Cows are big.

While perusing http://sneezingcow.com, the latest entry reminded me of some of my childhood memories. One in particular involved cows. Oh, hell. Many memories, fond or not, involved cows. Once, when I was six, I was involved in a major production of moving cattle from one pasture to the next. My grandpa asked me (did I mention I was six?) to stand in a particular spot to prevent said cows from going through the spot where I was standing. Cows are big. Cows to a six year old are really big. I was terrified. I was bundled in a big lumpy snowsuit and took some comfort in the fact that if I did pee my pants, no one would notice. But as I said, cows are big. And when thirty cows head toward a six year old, her initial reaction is not to stand firm. At least not this six year old. I started to sweat and panic and I could feel my little face turning red. As they were getting closer to me, I could hear their tails swishing and that was just too close. I think this should have been clue one in a long line that suggested farm life was not my natural territory. So yes, I bolted. I cried and ran but did not wet my pants as 30 cows casually strolled through the opening left by my absence. Surprisingly, there was no shouting, swearing, or even mild cussing. My grandpa was chuckling to himself. With a mischievous grin on his face he said, "Let's try that again. Want to stand my me?" Yes, yes, yes! I thought as I grabbed his hand.

"Grandpa," I said, "cows are big."

He chuckled again. "Yep."

Peck Peck Peck

"Being a parent is like being pecked to death by chickens."

This speaks to me. More frequently than I care to admit. Which I just did, which says too much about me. Again. Anyway, when hubster and I are in a negative zone, or I should say, when the kids are in a negative zone, one of us will simply say, "Peck." Two minutes later, the other replies, "Peck." This can continue for sometime depending on how long the negative cloud hangs around. Astute Things may take notice of pecking and inquire. More often than not, we shrug and continue until it seems the cloud has disappeared. How this does anyone any good is beyond me. Maybe it's some trippy psychological technique that hasn't been officially approved yet prevents us from ripping out hair or leaping from windows. God knows there are enough science "experiences" in this house. I don't need further research or even affirmation. Keeping my hair in tact and windows unbroken is good enough, and we all know good enough is great for me.

Well, shit.

I made a promise to myself with the new year that I would write more. To that end, I decided to carve out time for this at a time when I feel fresh and others are not likey to bother me. So far, this is how my morning goes:

5:20....I smell my coffee perking and it lures me up before the alarm goes off.
5:25....I sit and stare at the computer. Most often I write crap for 10 minutes before something comes to me.
5:40...."I wet the bed I wet the bed I wet the bed!" roars from Thing 2's room so I trudge in to help and pack him off to
dad.
5:45....Thing 2 is up and ready for the day...dressed, humming in the kitchen, deciding on her breakfast. I plead for alone time. She sulks off to her room...with music blasting.
5:47....The dog barks a lot. I forgot I let her out. Now she is in and demanding attention. From me.
5:50....I forgot what I was writing. I have been up and down 5 times since I started and whatever thoughts I had have left. More
crap is written to be deleted soon.
6:00....Screw it. Maybe the news will jar something.
6:05....I will check Facebook. I have a few real writer friends who have published BOOKS for chris sake. Let me find out what
they are up to. At least I can feel someone's success from afar.
6:10....Whatever.
6:15....Check blogs of other successful people and whine more to myself.
6:20....Glad I made no promises to anyone...except to myself. Well, shit.

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Getting out of January

January has been getting to us so we took the kids on a family "date"--this really just means we couldn't find a sitter and I did not want to cook. But the place was nice. It wasn't fancy, but there was a candle and with Ben this is always a risk. There was pizza offered so the complaints were few. Aside from suffering through a reading of Pokemon's Adventure, we were able to navigate ourselves into a pleasant conversation when it hit me again--how did I get here? We were discussing plans for the summer, which led to where we wanted to travel. Harry Potter Land, Paris, and Washington, D.C. were at the top of the list for the little ones. What? I thought. How can these be my kids? As a child, I never went anywhere on a trip where a relative didn't serve as the hotel. Lawrence, Nebraska anyone? Oh wait. We did go the Black Hills and if memory serves, someone had to wire us money to get home. And out to dinner ? Yeah, right. We felt lucky to go to McDonald's in the city and if things were really rolling our way, we'd come home with one of their special glass cups featuring one of those wacky McDonald's characters. I certainly don't remember feeling deprived. Oh, it was a different time and place. I am certain my parents felt we were spoiled rotten, too. McDonald's again? You guys don't know how lucky you are! A trip just for fun? Why, we never left the farm--there was work to be done! I do remember longing for Australia. I don't know why. I had a thing for koala bears. What I don't remember is if I thought getting there would be a reality. But the dreaming--it was enough. And for now, that conversation was enough. In January, what more can you ask for?