ponies which are fairly non-threatening considering that they come up to my belt buckle, carry toddlers on their backs and have had their balls chopped off.

Whatever the reason may be, I have two three 'cases in point' to argue in favor of our new found ignoramus.

I'm also drinking right now, because it seemed like the right thing to do in light of this information.

First Offense/ Exhibit A:
The ponies were both using any hard surface they could find to scratch themselves. I brightly deduced that it was because it has been 70+ degrees all March and they were shedding their winter coats. I also know that bathing animals helps in the shedding process, so I decided to be of assistance to both ponies and kindly bath them. (Spoiler alert: the ponies like baths almost as much as Smelly Cat, who bit Brock during his last bath....)It was last weekend.... both boys were napping... Brock was home... I knew what I wanted to do.

*Bow Chicka NOW NOW*

I wanted to complete a motherflipping project without having to watch two preschoolers at the same time.

Like a Temptress, I was all, "Hey Brock. Can you stand and hold the ponies while I bath them?"
He pretended to ignore me, so I naturally yelled his name repeatedly until he responded.

This is what transpired:
Brock was reading the Hunger Games and did not want to be bothered, which is all my fault. You see, I have concocted this fantasy in which Brock and I read novels at the same time and then we have something to talk about other than who pooped their pants at the grocery store. The problem is that Brock is not much of a reader. I, on the other hand, devour books. Sometimes I read multiple novels in one week. Through an act of sheer determination (okay, I threatened to go to the movie without him) Brock is almost finished with the first novel of The Hunger Games trilogy (meanwhile I finished all of them and have also completed another book). By the time he gets to book three, he will try to hold a discussion about Katniss and it will be 2014. I will have read 167 other books, thus having forgotten all about The Hunger Games, and I will look at him blankly and ask him WHY ON EARTH he is telling me about catnip. Someone will have to remind me that I predicted this.

ANYWAY, Brock decided to comply with my delicate request and attempted to assist me by continuing to read with his book in one hand and holding the pony with one hand; with about 3 feet of rope between himself and the pony. The pony who did not want anything to do with that water hose that was directed at his hairy body and was in full on pony flight mode. He was running back and forth in a semi circle around Brock, frightened of the water and rearing up like a miniature Lipizzaner stallion. I therefore was unable to bath said grimy, itchy pony.

Unfortunately, this is not an exaggeration, but instead an exact image
of my current life.

I looked at Brock, mustered up all the snark that I could and said, "Can you stop acting like a stupid 12 year old girl who is afraid of horses and Hold The Damned Pony LIKE A MAN?"
He just glared at me. Then {I believe that} he knew that he was acting like a moron and held the pony correctly while I bathed both of those little bastards until they shone and glistened like a freshly polished toilet in the bathroom that no one uses.
I may have accidentally squirted Brock with the hose in the pony washing process. Whoopsies.

Second Offense/ Exhibit B:

What you need to know before I go into this is that I AM NOT A TEACHER. FOR MANY REASONS. I tried to give a horribly annoying Junior High girl lessons on my horse and few years back and it was all I could do not to push her sack of potatoes body off the saddle and yell "GO HOME! MY HORSE AND I BOTH THINK THAT YOU ARE STUPID!" (ENGAGE YOUR CORE, PEOPLE!) Instead, I seethed inwardly and silently willed my horse to buck her off of his back so that she would run away in fear, never to return again. See? Do not ask me to teach your children. Did I mention that I was (of course) doing this for free? Double bonus points for me!

So, I had talked with the neighbors and arranged to use their round pen. Then Wednesday arrived and I randomly decided that it was time for the lesson. I put Thing 2 down for his nap and set up the monitor on the fence post so that I could hear his demands. Then I looked down at my outfit and shrugged. So what if I was wearing an ankle length flowy boho skirt and my slightly high heeled B.O.C. boots? I had taken all the effort to get dressed once, and the fact that I was not in yoga pants, or better yet, my bathrobe, equals SUCCESS to me. And the ponies are parade broke. Never mind that I looked like the type of lady who would wear a flappy dress and possibly a cape around a herd of flight animals in a windstorm, thus producing a chain reaction of snorts, pull backs and bolts that all went unnoticed by her' because she would be too busy talking with wild abandon (and with a crazed look in her eyes) about how much she loved rescuing Arabian horses while pointing at a Fjord pony and holding a yapping, angry, shaking chihuahua.

I am about 100 pounds, a bad perm and one tiny violent dog away from this....
What the hell has happened to me?

Someone just shoot me now.

So, anyway, I looked like a green horn, but worse than that, I was acting like one. I didn't have a plan of action, but I did have a long and tangled lunge line that I feebly attempted attaching to a very confused Blizzard, who apparently is unaccustomed to lunge lines. I also had an obstinate Thing 1, who is famous for insisting "I CAN DO IT MYSELF!" when he is on the back of the pony.

Did I mention that I hate teaching? There are so so so many reasons, but it is primarily because: I am lazy, I suck at it and I would rather be reading and/or eating while I watch the pool boy clean the drain. We don't have a pool. Nothing is going like I planned .....

Thankfully, my neighbor was witness to my one woman shit show and promptly stepped in and took over the instruction. He apologized and I was all, "Oh please. Just please do it and thank you." Thing 1 succeeded in both reining the pony and pissing off the pony while Thing 2 woke up and was screaming in the monitor..... and we all called it a day.

"Looking good, Buckaroo!" yelled the crazy lady in the giant skirt
from behind her flash photography.....

Which leads us to EXHIBIT C, when both ponies ran away last night.

All I am going to say is that it was exclusively Brock's fault because I warned him multiple times about letting the ponies graze in the yard. EVERYONE KNOWS that if you let an equine loose in your yard to graze that they must be wearing a halter and lead rope. If they are not, then they think that they are brumbies (if you do not know what a bumby is, please watch The Man From Snowy River) and they RUN AWAY, never to be captured again (until they want grain). But after about 40 minutes and with the help of some friendly neighbors, we caught the wild ponies and returned them to their prison pen.

Are we having fun yet?
And here we go again. Good bye brain cells. Good bye pride. It was nice while it lasted.

Maybe we need to buy a house in the suburbs and stick with inanimate bouncy horses.

People in the suburbs like guns, right?

Gotta go, someone pooped.

Peace, Love, Shitty Ponies and Stupid Animal Owners,