Angel Wheeler

I’ve been exercising lately, it is January after all, and I’m sore.

When you haven’t exercised in like a millenium it’s usually a good idea to start off slow.

I started off slow and I’m still sore.

But you know, in a small way I’m glad I’m sore. It makes me feel like I actually did something. Something good for myself.

And perhaps my exercise will help slow down the aging process and keep my arm flab at a minimum.

Teachers must be careful about arm flab. Let me tell you why.

I recommend this experiment if you are undecided about whether or not your arm flab is a menace to society.

Imagine yourself in a short sleeve shirt. Or a tank top if you feel like breaking the dress code. Something that accentuates your upper arms.

You got it?

Now imagine yourself standing in front of a chalkboard. A markerboard if you’re in 2011. There is a room full of young, yet precocious children waiting to soak up the knowledge you are about to bestow upon them.

Are you there?

Okay raise your arm, with chalk or marker poised, and write a sentence on your imaginary board. Something like “The dog’s balls were round.”

Now pull your mind out of the gutter, this is a lesson on possessive nouns of course.

Go ahead and write it in cursive, it’s a handwriting lesson as well.

Write it big and long, stretch your arm out and write by golly. Write like you’ve never written before!

Now stop. Time for an arm flab check. How’s it doing? Swinging slightly? Or did it circle around and nearly slap you in the ear?

A boy in the back of the room just snickered about your possessive noun sentence. He’s probably got a big brother or two.

You don’t allow snickering in this classroom.

Get the eraser. Get it.

Erase that sentence fast.

Erase it big.

Choose something much more appropriate and repeat.

This now concludes the demonstration.

So how are you feeling about your arm flab now?

Children are brutally honest and they will point out fat, jiggly arms in a heartbeat. I only know this from experience. I no longer wear short sleeves.

Or write on the board.

There was a story of a teacher, a rather large teacher who was teaching elementary age students. The kind who haven’t yet learned the inappropriateness of certain topics.

One day, one of her young boys said in the most horrified voice, “Mrs. B, what IS that?” while pointing to her flabby upper arm.

“Oh, honey”, the kind, large, gentle teacher replied, “that’s just my ole’ fat arm.”

“Whew”, the boy replied with a sigh of relief. “I thought it was your titty.”

**********

It’s an issue with kids, don’t ever think it’s not. It ranks right up there with calling shotgun. It’s a big deal.

Today I was working with a small group of students. One of my little angels began talking about her grandma.

This is what she had to say.

“She’s just so flabby. When she raises her arm,” and the little girl raises her arm to demonstrate, “10 flabs fall out.”

Another student was curious, “What’s a flab?”

The little darling raises her arm again, and proceeds to explain to the child whose family obviously has the thin gene, about flabby arm fat.

She waves her hand under the raised arm to indicate the severity and jiggliness of the flabs.

She continues, “They’re like dogs. Like pit bulls. ”

And then she bares her teeth, shakes her head, and growls ferociously.

I only hope I don’t have your granddaughter in my class.

Just think, this could be you she’s referring to.

Now go perform 3 sets of 20 triceps presses.

And Hurry!

The Seinfeld Post—a post about nothing

I’ve accepted a challenge by WordPress, the site where I blog. They are challenging bloggers to either post once a week or once a day in the year 2011.

I am going for the once a day posting challenge. It’s a biggie. Especially considering how long it takes me to write one of these boogers.

I missed the very first day of the year. Which technically means I failed before I even started, but I am going to perservere anyway. I may be a failure but I ain’t no quitter.

Now its January 5th, Day #5, and guess what? I’m out of ideas. I got nothing. I have nothing to write and a sneaking suspicion this might be a long year. Yesterday evening, after I pushed publish on my last blog, I closed my laptop feeling very insecure about my post, and thought It’s a good thing noone is ever coming back to read anything I’ve ever written, because I have nothing more to say.

Nevertheless I’ve accepted this challenge, I want to do it, and I need to post something daily. Something with a little substance.

All day I’ve been thinking about a topic.

WordPress is putting out ideas over at dailypress.wordpress.com, so I hopped over there for some inspiration. Today’s topic is “Are you stressed out right now? If so , why or why not” Uh, yeah, I kinda, sorta don’t have an idea for a blog the 5th day into a challenge.

Next I thought I might do a Wordless Wednesday post like other bloggers do, where they just post a picture and no words at all. But I can’t, I tried that before. And I just can’t say nothing.

But if I was going to do a Wordless Wednesday post, which I’m obviously not, here is the picture I would use.

But I can’t post a picture like this and not explain it. It’s just not right.

This was taken on Thanksgiving Day. My mom was cooking and we all gathered up at her house. It was a pretty large crowd and one must admit, it is hard to cook for a large crowd especially when the cook is out of practice, has adult ADHD, and is displaying the early stages of Alzheimers. I LOVE YOU MOM!!

Authors Note: Okay so right now I must pause in writing and tell you, if my mom ever reads this, which she probably won’t because she’s forgotten I even have a blog, but if she does, I will need protection from her immediately. I will pack my bags, move to a remote location and not leave a forwarding address. If I make it out alive. I’m scared.

Back to the story. My mom was a bit frazzled, all with the turkey being undercooked, forgetting the ham, not having enough chairs for everyone, the broken plate and the spilled tea. So when I saw a cigarette on the rolls, and my mom being the only smoker in the house, I thought Holy Cow, she’s gone over the edge now. There’s no turning back. Call in the white coats. Haul her to the loony bin.

But she denied doing it. That was not me, she claimed.

She was adament about her innocence. I would NOT have done something like that.

Now mind you, this is the same woman who drove off and left my niece ordering a milkshake at Jay’s Drive-In the other day and didn’t realize she’d left her until she got home, then had to rush back only to find her leaning against the bricks sucking on her straw with not a worry in the world. So laying a cigarette on a dinner roll and walking off seemed very plausible to me.

So I was all like, mom you probably just forgot. Who else would have done it?

And here I must give my mom a little credit. It wasn’t her after all. She was right. She would not have done something like that. Of course she wouldn’t. The heathen children later confessed (after torture and beatings) that it was them. They were playing pranks on the grown-ups. They felt we needed some revenge after forcing them to sit at Mr. Tiny’s table, which in itself is a whole ‘nother story.

Here are three of them shaking their fists at us just because we forgot they existed and didn’t have a table or chairs for them. I don’t know why they’re complaining. Children never get to sit at the grown up table during the holidays. It’s like the law or something.

*****************

Here’s something funny that happened today. I was teaching my classroom full of second graders that I adore. There is not a single child in there that I want to hog tie and gag. Not one. We’re studying weather patterns and the water cycle. So I ask the question, “Who can tell me the four seasons?”

And one of my boys blurts out, “Matthew, Mark, Luke and John.”

I am a sheep.

I’m participating in the Beth Moore scripture something-or-other team. I love Beth Moore. Do you know her? She is one of my spiritual gurus. A brilliant woman who walks with Christ and is right there with me on my level. She’s uncovered and explained many issues in my walk with God through books, Bible studies, and her blog. You can read about this scripture memorization thingamajigger over at http://blog.lproof.org

Basically she challenges us to memorize 24 scriptures during the year. Two a month. That’s pretty do-able. To participate, you pick a verse that is relevant to where you are right then in your life. If you don’t have one, you can always use the one she posts. I didn’t know what verse to choose, until Sunday when I experienced a crisis of faith.

I got a notion to visit someone in the hospital this past weekend. I don’t really know why, it’s not something I regularly do. The person in the hospital is not someone whom I hang out with, or talk with on the phone. We’ve never gone for ice cream or pedicures, she’s just someone I sort of know. An acquaintance really. But I got a strange feeling I should visit her.

I don’t know how you feel about hearing from God, or if you even believe He speaks to us at all, but I do and I try to remain open to His voice. I believe He works in small and mysterious ways. I know His plans are good for me, and I don’t want to miss out on something He has in store. So I considered this might be God talking to me and decided to be obedient, despite the awkwardness of it.

So after dinner (which means lunch) on Sunday, I drove my husband and niece home and was on my way to the store to get a flower or something for the patient. “But first”, I told myself, “I need to get on facebook and check her wall to see if she’s still in the hospital. I’d hate to waste my time and be embarrassed at the nurse’s station if she’s no longer there.”

“Nope”, another voice told me. “Now you’re doubting God. If He told you to visit, then go visit, don’t question it.”

So I ran into the store and got something for her and went to the hospital. I didn’t know what room she was in, but from past hospital visitation experiences, everyone usually winds up on the third floor. I got off the elevator, stepped up to the nurse’s station, with the plant and asked for her room number. And you’ll never believe it. But she had been released that morning. Hmmmm? Was God talking to me after all?

Okaaayyyyy. Now what do I do? Maybe I’ll run it by her house even though I have no idea where she lives. So I got back on the elevator, stepped onto the first floor to go to my car and something stopped me. I stood in the foyer outside the elevator and felt extremely led to give the plant in my arms to someone hospitalized who maybe hadn’t had a visitor. A lonely old person perhaps? Surely, there’s lonely people in the hospital. Hmmmmm? Now was this God speaking to me? Maybe I needed to minister to someone in need? Maybe I’m at this hospital for someone I’m unaware of.

So in an attempt to be obedient, once again I got back in the elevator, returned to the third floor, walked up to the nurse’s station and asked if there might be someone on that floor who could use a visitor and a plant. The nurses look at the wall of patient’s names and room numbers, consider their patients, and slowly shake their heads. Seems like everyone is doing just fine and dandy.

Alrighty then. So now what? I guess I’ll just keep the dern plant for myself.

I got back in the elevator to leave.

And I cried.

I stood in the elevator alone and cried.

Not because the person I went to see wasn’t in the hospital anymore.

Not because I spent money on a plant that no one needed.

Not even because the nurses couldn’t help me find ONE SINGLE PERSON to brighten their day.

But because, right then and there, alone in an elevator, it became blatantly apparent to me that I don’t recognize the voice of God, obviously.

And then the other VOICE came. The bad VOICE. The one who speaks defeat and negativity to my soul. It makes me doubt, causing confusion, fear and self-loathing. It twisted itself around my head and my heart and caused me to think, “How do I know if I have ever heard God’s voice? I didn’t today when I thought I had on three different occasions. Which only means, all those other times in my life, all those instructions, all those thoughts that I felt were God’s way of directing me, that was probably just indigestion or something.

I’m probably married to the wrong person, living in the wrong town, working at the wrong job, and going to the wrong church. How am I to know really?”

Which leads to the scripture I’ve chosen for my first memorization of 2011. It is John 10:27 which states,

“My sheep hear my voice. I know them, and they follow me.”

I know I am not a lost sheep.

I know I have a shepherd.

He laid down his life for me, just as the shepherd lays down his life for the sheep.

He protects me from the wolves who wish to cause me harm.

He leads me so I do not go astray.

And I long to hear his voice.

I didn’t marry no pimp, that’s fo’sho’

My husband loves New Year’s Eve. To him it’s a sacred, holy holiday. To me, it’s just another day. And another night that I want to be in bed by 9:00.

In my marriage we don’t fight alot. We don’t have too much to fight over. During the past 6 years, the few times it’s turned ugly either revolved around food or New Year’s Eve. I have finally learned that food and New Year’s Eve are important to J-Dub. To love him is to love these two events as well.

For the sake of all that’s good and peaceful, I suggested we have a few close friends over for a small celebration. We had a little food, a little drink, and a lot of laughs. It was so fun, I can’t wait until 2012.

The next night, being the party animals that we are, we went with a couple of friends to a country-western dance in a nearby town. The music was great, but the crowd was young, and I do mean young. The thirty-something crowd that I was in was the geriatric group for the night. The dance lasted until 1:00, but by 12:00 the crowd had thinned considerably ; I imagine in order to make curfew and avoid getting grounded from their cell phones.

In the midst of this young, firm bodied, tech savvy crew, there was another character however. He wasn’t too young, but he was younger than me. Probably in his late 20’s. He wore a goofy knit hat, baggy jeans with holes in the knees, and he had way too much hootch to drink. He couldn’t dance but he thought he could. I spent my evening watching this idiot flit around the room, pulling women out on the dance floor and explain to them how to dance because he was so hard to follow. He would start out two-stepping (and I use that term loosely) in his converse tennis shoes and frayed jeans dragging the floor, and then suddenly turn and lock elbows with his partner, performing high kicks and attempting scottish dirges, as his trapped partners struggled to maintain an ounce of composure as they were dying a slow death of embarrassment.

I watched this moron and although I consider myself to be super easy going and tolerant of most kinds of people, I couldn’t stand this guy. Towards the end of the evening, after he had drank all he had brought, he went to an abandoned table to rummage through all the empty beer cans to see if there was anything left to drink in them. He picked up discarded cigarette packages in hopes of finding a forgotten cigarette. In between songs when the dance floor was partially cleared, he would take a run onto the dance floor and slide across the center. At one point he decided to break dance and he was even so bad mannered as to dart and flit between and amongst the couples enjoying their slow dance without any regard to anyone. I sat at my table thinking he needed a good punch in the teeth and I was about ready to give him one.

And then he walks over. He begins speaking to my husband. The music was loud and I couldn’t make out everything he was saying. I heard the word “bucks” and I presumed he was asking for money. J-Dub shook his head, some more words were exchanged, and he walked away.

“What’d he want?” I leaned over and yelled at J-Dub over the music.

I found out he didn’t want money. But instead he offered my husband 50 bucks for a dance with me.

I was appalled. I can’t be bought! What does he think I am? Some 2 bit hoochie mama that he can just throw money at and have his way with?

But …..wait……. on second thought…..fifty bucks you say?

I think I might know a scottish dirge or two.

And break dancing? Did I mention I was a child of the eighties?

I don’t know the point of this story. Perhaps the lesson learned in all this is:

The girls all get prettier at closing time.

Journey to the Land of Less is More Mile #2–Emails

This is the year for simplification in my life. I am working towards uncluttering my surroundings and living with less. I’m taking baby steps, even though to me they are like miles. My destination is the Land of Less is More. It’s my imagined Nirvana where the capital city is Simplicity.

I spent some time this past week cleaning out my emails. I’m unsubscribing to all the emails that dominate my inbox and my time. Instead of just deleting them like I’ve been doing for years now, I’ve been taking a few extra seconds, sometimes minutes, to roll down to the bottom and hit unsubscribe.

I’ve said good-bye to constant reminders to lose weight and tips for a healthier me.

Adios to ads for 20% off and Last Day Sales.

Sayonara to instructions for a weekend project to build a backyard pergola.

Ciao to Daily recipes for the world’s best chocolate cake.

So long, See ya later, Hasta La Vista, baby.

In cleaning out my emails, however, there are some that I cannot delete. I’m very sentimental to emails that I receive from people just saying hi. Not the forwards about what a great friend I am or wishing me well, but a personal note. This sentementality must be a love language of mine. I’m tender to letters, cards, and emails that are genuine. I have kept letters from my grandmother from when I would visit my dad in Oklahoma in the summer and she would write me. I have a note from my second grade teacher telling me how much she enjoyed having me in her class. I realize she gave one to everyone, but it still means something to me. I save cards from my husband that I know he stood and pored over and even though all he wrote was “love, jason” they still mean the world to me.

I have emails from my dad too. I’ve saved them all. As I spent some time going back and reading them, I smiled a bunch. He never pays much attention to spelling or punctuation.

I thought I’d share a sampling. Even though you may not know him, being Bob is his job, so listen to him.

About Exercise:

“i’m really enjoying it, although i’m sooo tired by the end of the week. hope i can stay focused and motivated. i kno i’m never going to be small again, but, who wants to be a little old man, then everyone in town would be beating me up.”

On Learning How to Use Email/computer

“hey ang, got your email earlier and just found out how to get back to you. how ya’all doin’. can’t find the question mark.”

On grandchildren:

“i’m getting awful anxious for little hannah to make her appearance soon, aren’t you? That little ashlynn is such a little apple dumplin’ aint she? this grandpaing is getting to be quite a kick. think i’ll just live forever.”

On pictures he doesn’t want posted on facebook:

“my gosh, angel, lets get rid of that pic of me and you sitting outside your house. it looks like i forgot to p-ut my teeth in or sompin.”

When my brother lost his artificial floating on a raft in the Illinois river:

“i’m so sorry that stan lost his leg. at least he has another one
at home,”

On gangsta talk:

“hey ang, what up, homes?”

On poker (I have no idea what he’s talking about here, except he didn’t win me an inheritance)

“hey girls, i played in a million dollar freeroll tournament yesterday, and
only made one bad play, and it cost me. i was about 2, 800 in chips and we
were down to about 1100 players. i was dealt pocket nines, and bet out for
about 800 bucks. the guy smooth called, and i put him on A-big, or a pretty
good hand like that. over the next two cards we got all our money in the
middle, i turned over the nines and he had aces in the hole. i say i made a
bad play because i led out bettin on the turn and river. i let him trap me,
i should have been checkin on the 4th card, and if he bet big, i could lay
the nines down. but, i wassn’t thinkin. i find a lot of people doin this in
a game with over 5,000 people in it. also people playin, 9-2 off suit, or
5-3 suited and suckin outon people. people that really have no idea what
they’re doin.”

On pets:

“so, you have a new dog…well, y’all be good to him and make sure he earns his keep. it sounds like he has more training then i could ever give him if he knows what “whoa” means. our stupid dog thought it meant “go at a high speed away from here” because that’s what he did when the gate was opened. i still miss him tho.”

On coming for a visit:

“I’m just going to drive all the way out to gray county, then i may get a room if i am
so tired i can’t continue. Once my truck gets a whiff of Pampa, it’s awful
hard to shut down, so i’ll be coming in at a high lope. Hope that your old
General Moters product don’t shake its self to death on that one stretch of
hi-way. Angel if you can put me up (with out me having to do anything)(and
for free) lemmee know, ok?…………………..love you’ns, “

On Whining:

“i’m so lonely. noone ever emails me. i wonder what my kids are doing. probably eating icecream.

no body ever comes to see me. the neighbors won’t speak to me. my dog ran away. woe is me.”

On Advice:

“my best advice i can give is this: DON’T GET FAT.PERIOD.”

On Love:

“remember i love you both. so love me back…..dad”

I love you back dad. Thanks for the emails.

Exercise and me weren’t meant to be

My oven is broken. It’s been broken since 1973. Or at least since July, maybe April. I liked it being broken. I had a good excuse for not cooking. Now that the holidays are over and all danger of cooking turkey, roasting ham, and baking pumpkin pie is no longer looming, I thought I might get it fixed.

Today.

I was also going to start exercising.

Today.

I have plenty of options when it comes to exercising.

You might say I have a bit of an obsession with exercise videos. It’s important that I tell you that, since it’s not obvious by looking at me. My theory is the more you have collecting dust in VHS boxes, the better chance you have of getting out of the Lazy Boy.

Most of my workout tapes belong to my cousin from whom I stole them fair and square. But she isn’t in too big of a hurry to get them back I don’t think. They are called The Firm, and they truly made me look a quarter of half way amazing when I was 25 years old. But who doesn’t look a quarter to half way amazing when they’re only 25?

I received 13 more Firm DVD’s from my sister this holiday.

You can find them at the link below, and I wish I was getting paid to say that.

http://www.firmdirect.com/firm/ecs/main/index.html

I was going to recommit to exercise and complete one today. Or at least attempt one.

I was completely and totally determined to start right after the Oven man came to fix my oven.

But the oven man was 2 hours late.

So while waiting on the Oven man, I decided to take down the Christmas tree.

And I hurt my back taking down the Christmas tree.

Technically, I re-hurt my back from originally hurting it the other day cleaning out my closet.

Physical work and me just don’t jive.

I’ve never hurt my back laying on the couch. Or napping.

It’s always when I’m doing something.

Strange how that works.

Moses and me

There’s only one more day left in 2010.

How did you fare (or fair?) on your 2010 resolutions?

Me? I don’t remember all that I resolved to do and I can’t find where I wrote them down. That should tell you how successful I was.

I read a quote the other day that said, “May all your troubles last as long as your New Year’s Resolutions.”

One resolution that I know I did not keep was to blog 15 times a month. Colossal fail.

I did manage to keep 2 of my resolutions that I remember. Man, I wish I could find that paper I wrote them all down on.

The two resolutions I remember making are:

1. Run a 1/2 marathon—I was able to complete a 1/2 marathon, which does not make me a runner. I wogged (walked/jogged) a half-marathon, and I have no intentions of doing that again.

2. Read the Bible in a year—-I’ve almost completed it. I downloaded a schedule from http://www.Bible-Reading.com to keep me on track. However, it did not keep me on track and I have found myself reading 23 1/2 hours a day the past 3 or 4 days to try to complete my resolution.

I’ve been spending much time in the Word and even though I pray for a Message to leap off the page to me, I find myself simply reading words and not understanding how they apply to me in today’s world, 2010. Anyone else? I’m almost finished with the whole thing, only 45 more chapters to go!!! Later today I plan on reading Nehemiah and tomorrow finish up with Esther and Revelation. I do love Esther. Probably my favorite book of the Bible. Have you read it?

Today I wrapped up my time with Moses. Moses is dead, isn’t that a shocker? It’s silly, I’ve spent so much time with him lately, that I got teary when he died today. He worked so hard leading the people to The Promised Land and yet, he himself, didn’t get to enter. I grieve over that. I know that he has seen a much more plentiful, beautiful place, but I’m sad because I don’t really understand what he and Aaron did that was so bad to deserve that punishment. I imagine him going to the top of the mountain God tells him to climb to see it with his eyes, but that he cannot enter. I imagine his tears, his remorse, his sadness, his regret. We’re told that he can’t enter the land promised because of what happened at the Waters of Meribah. It was there the people of Israel had been grumbling like they always did because there was no water to drink, which seems like a good reason to grumble to me. They take up their case with Moses as always saying why did you bring us out here to die, we should have just stayed slaves in Egypt. We’d be better off there. It tells us in Numbers 20 that Moses and Aaron threw themselves facedown before God asking for help for the people.

Here is what God tells them to do: “Take the staff. Assemble the community, you and your brother Aaron. Speak to that rock that’s right in front of them and it will give water. You will bring water out of the rock for them; congregation and cattle will both drink.”

And here is what they did:

v. 9 Moses took the staff away from God’s presence, as commanded. He and Aaron rounded up the whole congregation in front of the rock. Moses spoke: “Listen, rebels! Do we have to bring water out of this rock for you?”

v. 11 With that Moses raised his arm and slammed his staff against the rock—once, twice. Water poured out. Congregation and cattle drank.

And then they got in trouble by God. God told them because they didn’t trust Him and show Him reverence before the people that they couldn’t enter the land promised to them.

I’m confused. To me ( pagan sinful me) they followed orders. Which is quite frightening to know how badly I’m to be judged for the things I’ve done. I do not understand what they did wrong. Was it because they took credit for the water and did not give the glory to the Lord, or is because he hit the rock twice instead of speaking to it like he was told?

In Exodus 17 it says he was told to strike the rock.

So anyway, I’m left with questions. Moses is dead. He did not get to enter the Land flowing with milk and honey. Joshua will lead the people. But with all this bad news, here is a good part.

Moses left the people with this blessing. With 2011 approaching, I carry this blessing of the Lord with me as I journey into my new land. I hope you do too. I pray our nation will also.

If you listen obediently to the Voice of God, your God, and heartily obey all his commandments that I command you today, God, your God, will place you on high, high above all the nations of the world. All these blessings will come down on you and spread out beyond you because you have responded to the Voice of God, your God:

God’s blessing inside the city,

God’s blessing in the country;

God’s blessing on your children,

the crops of your land,

the young of your livestock,

the calves of your herds,

the lambs of your flocks,

God’s blessing on your basket and bread bowl;

God’s blessing in your coming in,

God’s blessing in your going out.

God will lavish you with good things; children from your womb, offspring from your animals, and crops from your land, the land that God promised your ancestors that he would give you. God will throw open the doors of his sky vaults and pour rain on your land on schedule and bless the work you take in hand. You will lend to many nations but you yourself won’t have to take out a loan. God will make you the head, not the tail; you’ll always be the top dog, never the bottom dog, as you obediently listen to and diligently keep the commands of God, your God, that I am commanding you today. Deuteronomy 28 The Message.

Did you hear that? That’s a blessing on ‘pert near everything. Everything you set your hand. He will open his sky vaults, his heavens, and rain down blessings on us if we follow his commands.

May 2011 be your best year ever!

Finally….

Dear Friends,

You’ll never guess what I’ve finally got my hands on.

I’ve been wanting one of these.

I’m going to hang it in my house.

Yes, I do believe I heard a barely audible shriek from my sister all the way in New York City.

To attain this gem, all I had to say was “I’d like a cow skull to hang up. With horns.”

And waaa-laaa.

J-Dub found one right in the pasture for me.

He even got a free rope out of the deal and everything.

Fortunately the coyotes have already eaten off all the flesh.

And the worms and bugs have cleaned up all the skin and hair.

So now I won’t have to dirty up my stew pot boiling it up.

I’ve got the perfect place for it right on the dining room wall.

Don’t forget I’m available for decorating assistance if you’re going for the edgy cow town/chic trailer trash look for your place as well.

And we hope to see you out to supper real soon.

Love,

J-Dub and Auntie

Preg Checking

There comes a time in every cowboy’s life when the question arises as to whether or not a cow is pregnant. But only dudes say pregnant. Real cowboys say bred. For fear of embarrassing my husband, I shall only speak in cowboy lingo for this blog. So try to keep up, okay?

Recently we acquired a cow that was believed to be 8 months bred on August 25th. Cows are pregnant on average 283 days, just like a woman, which meant she should’ve calved (Dude translation: given birth) back in September, October at the latest.

As of December 27th, she still hadn’t calved, nor was she springing heavy (Dude translation: showing any signs). Click here for a visual. So J-Dub questioned if she was even bred at all and thought she was probably open (Dude translation: not pregnant).

Since cows don’t voluntarily lay on a table and put their legs in stirrups or pee on a stick on demand, there’s really only one cost efficient method to determine a cow’s state of pregnancy.

For this method you need a:

1. a cow (for obvious reasons)

2. a plastic sleeve (for obvious reasons to be seen)

3. lubrication (for obvious reasons)

4. one tough cowboy (for obvious reasons)

Here we see Maybelle looking a bit wary. She knows something is up. She has been penned away from the rest of the cattle. And she’s not liking it one bit.

First, she takes a big ol’ crap.

Then she takes a big ol’ pee. If you’ve never seen a cow pee, there isn’t anything dainty about it. It’s a gusher.

Next J-Dub pens her in a chute.

And prepares himself by putting on a plastic sleeve and squirting some lube in his hand.

He enters the chute at the rear of the cow……

and does exactly what you’re wishing he won’t.

Sticks his hand into her #2 hole. His arm rather.

Right into her poop chute. He feels around a bit, concentrating.

He doesn’t have to go too far until he pokes something in the eyeball.

“Yep, there’s a big ol’ calf in there”

And everyone is all smiles.

Everyone except Maybelle.