Too tired - continued

Feeling slightly remiss about all the blogging I've been thinking about but not doing. If only I could dictate straight to the blog while I'm musing. . . too bad.
STILL, I have no time to cyber-muse. So I'll be brief.
Three of my favorite moments from my sweet little guys this week:
1. Max - has decided he loves to sleep with his windows open so Foghorn (the rooster) can wake him up. . .funny how sleepy he still seems when I wake him up after the sun has been up for awhile. Can't believe how big he is now.
2.Grey-bug- told me what he wants to be when he grows up. Although he said 'an astronaut' first, he quickly changed his mind - before I could even fill in the blank on his teacher's questionnaire- to (drum roll, please. . .) a Ninja. 'Definitely a Ninja'. Does that come with dental?
3. Nicky- said 'bwess you' when I sneezed. How sweet is that? AND Nick came up to work with me for a little bit while 'the boys', as he calls them - he doesn't seem to get that he's part of that group- were in school. He helped me spray the horses down and then let them out for the night. Good one-on-one time.

I. am. so. tired.

Here's what I want my days off to be like:
8am- asleep.
9am- still sleeping
10am- yep, you guessed it. Asleep. Although it's a good time to be arriving at consciousness.
11am-feeding the humans and animals, in my pajamas.
12am-possibly time to get clean and dressed, unless it's time for a nap. Maybe make sure the little ones are clean and dressed too.
You get the picture.
This week is too too too busy. Why does school starting signal an end to all free time I didn't know I had? Do we really have to have fifty soccer practices the same instant we start being homework-hounds? Does PTA have a number of required hours to fill? Let's ease in to this back-to-school thing here. Baby steps.
On top of that craziness, apparently Tyler was determined to get unpacked-right-now and all my plans of crawling back into bed after I got the school send-off-thingy taken care of were out the window. I do not have the time to fully explain the contrast in the way we 'unpack' things and seriously must return to this subject in a few days. . .when I am closer to sane. Let's just say that I might have, well let's say 'hidden', in the closet folding clothes of all things to escape all the "what do you want to do with this?"-ing.

"Am I Buggin' You? Don't Mean to Bug ya. . ."

What's bugging me:
1. The other night I was out in the garage helping Tyler put up some shelves. . . - and by 'help' I mean what I usually end up doing when I 'help' Tyler: observe, offer moral support, and make extremely helpful suggestions which are always very much appreciated, I'm sure. Although, sometimes when help I end up being a part of things I should never be involved in. . . like helping stand fourteen-foot high garage framing walls - because I'm that strong, and tall, and it's easier than asking someone else for help. I digress. . .- anyway, I was watching Tyler put up shelves and I got distracted by one of my absolute most hated creatures; A nasty moth kept running into everything remotely close to me, making that horrible 'phluth' noise every time it hit. Why, I ask you, do they do that? They can fly, why can't they steer? Why must they invade my space and leave little dusty reminders when they do? Why don't they care if they run into something MUCH bigger than they are . . . something that wants to send them all to the fiery depths of Hell? I would care, if I were a bug. Seriously. I am not a squeamish girl, I deal with spiders and bees, and, and, and other stuff with relative calm. I don't think moths are going to kill me, or sting me, I just want them to stay away from me, and they don't.
The first time I heard about the whole butterfly sanctuary thing - or whatever you call it, I swear I was fighting my gag reflex. Still, I can hardly imagine something worse than a room full of elegant moth- cousins that want to come land on my finger or my hair. Actually, I can think of a lot of worse things - I watched an episode or two of Fear Factor - but I still cringe at the thought. Dear Butterflies, you're so pretty. Be pretty far away. Thank you.
2. Last week a grasshopper jumped in my boot. While I was wearing it. Without socks. And then it squished itself against my naked foot (I'm innocent.) leaving sick green grasshopper juice on my ankle. I KNOW it's partly my fault for wearing my cowboy boots with shorts, but it was just for a few minutes and I was at the ranch. . .it was totally justified. Again, WHY can't they jump away from people instead of at us? What is the point?
When we were riding yesterday we went through a meadow full of huge grasshoppers jumping so high that they were flying over the tops of our heads (on horseback). . . and you guessed it, one smacked me in the face, fell to my chest and jumped on to find it's next victim. I could hardly open my mouth (after I screamed of course) afterward for fear of. . . well, you know. I can't even write it.
3. My mean 'animal lover' unless-it's-not-their-own neighbors (not to be confused with my lovely mother-in-law, or with the nicest, coolest neighbors ever - they literally have a soccer field in their back yard, how cool is that?) are driving me nuts! A letter: Dear Mr. and Mrs. Not-so-Nice, I'm sorry that you think we should take our dog to a spinal specialist even though our Vet (a professional) has told us nothing can be done for him; I'm sorry you think we should tie him up even though he can barely walk; I don't care if he hobbles over to see the old dog across the street, in fact I think it's adorable and sweet. He's NOT running away, and you don't need to bring him back to us and shake your heads / fingers at us; I'm sorry you don't think we buy the right brand of pet food, I'm sorry the goat trimmed the bottom of your fruit trees for you, I guess we won't send you a bill since you're mad; I'm sorry you are misinformed enough to think that horses should be FAT- please look up 'founder' in the dictionary; I'm sorry you cover our fence rails with birdseed (for the birds and the deer) and that our chickens now make a beeline for it when they sneak out. . . you said you didn't care at first. (They are birds you know.) I am not sorry you stepped in chicken poo. I kind of think you deserve it. P.S. You live in the country, practically the mountains. There are animals here.

Ahhh. Thanks for listening, I feel better.

The Capture

Okay, so it wasn't actually a capture. Remember two posts ago when Foghorn got out? Remember that? Well, I really did jump up from the computer to get him. As I slipped my boots on I yelled to the boys (you know, the ones that had JUST come running in to tell me the rooster was a.w.o.l.) to come help me catch the little sneak. No one came rushing out behind me though. I figured they were putting their shoes back on, and so I ran - so bravely, into the face of danger. No sign of the culprit. I knew all I had to do was listen for a minute though, he can't seem to help himself - he crows MORE when he is out of the chicken yard for some reason. Possibly a death wish. Sure enough, seconds later I heard him crowing loudly from the neighbors back yard. . .good thing the neighbor is my mother-in-law. Foghorn had escaped from the chicken yard (where he had clean water), gone through the horses' corral (past a water trough. . .full of water), past the goat (still more water), and squeezed through a hole in the fence of said mother-in-law's yard to get a drink from the dog's water dish. When I got there he was crowing, then he took a drink, crowed again, etc. until he saw me. He hunkered down low to the ground, and I swear he scratched at the cement like a bull ready to charge. Then he was off. If you have never seen a chicken run you must, by any means possible, find a way to see it. A. They are faster than you would ever imagine. B. It's so hysterical to watch them cruising at the speed of light, yet waddling at the same time it makes it almost impossible to give a good chase. I managed though. I even got one good picture of him booking across the corral. (yes, I brought my camera to catch the rooster. . . kind of thought I would be taking pictures of the boys chasing him around - very funny.)

By the time we were both back to the chicken yard back-up had finally arrived. It just wasn't what I was expecting (and I promise it was wearing clothes when I left the house).

While Nicky did bring his car and a plastic dolphin to help with the

capture I decided he would be most useful holding my camera while I tried to corner Mr. Leghorn. His photography speaks for itself.

He kept saying 'Ah see yo weg, no, Ah see mah weg!' And then the glorious moment evidently about the time of this pic, "Ah see mah ton!"

A final Nick's eye-view.

And, no. I didn't catch the blasted rooster. But Tyler did...the next day.

Tagged!

I've been tagged by my brilliant friend, Kiera, and it's taken me awhile to finish because the prompts really made me think. I really like this tag mainly because it asks questions that expose you a little rather than the old 'If you could meet any one in history. . .', or 'If you could choose one person to be trapped on a desert island with. . . (wouldn't everyone just say MacGyver here so they could GET OFF THE ISLAND - good thing my husband basically is MacGyver, so I could choose him and sound cheesy, but be practical at the same time - brilliant.) .
SO, I'm tagging Amy the Great, Kara M., Tiffany, Ashley, and Marianne because I want to know what you think. . .

• I am. . .strong (and fragile), happy (and pensive), energetic (and exhausted), optimistic (and wary), loving (and off-ish), outgoing (and reserved), confident (and self-critical), stubborn (and easygoing).
• I think. . .in riddles - well not really, but wouldn't that be cool. Really, I think until my brain hurts, and then I either run, bake, read, or sleep so I don't have to think for awhile.
• I know. . .we're all here for a reason; to perfect ourselves, to help others in the process.
• I want. . .my children to be happy, good people; to have enough of my own time to do everything I want to do instead of just everything I need to do.
• I have. . . everything I need.
• I wish. . .(I was a little tiny fish-tiny fish) my boys wouldn't fight; I were taller.
• I hate. . .feeling hatred; bugs that run into you; lack of accountability, laziness, lies, cruelty.
• I miss. . .sleeping in, the (Arizona) desert, the carefree days of childhood.
• I fear. . .losing my husband or children.
• I feel. . .young and old - depending on the day.
• I hear. . .my family waking, birds outside the window, the hum of the computer.
• I smell. . . with a supersonic nose. (blessing or a curse - you decide)
• I search. . . for peace, lost toys, car keys, matching socks, answers, and the right words.
• I wonder. . .what all the silent spirits are thinking - tiny children and animals.
• I regret. . .not saying 'I'm sorry' soon enough, tanning, quitting piano lessons, losing my temper.
• I love. . .my boys, my husband, music, the gospel, the way the summer air feels around 3 am, epiphanies, deep dark chocolate, comic relief, laughing, crying in sad movies. . .or commercials (take your pick), good books, kind people, genuine people, perfectly grilled ahi, clean sheets, new shoes, the word 'mommy' when it's not being yelled, looking into my boys' eyes, galloping through the mountains, the smell of rain, the first snowfall of winter, movies, new notebooks, inside jokes, words (particularly 'inexplicably'). . . we could do this all day, you know. . .
• I care. . .about first impressions, about peoples' feelings.
• I always. . .change the toilet paper rolls, take notes, eat my vegetables, wear sunscreen.
• I am not. . .prompt (as hard as I try.)
• I believe. . . in the mercy and love of God; in the power of music; in the existence of miracles; in the goodness of mankind; in the beauty of love; in the gift of forgiveness.
• I dance. . .when I cook; with my boys; to the psyche themesong; when I'm happy.
• I sing. . .out loud, in my head, in the car, to my children. . . all the time, and it makes me feel connected to everything.
• I don't always. . .want to be in charge; want to be seen; want to have the answer.
• I write. . .poetry, prose, lyrics, dialogue; in my head, on paper, on the computer, constantly.
• I win. . .unless I lose.
• I lose. . .track of time.
• I never. . .say never.
• I listen. . .to directions. . . and then I usually forget half.
• I can usually be found. . .yep. Usually.
• I'm scared of. . .things beyond our control - natural disasters, other people's actions, war, etc.
• I read. . .whenever I can- sometimes even at stoplights (if I'm done with my make-up, of course.)
• I am happy about. . .life in general.

I'd like to thank the little people

A couple of things I have to get off my chest and I have no time right now - (my three bottomless pits think they're hungry. . .and they think I should take care of that).

1. Dear Juice and Java girls - I love you, not in a freaky way, please don't be scared because I need you. You are so much better than the scary juice nazis that were serving bliss up about, hmm, 14 or 15 years ago. . . when my reliance on you began. Thank you so much for picking my name in your monthly drink-card giveaway. You have made an awful, terrible, horrible couple of days much better. You make the rockin' world go round.

2. Dear Tyler - I love you too, maybe in a freaky way, but please don't be scared, because I need you more than chocolate. BUT my blog obsession does not make me Doogie Houser. I'm sorry, but it just doesn't. AND, now that you've said that, I'm scared that the creepy little Italian Doogie friend is going to crawl in my window as I type and mess up my conclusion.

That's all for now. Must find something to cook. Oh, even worse - the boys have just sounded the 'Foghorn is Loose' alarm. Dang it. Maybe we should have Rooster for dinner.