Bringing Home the Bacon

Snapshots on the Farm

2012-01-21T14:23:00.001-05:00

This is how farm kids have fun on an icy Saturday.

20 Questions only a Farm Wife Would Ask

2012-01-14T14:43:00.000-05:00

In my 15 years of farm wifehood (wifery?), I have said things that I never dreamed that I would, things like Why does this lettuce smell like pig semen?

In honor of all the farm wives out there, I have compiled a list of 20 real things I have asked Husband over the years. I must confess, some of these are sarcastic, some are rhetorical, some are exclamations but all are true.

Why is there pig medicine next to the orange juice?
Do you want these nails I just fished out of the dryer?
What is that smell?
Will you put that semen away before my sister's baby shower?
Now that these jeans are ripped in both the crotch and the butt, can I throw them away?
What is this stuff smeared on the flashlight?
Why can't I ever find a hammer?
Do you smell that?
Will you get off your John Deere and mow the grass?
Will you wash your hands before you stink up the baby's head again?
Is that a pig tooth in your eyebrow?
Why didn't you pay this much attention to me when I was about to give birth?
For the love of GOD, don't you SMELL that?
Why are you walking around the kitchen in those boots?
What is that on your arm? Oh, my, it's all the way to the elbow.
Don't you think we should get that nasty injury looked at by someone other than the veterinarian?
Did you get the pigs/sheep/heifers/neighbors livestock back in the pen?
Why is THAT in the house?
How did THAT get out in the barn?
Seriously, you spend all day wading around in shit, you're telling me you can't change that diaper?

Marriage, children, getting older are all full of surprises, what have you said to your spouse that you never thought you would?

Ghost of Christmas Past

2012-01-03T22:54:00.000-05:00

Earlier tonight we popped our pine out the front door. And while Husband and I crawled around on the floor picking up stray needles, I wrote this blog post in my head.

Every year when I get out the Christmas ornaments, I find one I should have thrown away long ago. Sometimes I let it go on the tree, my children unknowingly placing this bad memory on display. I secretly defy the angel to look around and see how great Christmas is for me these days.

It's actually a nice-looking ornament, however, it holds a story that I can't seem to let go. Let's go back in time to the Christmas of 1987 (or maybe 1988)...

A middle school girl has a crush on a boy. He's a jock and not really interested in icky girls. She's a huge nerd with a bad perm. She doesn't keep her crush quiet. He is NOT interested--people probably tease him about it.

The class holds an ornament exchange and the boy draws the girl's name. She can tell this by his reaction. His mortified reaction. Twenty-five years later she can still see the look on his face when he realizes he has to buy a gift for the girl who had been making him miserable with her attention.

When the day of the ornament exchange comes the boy is not in class. He did not come to school that day at all. The girl still received a box, obviously wrapped by the boy's mother. Inside is the angel ornament.

For some reason I kept the ornament. I kept it in a red box under my twin bed in the room I shared with my little sister. I kept it while I was in high school and moved on to other boys--boys who appreciated my attention. The angel stayed behind while I went to college and then moved to my home after I got married.

The boy and I still live in the same small town. Our children played on the same ball team. Sometimes we give each other a hello nod. Once when I was attempting to run on the bike path I passed the boy and held my breath so he wouldn't see me panting.

This year my children grabbed the angel out of the box and placed it on the tree before I could hide it. Every time I see that angel I can still see the teacher bringing me the carefully wrapped box that his Mom had delivered before class, the card so obviously written in Mom-cursive with my name. For years I even saved that tiny card, wrapped inside the angel's body.

I used to be ashamed that the boy was so disgusted with me that he stayed home from school just to avoid giving me a gift. Now as a mother of boys, I wonder how I would have handled the situation, especially since I always joke that my sons will be like their father--not interested in girls until they turn 20.

In all this, I don't hold any ill-will toward the man the boy has become. And if that angel didn't sort of look like him from way back then, I probably would have long since thrown it in the trash.

And as I head upstairs to cuddle with Husband tonight, I'm very grateful that I didn't meet him until he was in college.

Snapshots on the Farm

2011-12-11T15:47:00.002-05:00

My ongoing series of smart phone posts.

Only a farm family would use a blower (used in grooming cattle) to blow off the dead needles on the family Christmas tree.

'Round the Block: Straight Talk from Two Women Just Like you Who Have Been There and Done That

2011-11-30T23:25:00.004-05:00

Bloggers Megan of Soy Boy Mama and Holly of Bringing Home the Bacon have survived growing up in the '80s, college, graduate school, married life, motherhood and the corporate jungle. Now living several states apart, they are counting on several good rounds of artificial pig sex to allow them to be reunited this summer.

Earlier this week via email…

Holly: I am sitting here wearing my new boots. FREE to me because I am a big-time blogger and was offered them to review. The company sent an email two weeks ago and said they wanted me to review a pair of boots. I got to choose my preferences from three styles and they arrived today.

Of course, now I have to think of something clever to say on the blog besides, "I got these boots to review and they are awesome."

Any suggestions?

Megan: OK, first, totally awesome and cool that you got shit for free for being a blogger. I have blogger envy.

Two, and holy shit. This isn't a $3 bottle of Soft Scrub. Those suckers are more than $100.

Three, I gotta ask: What were the two other styles offered to you? 'cause while those boots are kickin', I'm kind of laughing at the holy-shit-what-ISN'T-included-in-the-name-and-design-of-these-boots thing going on. We got country, we got black, we got pink, we got tattoos, we got riding, we got loving, we got anteaters -- is it saying you love anteaters? you love to ride anteaters? you love to ride tattooed anteaters diagnosed with breast cancer (do anteaters have breasts and if so, how hard are they to milk)?

OK, done with questions and jealousy and I'll try to move forward with trying to be helpful. Hmmm ... a toughie.

What your husband has to say is always priceless.

Have you earned the right to wear such awesome boots, or do you feel like a poser? Is it releasing any inner-biker, rodeo chick? Escapism?

Can they bridge your two worlds between farm and corporate life? Or do you feel like Mr. Rogers -- like, instead of changing from your dress shoes to your tennis shoes, you change from your heels to your cowboy boots to signal a change in your environment and your role within it?

I just bought Uggs because it is supposed to get so f-ing cold here -- it seems everyone out here wears them -- so I assimilated when I swore I'd never own a pair of Uggs. I love them. shhh, don't tell anyone. Do you feel that way about cowboy boots?

Do you have a nickname for the boots or your persona when you wear them? How do they make you feel -- how do they make your husband feel -- how do you think your minister, your mother-in-law, fellow runners, etc. would react if they saw you wearing them?

And what the hell is a high-tech design? I'm picturing a killer robo-anteater created in a sub-terrain lair in Finland (just 'cause I don't trust those Finnish).

Entertain me, but make me want to buy a pair because without them, I will be nothing. My life will be meaningless. (Of course, if you threaten to wear those in Des Moines, I'm going to have to just so I can be cool enough to hang with you. Damnit.)

Holly: These boots in all their pink-ribboned tattooed-anteater Footloose preacher's daughter wonderfulness are NOT what I would normally buy for myself. And they pose a fashion conundrum. These boots are not content to demurely peek out from under my boot-flared jeans. NO. These boots need the full attention that can only come from being wrapped around a skinny jean or holding up the hem of a distressed skirt.

Also, a full review cannot be complete until these things have some pig shit under the heel.

When Husband and I first started going to pig events, I dressed like I was going to the barn. There was going to be dust and dirt and crap (literally) all over the place and it didn't even dawn on me to wear clothes that I would wear to work or to a party. For a while that worked. I was there with the men and with the middle-aged school teachers on break who often accompanied their husband farmers to the shows while wearing their sensible shoes and plaid shirts.

And then the tide turned and a new generation of farm wives started coming to the shows wearing flip flops and coiffed hair and make-up--dammit, they were wearing make-up. And suddenly these pig shows became fashion events. Even little girls were wearing bejeweled belts and big chunky necklaces with crystal pigs dangling below. It wasn't enough anymore that you kept the streaks of black dirt off your baby's face with a wipe, you were to bring her to the show in a coordinated vest and matching hair bow. I knew I was behind the times when I realized that one of our customers at our spring pig auction was wearing more jewels and more make-up and better hair, frankly, than I had at my wedding.

So I tried to clean up my act. I started wearing nicer shirts and bought a few chunky necklaces to coordinate. I curled and sprayed my hair before the 7 a.m. Yorkshire show, instead of just applying a headband. However, I could NOT bring myself to risk squishing you-know-what between my toes, so I did keep wearing practical sneakers, even if shoes and socks stood to completely ruin the effect of my top and capri pants.

Sooooo, when I saw these boots I thought about all that I am NOT at these pig shows like edgy, stylish, a tinge impractical (plain brown boots would serve the same foot-covering purpose, you know). This is my chance to push back my impending plaid-shirt wearing era while I’m still young enough to pull off black suede and pink roses.

Megan: Sassy. You go girl, but be warned, I will be calling you "RodeoBaby" from now on. (And note how they used CamelCase in naming the boot .. you know ... just to reinforce how techie they -- and their Finnish killer robo-anteaters -- are.)

Holly: Country Outfitter, a retailer of ariat rodeobaby boots, sent me these rodeobaby rocker square toe boots to review. And if they don’t change their minds after reading this, I will do a full pig-shit certified review after Christmas when I get a chance to slap on some skinny jeans and head out to a pig auction.

Barnyard PR

2011-11-16T17:07:00.001-05:00

Happy Thanksgiving to all you turkeys out there smart enough to hire a PR firm.

And a Happy Thanksgiving to all you blessedly sane people who have NOT plugged in the icicle lights you left hanging on your garage from last year. Or put up your fake smells-like-the-basement Christmas tree.

Snapshots on the Farm

2011-11-05T16:36:00.001-04:00

How many working Moms come home on a Thursday night to this scene? Husband and the kids were exercising their pigs for the North American Livestck Expo in Louisville.

Snapshots on the Farm

2011-10-22T16:33:00.001-04:00

My ongoing series of smart phone enabled posts.

Nobody knows how to make the most of a beautiful fall day like farm kids. Here Justin and Morgan enjoy the swings after Justin got back from a trip to the grain elevator with GrandDad.

Biting the Hand that Feeds You

2011-10-16T22:19:00.002-04:00

Earlier today, Husband fielded a call from a telemarketer wanting to survey us on our grocery shopping habits. Fortunately, I didn't answer, considering my strong feelings about my food shopping experience.

Husband flummoxed the telemarketer with his response, which I found interesting too. He said, we live on a farm with livestock and have a garden, so we live off the land and don't need grocery stores. HA! That's not really true but it could be for us much more so than it could be for most people.

Today is Blog Action Day and since this year's theme is FOOD, I thought I would chime in with some thoughts about farm to fork.

There are blogs out there that will be happy to kill you with statistics about GMO and factory farms. Information fed to earnest young people by organizations who only vaguely hide their vegan agendas.

I don't have a lot of numbers. I only have a husband who has hand-delivered more babies than the average OB, children who turned their playroom in to a virtual rural village with feed elevator, breeding stock auction and jobs that help pay for farm supplies, and the dust that seeps into every pore of our old house during harvest.

I saw an interview once with a man on the street who told the reporter he didn't care what happened to farmers, since he could get all the food he needed at the grocery. This man had obviously never dragged himself out of bed on a frosty morning to milk cows or stayed up all night to ensure an anxious sow kept her babies fed.

Bandwagons are a lot easier to jump on than hay wagons, apparently. Before you bite the hands that feed you by subscribing to the notion that farmers are uncaring or not green or not even real people with wives who blog, remember that your grocer can't drive a tractor. Thank a farmer.

Casting Stones

2011-10-11T22:46:00.000-04:00

This week two separate Facebook snafus RUINED the lives of many residents of greater Dayton. Actually, the two separate Facebook snafus were no big deal; they just seemed to be magnets for those annoying people who are both incapable of perspective and have too much time on their hands.

On Tuesday, the WHIO-TV Facebook page temporarily posted, a bomb will go off at 9:30. This left people in the area panicked for several whole seconds that a.) someone had hacked the WHIO-TV Facebook account or b.) We had like ten hours to figure out where there was going to be a bomb.

In the moments before WHIO deleted the post and offered an apology, the post earned 54 comments consisting largely of WTF and, oddly, two likes. But even after repeated apologies and explanations that they accidentally hit return while writing a post about a bomb scare at a local school, WHIO continued to get posts on their wall by people complaining about the misstep. WHIO Facebook followers were incensed that they, for a few seconds, thought they might have ten hours to worry about a bomb--the fact that there was an actual bomb threat to a school with actual children seemed to be lost on them.

However, this bust of a bomb post pales in comparison to the debacle caused by Germantown resident and rogue Reese Witherspoon quoter, Emily Berry, who nearly wrecked the serenity of this quaint village with her Facebook abomination.

Emily tore the town in two by accidentally posting on the Remembering Germantown When... Facebook group thingy NOT a memory but a cute photo of her son IN. A. BAR. And like a scene out of Footloose or perhaps the internet version of Harper Valley PTA, the locals attacked.

How could she have waited an entire 12 minutes to apologize and note she couldn't delete the post from her phone. How could she!

Her son, her Sweet Home Alabama quote and her Uncle Paul helped drive a record 79 comments over a three-day argue, bitch, misinterpretation and glad-I-left-Germantown palooza of laughable garbage with no end in sight.

Let he who is without Facebook sin...
Now, let's sit back and take a lesson from this. If you accidentally mistype a post and it takes you seconds to fix it OR you post accidentally on the wrong spot and mobile technology doesn't allow you to fix it right away--then you are the scourge of humanity. (?)

The problem with this line of unforgiving heckling is this: we are all one or two clicks away from being the next Facebook debacle. It could happen to anyone.

We share our lives online. We have made Facebook our glass house. Let he who is without Facebook error, cast the first stone.

Fairly Ancient History

2011-10-10T22:42:00.001-04:00

Nearly 30 days ago we finished the county fair and I have YET to thrill you with the full report. But before I delve into that ancient history, I thought it would be fun to see a few photos of ANCIENT history. No, I'm not talking about Husband's 80s hair again. This time the short shorts and bad hairdo is on me.

I didn't grow up on a farm but I did live in the country, witness all the wide open space beyond our circa 1983 back yard. My first year in 4-H, I showed two sheep, Buckwheat and Alfalfa, named for the stars of the Little Rascals TV show popular in the 1950s (yikes).

My father built a sheep pen out of old pieces of mismatched fencing he dug up at my grandfather's farm and built a shelter out of some old garage doors. Image an igloo made out of garage door with tar paper nailed around to cover the hinge gaps. It was classy. We thought it was wonderful.

Much like my kids today, I was an eager little 4-H member. Here I am at the fair with our 4-H booth. Apparently, in 1983, I owned only yellow shirts and green shorts.

Our kids are the fourth generation of both our families to pack up some pigs, sheep or cattle and have the time of their lives at the county fair. So it makes me proud and a little nostalgic to think back on this year and all the many years we've been doing this.

And the kids are making us so proud. Here's Justin and Morgan who both earned stuffed pigs in their respective pee-wee showmanship classes.

Ryan in his second year of 4-H won champion with his ewe (female sheep), champion Ayrshire heifer (young female dairy cow) and champion in his age group for swine showmanship. He even won Best of Show for his decorated cupcakes. More champions than I had in my entire 10-year 4-H career.

Some day they'll look at these photos and wonder why we let them dress this way and what did we do to their hair. But they'll also have a good work ethic and experience with facing competition (the kind where not everyone gets a trophy). And they'll have a place they can go to remember their childhood, long after the garage-door sheep pen has been torn down.

Are You a Stamp Collecting, Bible Reading Maytag Customer?

2011-10-05T22:46:00.001-04:00

I recently purchased a new Maytag dishwasher from the best furniture and appliances store that I am distantly related to, Schenck Furniture in Germantown. So yes, for the record I am 1/8 Schenck.

While you finish snickering about that I want to tell you about the super invasive and scary warranty card that came with my Maytag model MDB6709AWW2. The first thing you notice is that it is dual-language in French. This is interesting, I realized later, because I thought both Europeans and Canadians were crazy about corporations invading personal privacy.

After asking normal warranty-card-appropriate things like name, address, store, date of purchase, the Maytag card moves on to asking everything but my cholesterol level. Apparently, in order to let me know of any recalls or issues with my dishwasher, Maytag needs to know:

Our occupations
Household income
Level of education
The names of credit cards I use regularly
Whether I own or rent my home
If I am a stamp collector
Do I read the Bible
Have I vacationed on a cruise ship
Do I care about wildlife or environmental issues
If I go fishing or hunting or just like to shoot
My interest level in health foods

There is no indication on the card that this additional information is optional, however, there is some fine print. Let me summarize it here: We have cashed in on our good brand name to get you to give us a lot of valuable information for free, which we will immediately sell to the highest bidder and keep all the moolah. Actual sentence on the form: Please check here if, for some reason, you prefer not to participate in this opportunity.

Oh, I'm sorry Maytag. It was an opportunity for me. How ungrateful can I be?

Is it possible the Maytag repairman got so bored, he decided to do a little spam marketing on the side?

Bio-Degradable

2011-09-15T17:57:00.007-04:00

In my world of public relations, if I'm not writing short biographies (bios) of corporate executives, I'm being asked to write one for myself.

I thought it would be fun to write my real bio; maybe I'll start using this:

Holly Michael once wanted to build, then promote the world’s largest Oreo on Times Square or drive the Oscar Meyer Weiner Mobile, instead she tackled the world of corporate communications, writing many, many press releases with the word “solution” in them. Over the course of her career, Holly has managed, against stiff opposition from many engineers-turned-marketers, to get companies mocked on The Daily Show and written up in the Wall Street Journal next to charts of their declining stock price. An award-winning writer and strategist, Holly has accepted local and national awards for programs involving, separately, budgets for dead bodies and private investigators. Holly lives on an un-air-conditioned pig farm.

PhotoCredit: Watauga Democrat

Sign of the Farmpocalypse

2011-09-10T22:33:00.002-04:00

Every issue of Sports Illustrated has a brief quote titled Sign of the Apocalypse, a humorous but true sports news item that makes you wonder--have we gone too far? In that spirit, I present another installment of Sign of the Farmpocalypse, because I just can't make this stuff up.

Daddy pulled a lizard out of the pig, except it was long and skinny.

- What Morgan said after she witnessed Husband collecting his boar.

Population: One Farm Wife. Sal-ute!

2011-09-09T23:22:00.000-04:00

Last week during the county fair (post on that coming soon!) I got an email from the editor of Farm & Dairy notifying me that they had finally published an interview with me and two other much more qualified farm wife bloggers on their blog, The Social Silo.

I was doing that activity that you do at the fair between frantic efforts to get a kid and animal ready for show--sitting around on a picnic table--so I clicked on the link on my smart phone and started to read.

Oh, no. Did I just imply that Hee-Haw cast members know something about agriculture? Well, they do sit around on straw bales.

Just check out The Social Silo for poop day, cow intestines and pig tits--it's Minnie Pearl approved.

Hot Time Fair in the City

2011-08-20T17:03:00.002-04:00

Our family spent the first week of August making multiple trips to the Ohio State Fair. Along the way we picked up a number of ribbons and sweated out the armpits of a dozen shirts.

Like last year, Morgan and I snuck away to see some of the sites of the fair that weren't within the four walls of the hog barn. I used a "cartoon" feature on my camera phone to take this photo. Artsy.

As usual, Ryan was the star of the Michael family pig showing crew. He racked up quite a few ribbons over the week, including champion Landrace barrow (Landrace barrow = white castrated pig with floppy ears). Here he shows his Yorkshire gilt (white female with upright ears).

There are probably readers of this blog who would pay good money to see how I used to get in the ring and show our hogs. Fortunately, I have pumped out enough junior showmen to retire and become chief photographer and water bottle holder, however, it's all hands on deck when we have three pigs in the same class. Husband, GrandDad and my Grandpa all are helping the kids get ready in the holding pens (the pens where you go before your class enters the show ring).

Husband and I very much disagree about fair food. I, like most normal people, look forward to the opportunity to buy something on a stick for every meal. Husband fondly remembers the days when the Ohio State Fair had a Wendy's booth, which he visited at every opportunity. Blasphemy!

Our good friends at the Ohio Farm Bureau always put on a great display at the Ag and Hort Building. A few years ago we met a very self-aware cow, who I believe has since retired to a pasture of astroturf. Anyway, we always have fun there and the kids love to ride the pedal tractors.

The Ohio State Fair is over now but we are still looking forward to visiting the Indiana State Fair and our county fair. Stay tuned for more fair fun photos and possibly a look back at my time in 4-H (it was the 80s!).

Sweet Babies of Summer (and Teats)

2011-08-16T23:14:00.001-04:00

Somewhere along the line Husband acquired a sow in his pig herd named Holly. Insert joke about me here ____. Since almost all daughters are named after their mothers, we now have a number of Hollys running around the place eating whatever she can find, making a mess and cranking out offspring. Also, the hogs named Holly are here too.

At least the Holly pigs are of high quality. Here is one Holly who made the cut for the State Fair last year. See her official registration paper with the Yorkshire Club, officially naming her Holly 96-5.

Earlier this week, we welcomed a few more Hollys to the farm. After viewing this video, Husband dared me to title this post: Holly's big tits, however, I don't need that kind of search engine traffic.

Mother-to-mother, I applaud Holly the pig for her devotion to lactation and congratulate her on nine healthy babies.

And don't worry about me being offended by my namesakes. I enacted revenge on Husband years ago by renaming some of his pigs after the pet name I have for him. Boo the Hereford boar went on to father several state fair champions--and had his name announced at the fair each time!

Snapshots on the Farm

2011-07-30T17:39:00.001-04:00

My ongoing series of smart-phone enabled photo posts.

For our family, August means a series of days sweating in a hog barn. First up for us is the Ohio State Fair followed quickly by the Indiana State Fair and our county fair over Labor Day weekend.

No matter how hot the people get, pig comfort comes first. In the photo, Ryan gives a "bath" and welcome cool down to his Yorkshire gilt.

Telling Urbanites About the Crap on my Shoes

2011-07-10T23:51:00.000-04:00

My latest contribution to DaytonMostMetro.com showcases fun farm family vacations.

Check it out for the photos.

Circle the Wagons

2011-06-26T18:39:00.001-04:00

After Husband and I had been blessed (some days more blessed than others) with three kids, we wanted to take a permanent step to ensure we wouldn't be unexpectedly blessed again. I knew that this medical procedure would be up to me to handle. I can't even get Husband to go to the dentist regularly, let alone a doctor who would be asking him to drop his drawers.

I know I have some younger readers of this blog, so take note ladies: Do not let your reproductive future hinge on a medical procedure to be scheduled by a man who is afraid to even get his teeth cleaned.

The only way I get Husband to visit his dentist is to threaten to cut him off my corporate dental plan. It works like a charm--because he knows I would do it in a heartbeat. Tough love.

Husband and I each go to different dentists but they are both so experienced and well-established that they probably had Civil War veterans among their early patients.

Husband's dentist is so cute and quaint that he sends this little postcard every six months, inviting him to come in for a periodical examination of the mouth. I like to imagine that he personally oversaw the typesetting of this postcard, which he printed in such vast quantities back in 1922 that he still has them to send out today. The address side is hand-typed. On a typewriter. So cute.

After receiving this postcard, how could you NOT hitch up your carriage and set off across the prairie to insure future good health and appearance.

Husband and I love our hometown dentists and family doctor, however, I am thankful for the extremely modern docs who fixed me laparoscopically. We were a little disappointed, though, when they wouldn't accept two hens and a rooster as our co-pay.

Snapshots on the Farm

2011-05-21T20:29:00.002-04:00

My new I-finally-have-a-smart-phone enabled series.

Dinner during planting season. As wet as the past few weeks have been, many farmers, like my father-in-law, aren't able to stop for supper.

I Hate the Grocery

2011-05-14T17:24:00.003-04:00

Does anyone out there actually enjoy going to the grocery? I hate. the. grocery. And if you can't tell, it's Saturday and I'm a working mother with three kids so that means I just got back from there.

I get my groceries, all $200+ of them, at the IGA in our small town. I hate that place. But it doesn't matter, I've tried the Krogers 15 miles from my house, the Meijer 20 miles from my house, even the famed (and very pricey) Dorothy Lane Market. I don't like grocery stores.

Since listing things I don't like is somehow the most popular thing I do on this blog, let me put into list form my dislike of the grocery:

Top 10 Things I Hate about the Grocery
10. Revolting bathrooms. Have you ever gone to the bathroom at the grocery. Good gravy. Do they take the same care and pride in cleaning up the areas where they store our food? They have an entire aisle of cleaning products but don't seem to have ever used even one spritz in their own bathroom.

9. Broken carts. Dear grocery store owner, Do you realize that every time I have to wrench my cart around the aisles of your store, you lose about $75 in sales from my frustration and haste to get out of there.

8. Odd portions of meat. Has anyone in the history of cooking needed 1.38 pounds of ground beef? And yet I have to spend 10 minutes sorting through the packages to find something that resembles one pound. You would think they would package the meat in quantities that benefit the consumer.

7. Aisles of crap. One of the main reasons I don't ditch my hometown grocery entirely is that while the other places do stock produce that was picked in the last six months, they have five aisles of crap in between the food that I'm there to get. I didn't come there to buy a lawn chair. I just want to get my food and get home.

6. Mystery produce. When I do find some lettuce that isn't completely wilted, I put it in a bag and then let the cashier guessing game begin. Invariably they have never seen this type of lettuce before and they have to consult their computer, their book and the lady who works behind the counter selling lottery tickets, cigarettes and baby formula (yes, those things are sold together at my grocery).

5. Handling everything five times. Before this food gets in my cupboard/fridge I have to handle it five times. Off the shelf into the cart. Out of the cart onto the conveyor to pay. Out of the cart into my car. Out of my car into the house. Out of the bags into the cupboard/fridge. Usually when I get home I'm already in such a foul mood that I sit in the car and honk until Husband comes out to help. If he's not available I don't unload everything--I leave behind his caffeinated nectar of addiction (Pepsi). Let's face it, if I left the oatmeal in the car, he wouldn't be motivated to make a trip outside to get it.

4. Organizing the cart. I don't know how to grocery shop so that my cart is neatly organized. I just end up throwing things in until I realize that the tomato sauce is being smashed into the bread by the big box of detergent I piled on top.

3. The list. Since I hate the grocery (see above), I don't go very often. Most times my goal in going to the store is to buy one of everything I've ever purchased there before. I do usually try to make a list but no one else in the family is any help. They seem to think that after I get home is a good time to let me know the things they were expecting me to get.

2. Shopping with kids. What else do I need to say about this.

1. Transport home. Even though I have a mini-van with a nice storage area in back, I always forget to see if I'm already transporting something like baseball bags or in the case of today, 15 pig feeders. I cram everything in the back, it shifts during the drive, and then I end up with half my lunch meat on the ground when I open the mini-van hatch.

Whew.The only good thing about just having been to the grocery is that I won't have to go back again for a while.

For all my grumping I do need to remember that there are lots of people who hate the grocery because of the stress they feel about not being able to feed their families. I am involved in a great program called The Benefit Bank that helps people apply for state and Federal assistance through programs like WIC and cash assistance (welfare) and food stamps. It's gratifying to tell young mothers, seniors and people who never dreamed that they would be at the receiving end of a program like this that they are eligible for some help. The Benefit Bank helps relieve the strain on local food pantries by helping people get the help they are eligible for from other food programs.

So how do you keep from hating the grocery? How do you help others not hate the grocery so much?

Spring Spectacular Club Pig Sale

2011-04-10T00:10:00.001-04:00

It's April and that can only mean one thing on our farm. CLAUDE' IS BACK, BABY! Yes, it is pig sale season and that means haircuts for everyone--except Husband who seems to be working on a Luke Duke.

To help promote our upcoming pig sale (details here if you're in the market) Ryan and Justin and their cousins photographed some of the cute little pigs that will be in the sale, oh, I mean long-bodied, muscular, sound-footed future champions. Take a look:

At the sale later this month it will be all hands on deck. Everyone has a job. Early in our relationship my job at the pig sale was to help brush each pig before it went in the sale ring. Well, I learned the hard way that standing right behind the girl pigs is a good way to get wet. I have since been promoted to sale clerk and all of our kids are now old enough to help too. Here are Morgan, Justin and their cousin busy prepping for last year's sale.

Just so we're clear, a pig sale is not a day to get a discount on pigs, it is an auction. We bring in a professional auctioneer to help us sell the pigs to the highest bidder and as you can see we bring in quite a crowd.

We look forward to sending our little pigs home with 4-H members and their families. I hope you will come by and check out our farm's biggest event of the year. Just remember to wave at the auctioneer until you hear SOLD! We'll explain everything later.

Crystal Anniversary Extravaganza!

2011-04-02T19:56:00.004-04:00

2011 marks my 15th anniversary of farm wifehood (wifery?). Anyway, 15 years ago this month I was a college senior, running home on weekends to plan my September wedding, which included hiring my brother's barber to be the DJ and a future criminal to be the photographer, among other disasters.

I thought it would be fun to take a cue from Disney and extend this celebration of our marriage, which should really just take one dinner at Olive Garden, into a six-month-long extravaganza.

I kicked off the celebration last month when I went to the jeweler and had my wedding ring forcibly removed by saw. Apparently, after three kids and several Dairy Queen Blizzards, my finger wasn't as small as it was in March 1995 when I got engaged. On Friday I picked up my new wedding bands, beautifully featuring the marquis diamond Husband nervously purchased so long ago.

Long-time blog readers (both of you!) will remember that I have already blogged about how Husband and I met, the questions I always get from people when they learn I'm a farm wife, and the challenges we faced, like all newlyweds, in adjusting to each other's families.

Stay tuned for never-before-blogged stories and embarrassing photos of our pre-wedding house fix-up, our sessions with the pastor where we argued about Pepsi and vegetables and the unsolved ice bucket mystery.

Cement goose, Todd, Holly - Christmas 1998

Pig's Eye View

2011-03-22T22:48:00.000-04:00

Over at DaytonMostMetro.com I resurrected my Rural Living contributions, just in time for spring.

I can't, unfortunately, take credit for the adorable photo included with the article but I did take the video.

A Wee Little Post to Liven your St. Patty's Day

2011-03-15T22:01:00.000-04:00

Seven years ago my doctor said, I'm on call Wednesday, you can have the baby then. And my little St. Patrick's Day miracle was born!

Justin is a sweet, sweet boy and a creative spirit. To celebrate his own birthday, he composed a poem titled "The Night Before St. Patrick's Day." Here he is introducing the poem:

Here he is reciting it:

Happy 7th Birthday, Justin. We love you.

Third Blogiversary!

2011-03-12T22:39:00.000-05:00

Oh my, how did I almost forget my third blogiversary. I've been a little light on posting lately but a recent compliment by one of my social media idols has given me new enthusiasm. Now that the weather is warming up I pledge to put on my boots and get out there to cover farm life.

In celebration of this third year, I pasted all of my posts into a cool free tool over at Wordle.net. You can see I love to blog about my farmer Husband and Christmas. Also, I blog about pigs more than my children.

Thanks to all my family readers, my lurkers, my former co-workers who used to tell people in the cafeteria that I wrote a blog about pig sex, my new co-workers who are always saying that should go in the blog and my dear, dear Husband who humors me.

Somebody Sell Me a Van

2011-02-28T23:10:00.000-05:00

General Motors has abandoned me. Not only have they discontinued my beloved Pontiacs but now they refuse to manufacture any type of mini-van. And don't talk to me about seven passenger vehicles. I want SLIDING DOORS.

So, seriously, I need somebody to sell me a van. I have only purchased three brand new vehicles in my adult life--all from the same rural GM dealer.

Here's what my car-buying experience has been like to date:
- We arrive at the dealership at speak directly to the guy whose last name is on the big sign out front.
- He asks us what we want and shows us a car in the lot. Then he goes back inside to do paperwork, clearly not concerned about whether we buy anything this trip or not.
- When we ask, he tells us truthfully about whether we need certain options.
- He gives us a decent price on our trade-in.

Starting over with a new car-selling place is not a fun proposition. Frankly, we don't trust car-selling guys to be honest with us and not rush us into a decision. Husband and I have resorted to stopping by dealerships at night when they are closed to take an uninterrupted look at the latest mini-van options.

Car companies, are you listening to me? My biggest problem is not price, it's service.

Can anyone, perhaps someone representing one of those "foreign" companies, help me? I want a van with two sliding doors and a push-button rear hatch. I need an entertainment system for the kids and a GPS system for me. Oh, and leather buckets because I loves, loves heated seats. And yeah, I need an engine that doesn't run on a rubber band, because I have my mother's lead foot.

I need somebody to shake my hand, look me in the eye (because I bring home the bacon, remember) and tell me honestly why I need to consider their van.

I'm not looking for a special deal or to get invited to a mommy blogger event, I just want to know where I can get the level of service I've become accustomed too.

So who out there has a recommendation on a mini-van--and a great person to buy one from?

My Last Days of Baby Expertise

2011-02-20T15:16:00.002-05:00

Kindergarten registration is coming soon. And I'm dreading it. Not only because it means that my last baby will be a school kid, but because Husband must be getting pretty old to have three kids in school (I haven't aged at all, of course.).

Actually, I'm dreading kindergarten registration because at our school it involves more paperwork to place a child in kindergarten than it did to birth them in the first place. I had an organ removed and there was less paperwork than signing my child up for public school. I had to write my phone number 10 times when I registered Justin for kindergarten (I counted).

So with the last days of pre-school motherhood dwindling, I decided it was time to share my parting thoughts on babies, potty training and tantrum handling. Soon I'll be like those poor women who used to approach me in my younger days of motherhood with awww how old is your baby? Mine are 12 and 15 now, sniff. What I didn't realize until recently is that they went home and did the No More Diapers happy dance.

While I'm still a mother of a pre-schooler and allowed to have opinions, here is my advice:

Babies

Breastfeed. I know some people who insist that their children get the best of everything but they denied them the best nutrition during their most critical months of life. (Even formula companies acknowledge this.) Plus, free breastmilk is always the right amount and the right temperature--and boobs wash up easily in the shower. Unfortunately, there will always be people like Anita Kelley-Powers of Fairborn who wrote into the Dayton Daily News this week to compare public breastfeeding to public urination. To Anita Kelley-Powers I say, no one wants to watch you chew with your mouth open but YOU get to eat in public.

Remember that expert advice about babies is often based on risk factors and not if you screw this up your baby will die immediately. Since this blog has become all about confessions lately I have another one: I let my babies sleep on their stomachs. And according to a New York Times article I just Googled titled aptly, A Quiet Revolt Against the Rules on SIDS, I'm not alone.

The dirty little truth is that babies prefer to sleep on their stomachs. I was astonished to visit a friend and discover her back-sleeping baby couldn't stand to be on her stomach for even a moment. How was she going to learn to crawl or take cute little hand-on-chin photos at the mall, I wondered.

Oh, and the freaky flat heads. From the NYT: Not only do many infants sleep better on their stomachs, they are much less likely to develop plagiocephaly, a deformation of the skull that leaves infants with flattened heads. Dr. Jeffrey H. Wisoff, an associate professor of neurosurgery and pediatrics at New York University Medical Center, said that since the Back to Sleep campaign began, the head condition had "become an epidemic."

Toddlers

Potty training sucks. My grandmother is over 80 and her youngest baby is nearly 60 but mention potty training and she gets a look like she just hung up her last cloth diaper yesterday--the pain is still fresh. To me, the most frustrating thing about potty training is you have no idea what actually works. Is it the sticker chart, the begging, the songs, the tears of frustration, the potty Elmo (it was a gift so we thought, what the heck), the brand new Bob the Builder underpants? It just seems like one day they wake up (dry) and decide This is the Day I Shall Stop Soiling Myself. Part of me always wondered if that day was going to come whether I did anything or not to encourage it.

Remember that pull-ups are both the friend and the enemy of potty training. They help prevent messes but really become the enabler of lazy toddlers who don't want to bother with the potty and their fathers who don't either.

Tantrums are preventable. Kids are crazy smart and believe that any publicity (attention) is good publicity.If tantrum becomes an effective way to get what they want, then I don't blame them for using it over and over as a tactic. Give them a quiet place to finish their flailing where no one is paying any attention to them. Act like you never even heard/don't remember their demands. I promise they will try something else.

The best child rearing advice I ever received was never say never. Don't look at someone else with their kid or read a book and declare I will NEVER do that with my kid. Because you will.

I'll conclude my final advice on pre-schoolers with another quote from the New York Times:
The role of the professional is to say 'these are the recommendations and this is why.' The role of the parent is to think critically and apply those recommendations in a way that makes their life manageable.

I'm off to do my No More Diapers happy dance now.

Dahling... We Simply Must Go to the Theatre This Evening

2011-02-06T15:30:00.001-05:00

I'm not sure what confession I can make on this blog that's worse than not liking cats but today I have to confess that this red-blooded rural American will NOT be watching Super Bowl XLV. I will be attending the theatre instead.

I'm not joking.

A few months ago my good friend and fellow blogger had a great idea to subscribe to the Broadway Series here in Dayton. How could I resist an opportunity to spend time with fun, smart women who wanted to eat at restaurants that don't serve chicken nuggets, followed by a Sponge Bob-free evening of entertainment. We bought tickets at the bottom rung of the season ticket ladder--one row in front of the high school field trip seats. So far we've seen the Blue Man Group and a comedian who talks about the Wonder Bread Years. It didn't even dawn on me that tonight's performance of 9 to 5 would conflict with the year's best night of advertising.

Like millions of other Americans, my interest in the Super Bowl is largely tolerating an NFL game while waiting for the most expensive TV commercials of the season to air. And consuming large quantities of dip.

I imagine the Schuster Center tonight will be full of stuffy, artsy women, many without their men, who wouldn't know a tailback from a tight end. Maybe there will be some empty seats. And there will probably be some men there who dare not disobey the wife this close to Valentine's Day.

I'll be there with a group of Moms who may like football and definitely like commercials and dip, but value their time together even more. And also, all the good commercials will be on YouTube by the time we get home. I'm thinking about smuggling in some dip.

Great-Aunts: The First Facebook

2011-01-26T21:27:00.003-05:00

Do you remember the world when our great-aunts were Facebook?

When your second cousin, ex-uncle, or brother's nephew on the other side got pregnant, imprisoned, or passed the Bar, you got the news like this: his mother called her mother, who called her sister-in-law (your Grandma), who called your mother, who called you. That's how news progressed. And if there was a little editorializing along the way, well that's how family works.

Today the rules are all different. When cousin Julie's* water breaks she updates her Facebook status to Baby coming toniiiiiight!!! Also, couch for sale. Then, if you're real lucky she'll be tweeting her contractions and the first sound she hears when her husband comes to.

And your great-aunt will know this. Even though the most technologically advanced item in her home is great-uncle Herbert's hearing aid.

See, our great-aunts are getting Facebook without even owning a computer.

The family phone tree has been turned on its head. Here's how information flows through a family today: you see on Facebook that your cousin got her gall bladder removed, you call your mother, who calls her mother, who calls her sister-in-law (your great-aunt), who calls her daughter to find out why the heck she's the last one to know anything in this family anymore.

Case in point. Last summer I took a new job. I updated my Facebook page with the great news and many warm wishes came in from cousins and friends near and far. A week or so later I attended another cousin's baby shower. When the great-aunts trooped in (just have to say we have some of the best great-aunts EVER) they knew all about my new job. How? From their kids out of state--who saw it on Facebook.

Nothing makes me more giddy than when I can scoop my technology-challenged mother-in-law on the hot news for her own family. Me (innocently): Why, cousin Sophie in Georgia had her baby this morning, you hadn't heard? The photos are adorable.

I even scooped one very savvy aunt-in-law on her own daughter's engagement photos. SCORE!

Now that Facebook is facilitating cousin-to-cousin communications, the role of the great-aunt as newsbreaker is in decline. Will great-aunts be able to carve out a new role for themselves? Will they become as quiet as our hearing impaired great-uncles?

As long as there is family news, we will always need someone to add historical context, cluck their tongue, say I KNEW it! and, if you're lucky like me, offer heartfelt congratulations. So to all the great-aunts out there who have read the print-out of this blog post, I say thanks for being our Facebook for all these years. And, take a break--we'll call you when she hits 7 centimeters.

*No actual cousins named Julie were injured in the creation of this blog post. Any resemblance to actual events, relatives or locales or Julie's, pregnant or not, is entirely coincidental.

Grandma's Cookie Tin

2011-01-08T17:06:00.001-05:00

Last fall we lost our Grandma and over the holidays we divided up her few remaining possessions, an exercise full of positive memories. After our Thanksgiving weekend family Christmas, we cleaned off the dining room table and spread out her things. There were jewelry boxes of old watches, pretty little jelly dishes, some antique Christmas decorations and lots of other semi-valuable treasures, but first thing I did was snatch up this old tin.

I have to think that this tin was cherished by Grandma too. After giving away so many of her household items, holding an auction and moving into her second nursing home--this tin was among her few remaining possessions.

Unless there is someone from Antiques Roadshow reading who wants to tell me otherwise, this tin is garage sale fodder---nothing valuable here. But for me this tin was the first thing I looked at in Grandma's kitchen every time we visited. Strategically located on the first piece of counter top inside her kitchen door, this tin was Grandma's cookie jar and was always stocked with Oreos.

I haven't had as much luck keeping it full. Besides this tin, one of Grandma's legacies for me is a wonderful sweet tooth (and I hope, the ability to live disease-free until age 96). I have bought Oreos a few times since I got it, planning to keep it stocked for my family. Unfortunately, my kids and I have eaten all the cookies immediately--before I could even snap a photo for this post.

I'm no health nut but even I know better than to try to keep this tin full of cookies like Grandma did. Instead I'll keep it on my counter for the warm memories and fill it occasionally as a special treat to remember her by.

Year in Review

2011-01-01T22:11:00.000-05:00

Happy New Year. The third year of this blog has been an adventure and I am glad to have made some new blogging friends this year.More and more of you are reading and sending your friends--and I greatly appreciate that.

In 2010, Bringing Home the Bacon was visited by very puzzled people from 55 countries and more purposefully, I hope, from residents of 48 U.S. States (Alaska? South Dakota? Can I get some love?). My U.S. visitors came from 735 cities, from Poca to Zeeland.

Many of my visitors these days are stopping by after seeing my posts on Twitter and Facebook, although a few stragglers are finding me via search engines, using search terms like 80's haircut guy, worst Christmas house, happy poop day and, interestingly, holly michaels naked. (These are REAL search terms people have used to find my site, courtesy of Google Analytics.)

I don't want this post to read like Uncle Herman's Christmas letter, recounting the detail of every month of the past year (including his bowel incident), so I'll just post a few posts that show how 2010 was a year of adventure and growth:

• I started out the year working chicken and sex in to my first submission to Dayton's online magazine, DaytonMostMetro.com

• Also, I tried out Mommy blogging.

• In February took some great photos of our winter wonder farm.

• As the weather warmed up, I introduced the world to renowned pig groomer, Claude', who may or may not be married to the kids' current babysitter, we probably shouldn't say.

• Also in pig-related news, I posted a H-O-T photo of my husband with his 80s hairdo. He was written up in a pig magazine as an up-and-coming young farmer.

• My friend Megan and I launched our new co-blog column. We quickly delved into Amsterdam nightlife and offended a preacher.

• As usual, our kids got very dirty at the county fair.

• In one of my most commented-upon columns, I admitted to not liking San Francisco--or kittens.

• I ended the year sharing the story of my best worst Christmas ever.

So thanks for reading and come back soon to see what 2011 has in store.

Holidays on the Farm - The Real Farmwives of America

2010-12-31T22:40:00.000-05:00

I have infiltrated a group of real blogging farm wives known as The Real Farmwives of America & Friends, led by Heather of 3 kids and lots of pigs (we have things in common, wouldn't you think). They graciously allowed me to join their quarterly blogging feature, this time with the theme of holidays on the farm. Of course, I have already screwed it up. I woke up this morning to find their beautifully crafted posts already online and cross-promoted on their Facebook page. Here it is at 10 p.m. on New Years Eve and I'm still typing--I have until the ball drops, right?

At first I thought, our holidays are pretty normal, there's nothing significant. Then I wondered how many Presbyterian Church Christmas plays across the country included a role for a John Deere tractor. Maybe we are a little different here on the farm. Also, just for kicks I have to share that our church is on Chicken Bristle Road--that is a real place.

And some of our holiday traditions, while not uniquely rural, are quite quaint.

My mother-in-law not only sees all five of her grandchildren every Christmas Eve, she gets to read Twas the Night Before Christmas using her valuable antique edition of the book.

Gift-giving is a little different on the farm too.

Here my Mom and Ryan show off their grandma/grandson matching Carhartt bibs. She got hers to stay warm while she operated the John Deere snow blower. Again, how many grandmothers received outer wear designed for snow blower operation this Christmas?

I think that's what I like best about Christmas on the farm--the sincerity of the gift-giving. We don't just give each other the same bottles of wine and gift cards (not that those gifts aren't welcome) but we also give practical gifts, gifts from the heart.

Gifts like the wheelbarrow Husband got from my grandparents a few years ago--he said he didn't want anything, I needed a wheelbarrow, it all worked out. And this year, my brother-in-law got a crowbar! One year, Husband delivered a pig to a neighboring family. The wife wanted to surprise her husband with a new gilt.

Holidays on the farm are always warm and fun--tempered sometimes by the 365-day demands of farm work. I'm glad to be raising kids who are just as excited about receiving a new pig cane and brush from Uncle John as the DS games they get from Santa.

The Chocolate Cake Miracle

2010-12-30T20:03:00.000-05:00

My birthday was earlier this week. Yes, four days after Christmas sucks, I know, I know. (Of course, I did the same thing to my daughter, who was born right before Christmas.)

My mother has always made up for the poor timing of my birth by making her blue ribbon (champion at the county fair!) chocolate cake. This year, even though she was going to be out of town on my birthday, she made a cake ahead, iced it when it had barely cooled, then popped it in the freezer.

We kept it frozen at our house until about 24 hours before we were planning to serve it. We defrosted it on the kitchen counter, then Husband brought it to the restaurant (it rode in the back of his Blazer) where we had lunch with the family on my birthday.

The cake set on an empty table while we ate and then Husband sliced it and handed out the pieces. Here's the miracle part: the cake was still warm.

Yes, parts in the middle and the bottom were warm. We don't know how the cake would have been warmed up during any of its thawing or delivery to the restaurant. Is it possible, the cake was still warm in the middle after three days in the freezer?

Or is my Mom just that damn good at making chocolate cake? If you have ever tasted one, you know.

Secretly Liking the Pigs

2010-12-27T22:55:00.000-05:00

I have a confession to make. I like pigs.

I know this doesn't seem like much of a confession from a woman who has breastfed a baby in a (empty) pig pen at the Indiana State Fair, but actually it is. Early on in my marriage to a pig farmer, I knew that if I let on about liking pigs they would be everywhere. Pig towels, pig knick knacks, pigs in the kitchen, pigs in the bathroom, pigs everywhere. So I let on like I wasn't wild about pigs, which kept the pig gifts to a manageable minimum. Yes, some people gave me pigs whether they thought I liked them or not. Either they were on to me--or they just didn't care.

Today, I got a pig birthday card from my aunt in-law in New York. It shows hog heaven. Get it, hog heaven, which apparently consists of pig angels, hogs riding hogs, and a pig-like deity overseeing it all. It's a cute card and now that I've confessed to liking pigs--it won't be the last.

My in-laws are proud pig farmers and collectors of all things pig. They were very pleased to have found these cute chocolates from a British chocolatier featuring cheeky piggies to place in Husband's Christmas stocking. As a guy, it's always been safe for him to admit to liking pigs, although he did get a good luck three-legged pig from my mother this year. Apparently, in the world of knick knacks, three legs is much cuter than it would be in real life--where missing a leg would certainly NOT make you a lucky pig.

With this confession made, now I can safely snack on the Yorkshire-looking pink chocolate pig and display my birthday card. But don't even think about getting me a calendar featuring 365 days of whiskers and his ball of yarn; my feeling about cats is not subject to change.

Boxing up the Ornaments

2010-12-26T23:12:00.001-05:00

I know some people have their trees out at the curb (or in a box) already, but I couldn't let the season end without sharing this video clip from the kids' church play.

They play centers on a group of ornaments in a box. Frosty the Snowman, the star and an angel have it out with the souvenir ornaments until Joseph hops over from the nativity scene to set them straight about the meaning of Christmas.

Justin was a tractor ornament (we're getting a lot of use out of that Halloween costume!) and did the child's prayer to end the play.

Morgan was a princess ornament.

Ryan had a major speaking role as Frosty the Snowman.

Check out Justin stealing the show during the grand finale. (This was taken during dress rehearsal, so we had a fill-in Mary.)

Packing up After Christmas

2010-12-25T23:28:00.001-05:00

Christmas is a difficult time for some. If you're like me and suffer from packaging phobia, this can be an especially trying time.

Let's face it, half the point of Christmas is packaging. Taking those 3 pairs of panties you bought for Grandma on sale at JC Penney and trying to make them look like an exciting gift--that takes some packaging. Every toy now has horrendous packaging up to and including stringing wires around the necks of innocent princesses, so that while their shoes fly off the minute you rip the paper, the rest of their body is locked in a vice grip against the cardboard backing.

While Christmas exacerbates my condition, I actually suffer from year-round packaging phobia. When I get a bill in the mail, I immediately take out all the exciting gemstone offers and commemorative plate exclusives to keep only the bill and envelope to use in paying it--nothing else. Meanwhile, Husband drives me crazy by saving every envelope ever delivered to the house in his name--including those from his own grandmother who lives around the corner.

Nothing makes me itchier than when I see that someone has left the clear protective covering on the emblem on their luggage. You are supposed to remove that! Can I? Just peel it a bit? Oh, sorry.

And don't get me started on the people who store old ski lift tickets on their zipper. Really? We get it. You're cooler than us and wore that coat skiing a jillion times. Now hold still while I get the scissors.

So while we had a wonderful Christmas and were blessed with good health and lots of family time--my condition is worsening. Our house is full of bags filled with boxes that contain useless tissue paper that hold clothes covered with tags and stickers... AHHHHHHH. And the formed plastic that used to hold 3 bajillion Littlest Pet Shop hair brushes seems to hide in the carpet, waiting to jump out at me. Little metal wires that were keeping the John Deere tractor from driving out of its box are now multiplying under my couch. HEEELLLLP.

If I have to spend all of Boxing Day throwing things away, I WILL rid myself of this horrible packaging that has infested my house.

And since there are only three shopping days left til my birthday, I'll let you in on a hint: I'm running low on Glad trash bags.

How to Make a Snowflake

2010-12-18T21:02:00.002-05:00

This isn't normally a how-to kind of blog. And if you have been reading this blog to learn how to do anything, then bless your little heart.

But today I have decided to share a special Christmas skill that I have possesed since eighth grade when Mrs. Glanton taught us how to make beautiful paper snowflakes that we used to decorate for the winter dance. (I wore my sweater skirt--so cool!)

Step one:
- Look for scissors. WE OWN 50 BLEEPIN PAIRS OF SCISSORS. WHERE THE BLEEP ARE THEY.
- Get a piece of 8.5 x 11 paper.

- Stop swearing about the scissors and settle in for some Christmas fun!

- Find a hot hand model--oh, that was on my list. You won't need one.

Step two:
- Fold the paper to create a triangle

(Husband graciously volunteered to be my hot hand model, until he got hungry.)

Step three:
- Cut off the extra piece to keep just the triangle

Step four:
- Fold the triangle again to make a smaller triangle

Step five:

- This is the step that sets this method apart and guarantees a beautiful snowflake every time--so don't screw it up.

- Fold the triangle into the center, first one side then the other to overlap. I don't know how to describe it--just look at the photo.

Step six:
- Make sure you've done step five correctly and have something that looks like lame oragami.

Step seven:
- Cut off the weird oragami-looking part. That will be the outside edge of your snowflake, so cut with zig-zag or curves as you want.
- Take slices out out of the sides of the triangle to make shapes in your snowflake.

Step eight:
- Enjoy your beautiful snowflake!

The Best, Worst Christmas Ever

2010-12-17T22:44:00.000-05:00

Two years ago I had the most sad, relaxing, pitiful, stress-free Christmas I've ever had as an adult. Memory waves, memory waves, memory waves...

It all started on Christmas Eve. That's when our four-year-old announced his arrival at my grandparents house by puking all over the driveway. Husband and Justin ended up spending Christmas Eve on the living room floor on top of Husband's patented kid-puke-preventing three layers of bath towels.

Christmas Eve is always crazy. Every year I spend all day preparing for the Christmas day brunch I host, then we head to my grandparents for dinner, then church, then over to Husband's Grandma's for some post-church gift opening. We usually get home late, the kids are exhausted, then we have to prepare for Santa's arrival.

That year I took Ryan and Morgan on our appointed rounds then came home earlier than usual. We got everyone to bed--even Justin--then started working to get ready for Santa. Pretty soon I started feeling queasy. I stumbled past the dining room table already set for Christmas brunch and onto the couch.

The puking stated soon after and I spent all night heaving and then dragging myself back to bed. By Christmas morning I was weak and dehydrated. My first greeting to my husband that day: call everyone and cancel brunch. Then I turned over and went to sleep.

I slept all day. On Christmas. I slept while our three children opened their presents--of course, Husband didn't think to take any photos. I slept while Husband took the kids to my mother's house--and Justin got the opportunity to prove all over the couch that he wasn't completely better either.

I slept while Husband washed towels and helped the kids design a track for the new Thomas the Train set. I slept while my uneaten breakfast casserole fermented in the fridge. Occasionally I would wake up and hear the sounds of my children enjoying the delights of new toys. Once, I woke up to hear the phone ringing--some farmer wanting to buy a pig--on Christmas??

I slept until it was time to sleep again. And then I slept all night. At some point, I guess I ate and drank but I don't remember. All I remember is spending an entire Christmas day in bed by myself. I felt sad at some points, secretly relieved at others. When was I ever going to have the chance to spend Christmas Day alone in bed?

That year, I opened my presents on December 26. And while I wouldn't chose or recommend spending Christmas alone in bed--it wasn't completely terrible.

Sign of the Farmpocalypse

2010-12-13T23:51:00.001-05:00

Every issue of Sports Illustrated has a brief quote titled Sign of the Apocalypse, a humorous but true sports news item that makes you wonder--have we gone too far? In that spirit, I present another installment of Sign of the Farmpocalypse, because I just can't make this stuff up.

Husband has a rare (and potentially fatal) condition whereby he only removes his boots and cleans up on Saturdays and Sundays. During the week--when I am usually at work--he is only able to change clothes for the afternoon Andy Griffith marathon. The rest of the time he tiptoes through the kitchen leaving trails of poop-snow and straw.

Fun, Old-fashioned Family Christmas

2010-12-04T21:34:00.002-05:00

It's December 4, we have a couple inches of snow on the ground, the decorations are up, white candles are in each window, Husband hasn't started his shopping, Christmas cards are mailed (Hey there to anyone following the link on the card) and we just watched National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation. Yes, we're ready for the Christmas season at our house.

In case you're one of our e-friends, I've included our Christmas card in this post. There are so many people that I do consider friends that I have no idea where I would actually snail mail them something.

Also, our card this year references Ryan's appearance as Santa in last year's school play. It's too cute not to share.

As I shared last year, I love Christmas cards--both sending and receiving--and I look forward to the opportunity to reconnect with old friends and swap pictures of kids. And since I did send out a photo of our prize Hampshire gilt, I will exclaim over your cute dogs and not roll my eyes too hard at your cat, should they be part of your holiday greetings.

Merry Christmas. I wish you all the joys of the season including.. Oh, the silent majesty of a winter's morn... the clean, cool chill of the holiday air... and an asshole in his bathrobe, emptying a chemical toilet into my sewer...

Oh, The Feral Pig of Texas is the Only One for Me

2010-12-02T23:42:00.001-05:00

Nothin' brings me out of a blogging slump like a good ole feral pig story. Today's Wall Street Journal has a front-page update on how wild pigs are tearing up the manicured lawns of Southlake, Texas, making the stunning observation that shooting them from helicopters is frowned upon in well-populated areas.

The writers of these stories are always so surprised to learn that A) pigs are interested in rooting in soft ground and B) pigs are very smart. The fact that pigs are capable of reproducing in litters is also a surprise, somehow.

The pigs on our farm are very different than these lawn-eating pigs but not in many ways. Every once in a while Husband has a pig that just won't stay in a pen. Sometimes he gives up and just lets the pig run around on the farm for a day. First thing on its agenda--rooting in the yard. Second, getting into the stash of feed. And just like those feral pigs, our wild-for-a-day pig is very leery of humans and their fences and gates.

The WSJ article claims that two million feral pigs are currently pooping in the wilds and suburbs of Texas (The Wall Street Journal does not use terms like pooping, that was my little addition.). I hope they stay there.

We already get the calls if anyone spots a stray pig in this half of the county. I could only imagine what life would be like if feral pigs were showing up to ruin area suburban sprinkler systems.

Ten Things I'm 'Supposed' to Like, But Don't

2010-10-29T22:22:00.002-04:00

There are things I'm supposed to like. How do I know? People tell us all the time what we're supposed to like (hint: the same things they do). Usually, I find out what I'm supposed to like after I've already announced I can't stand it and see the horrified reaction of some well-meaning family member or friend.

And let's face it, I can be a little contrary when it comes to following the crowd. Telling me I'm supposed to like something, is a sure-fire way to get me to research it for myself to see if I can find a good reason to give it a thumbs down. There are many things I do like that statistically I'm supposed to, including chocolate, my mini-van and Matthew McConaughey. But here's where things start to go wrong for me:

1. San Francisco - The coldest winter I ever knew was the summer I spent in San Francisco. I really can't stand San Francisco. Maybe it's the Ohio bumpkin in me but if I'm going to go to all the trouble to fly to California--then I want it to be warm, dammit. I have been to San Francisco in August and frozen my a** off. Of course, San Francisco is everyone's favorite place for its architecture and culture and blah, blah, blah. It's too damn cold.

2. Kittens - Let's just get this out of the way. I don't like cats. They give me the heebie jeebies. I wish I was allergic (or had started that lie a long time ago), so I could gracefully get away from your feline but the truth is I don't see any redeeming qualities in cats. If I told you I was going to invite a creature into my home that would urinate on the carpets, scratch my arms bloody, plus cost me thousands of dollars to feed and entertain--wouldn't you say I was an idiot. Don't tell me your cat is special. And unless you want me to go into dry heaves, don't show me photos of your cat on your phone or refer to yourself as its mommy.

3. Reality TV - Well, for all the enemies I just made with #2, I'll probably win some people back with this one. I don't watch Survivor, Amazing Race or any of the rest of them. I don't care what Ozzy Osbourne eats for breakfast and I care even less about Bruce Jenner's family issues. Unlike cat lovers, who are weird, I don't hold anything against you for liking Reality TV. I just don't join you.

4. The Ohio State University - Oh, boy. No cow is sacred with me. I am here to state publicly that I am not a Buckeye fan. Apparently, anyone with an Ohio drivers license and the opportunity to purchase a red t-shirt at Sears is automatically supposed to stay home every Saturday in the fall and support a university they've never visited--let alone attended. Husband went to OSU and I'm very happy to get out of the way and let him watch the game. But it just irks me when people just assume I would be a fan. Why? I went to Ohio University. In Athens. Also, it peeves me when local TV newscasters talk about OSU as if it were a hometown team. Do you know how many universities there are between here and Columbus?

5. Soccer - My two sons played soccer this year. I have never liked soccer and I don't think I ever will, however, I may have to learn to tolerate it since my nine year-old has already been told by a high school coach that he has a good foot, whatever that means.

6. Lettuce on a sandwich - This falls into the category of things you see so often that the only explanation is that you are expected to want it. I will eat a salad (not often enough) but I can't stand to eat lettuce on a sandwich or other non-salad food. Do you know how many business box lunches I've had to try and inconspicuously pick apart.Who made this rule? Am I the only person picking every shred of lettuce off their taco?

7. Crocs - I know they have more normal looking styles now but I have never been interested in sticking my foot into one of those shapeless plastic shoes. And yet people swear by them.

8. Cantaloupe and strawberries - Have you ever ordered a fruit cup? Why does every fruit cup come with one grape, one apple chunk and 50 pieces of tasteless cantaloupe. Is it cheap? Or are we expected to be delighted to see that much cantaloupe? Also, every summer of my childhood my family would be ecstatic to get their first bowl of fresh strawberries. Except for me. And then the you don't like strawberries?? would start. Really, no one could remember that.

9. iPod - I'm not really opposed to the device called iPod, I just don't need music piped into my ears all day. After the Walkman died down, people got along fine for several years without constantly listening to music. Now all the sudden, they are completely traumatized if they can't have music while they walk down the street. Hum.

10.Coffee - Why is it that the only free beverage offered in modern America is the one I don't like? Even water isn't free anymore.

Lest you think I'm a complete curmudgeon, I do like campfires, boat rides, baby pigs and baking chocolate cake from scratch.

But no matter how much we do like, society still has its expectations. What are you supposed to like but don't?

Dulces o travesura

2010-10-25T06:20:00.000-04:00

Not since the John Deere tractor made of foam board have I been so proud of a Halloween costume. It's not any sort of domestic triumph, really, but Ryan's Chilean miner costume was fun to create.

Chilean miner costume

Unfortunately, I could not convince Husband to scrounge enough materials around the farm to build me an escape capsule.

My little Justin adds his crooked smile to Batman this year. He said he is hoping to find some people to rescue from danger while he is out trick-or-treating.

Our little cowgirl loves her pony (named, Pony, oddly). Her cowgirl hat lights up. Or at least it did the day we bought it until the little cowgirl overused the switch. Now Husband can get it to work by tapping the hat. Fortunately, she can't tell if it's working or not when she wears it--so if you run into us this weekend, THE LIGHTS ARE ON--got it?

And remember, the Chilean miners were underground for 70 days. Any that stop by to trick-or-treat will need extra candy.

I can git the things

2010-10-23T23:36:00.002-04:00

The toy catalogs have started rolling into our home. Stacks of them waiting for me every day in the unsorted mail. Yes, my mail is unsorted. We have a very long lane. Husband gets the mail every day and looks at it as he walks the whole way back (I've seen this.) but then, instead of dealing with the junk mail--even the stuff addressed to our former neighbor or Husband himself--he stacks it in the house for me (or the mail fairy, I suppose) to deal with. Between that and the piles upon piles of scribbled papers our children produce, I spend the first 20 minutes I arrive home every day just putting things in the trash.

But now the toy catalogs are in the mix. Fortunately, Justin and Morgan are stepping up. They have spent hours cutting up these catalogs and/or circling things within. Justin went so far as to make a book about all the things he wants to get for Christmas. This is the cover:

His book is appropriately titled I can git the things, by Justin Michael. Part of me twinges at the sense of entitlement but he's only 6 and this is a lot better than last year's Christmas list fiasco.

Of course the theme I can get the things dovetails nicely with Justin and Morgan's approach to Christmas list-making. It's not here are things I would like to have, it's here is something I will be getting--what is it?

The good news with this early start to list-making is that if they are making a list, Santa is too. I hope to ride the naughty or nice platform all the way to December 24. Let's hope poor Mrs. Claus doesn't get stuck sorting the mail.

Sign of the Farmpocalypse

2010-10-16T20:48:00.002-04:00

Grand Marshal

2010-10-03T17:22:00.003-04:00

My mother-in-law--who does not possess a computer and will have to hear about this posting from her sister four states away--recently made us all proud. Last spring she retired after 30 years of teaching elementary students and this fall was given our small town's highest honor: she was asked to serve as grand marshal of the homecoming parade.

What a tribute to her and all the lives she's touched as a teacher.

I can't help but ponder my own career in comparison. What's the homecoming parade of my retirement? Will I end up as the grand marshal? When I think about it, my mother-in-law wasn't honored because she ran the best social studies lessons or had the best spelling tests, she was honored for caring about people, doing her job with pride and for going above and beyond in serving her "customers." Something to emulate.

The Normal Family's Guide to Disney

2010-10-02T17:16:00.006-04:00

Our family just returned from a trip to Disney World and I have to say that after making three trips to Disney in the last 20 months (due to an unusual clumping of circumstances, including Husband's milestone birthday last year), we are becoming experts. I have a few tips to share--but if you're looking for breathless exclamations about how you should put $13.45 aside every week or take the park counter-clockwise and bring your own peanut butter sandwiches, then this is not the Disney advice blog for you.

My tips and observations are for normal families that even my less-than-normal family found useful:

Tip - get the Disney Dining Plan. During the fall and maybe other off-peak times, Disney has been offering this for free. Let me tell you, if you can eat free at Disney, it's almost like you're losing money by not going on vacation. Even if you can't get the Dining Plan for free, you want it. The cost is reasonable and it saves you a bundle. Also, you can relax during your vacation and not fret that your kid only ate one nibble of the $12 meal you bought them for lunch.
Observation - unfortunately, the prevalence of the Dining Plan has caused Disney to dumb down all of its menus. Almost all of the sit-down restaurants we visited offered only two choices of kids meal. Two main choices. The adult menus were limited too and we noticed that the food quality of one of our favorite places, Whispering Canyon, had dipped dramatically in just a year. That said, the Dining Plan is still worth it.
Tip- Make dining reservations early. Reservations open 180 days ahead, so be sure to book your trip and your dining as soon as possible. Great character meals like the Crystal Palace, Cinderella's Castle, plus all the great EPCOT international places and everyplace in between take the Dining Plan. To maximize the plan, you'll want to make one sit-down dining reservation a day (or two one day and none the next). Waiting until you get there will cost you very long waits.
Tip - Pack extra footwear. Enough about eating, let's talk about packing. Make sure you bring at least two pairs of shoes. Not a big issue for the ladies in the party, but also make sure your gym shoe wearing boys also have an extra pair of comfortable shoes. If (when) you get rained on, you'll want to have dry shoes to change into and with Florida's 94 percent humidity, it can take a while for shoes to dry.
Tip - Pack a rain coat. Those ponchos they sell at the parks should say I arrived unprepared and now have to wear this thing until it stops raining. Count on getting caught in a rain shower. We bought Lands End rain jackets for the kids that fold into their own pocket. Husband and I got unlined jackets from LL Bean. Throw them in a bag and bring them with you if you even sense that it will rain. You'll be glad you did.
Tip - Bring a stroller. If your kids are under the age of 18, then I really recommend bringing a stroller (actual age probably 10). Our six-year-old greatly benefited from his little sister's stroller and actually rode it as much as she did (yes, there was fighting). Even our nine-year-old was happy to jump in and get a break from walking. If you don't need the stroller, then just park it while you do some rides. People are very always parking strollers at Disney and I've never seen anyone mess with them--except the crow at Animal Kingdom stealing popcorn from a stroller.
Observation - Kids will get cranky. I used to tsk, tsk parents whose kids acted terrible in public. From now on I will know: those kids are probably living on Starburst and chicken nuggets and had to eat after their bedtime the night before. At least that's what was wrong with our kids. I know that going to Disney is a significant investment, but just leave and go take a nap if everyone starts to lose it. You'll enjoy what you do see all the more.
Tip - Avoid Captain EO like the plague. I could give a long list of our favorite attractions (Pirates of the Caribbean, Toy Story, It's Tough to be a Bug, Muppet 3-D Movie, Soarin') but I won't bore you with that. I will tell you that with much hype EPCOT brought back a chestnut from the 80s that had me wishing for the opportunity to knee George Lucas in the nuts. Don't waste your time on the Captain EO 3-D movie. OMG it was terrible. I may have to do a whole post on its terribleness later but in the meantime, trust me.

Whew, that 's enough tips. Enjoy some photos from our semi-normal family enjoying Disney:

I Know What you Did Last Summer

2010-09-23T22:51:00.000-04:00

Good gravy (I have taken up saying this since Husband doesn't curse and I was the only one to blame for our household's junior potty mouths), it's Fall. And I still haven't shown you the before/during/after pictures of my kitchen update.

Before: greenish "marble" laminate counters with a yellowed fluorescent light cover--only one bulb working.

Carbon dating and a close examination of the many knife cuts evident on the laminate surface have led scientists to believe these counter tops date to the early Aquarius period or possibly late Happy Days epoch.

To save money on the almost airline-like add-ons involved in having a big box home improvement chain do this project, we removed the counter tops ourselves. I use the term ourselves very loosely, of course, in that Husband did it.

I thought we were well-prepared. Fortunately, they did not have a box on their billing slip for We Pulled out the Oven and OMGOMGOMG!! The workers even kindly looked away while I frantically vacuumed.

Because the gods of home improvement do not smile upon single-update efforts, we also decided to fix the ancient lighting in the ceiling.

My cousin "knew a guy" who actually turned out to be a great electrician and also managed to cut a hole in our ceiling that released a metric ton of icky insulation that had been brought over on the Mayflower.

After: A ceiling fan over our kitchen table and track lighting, of which half the bulbs have already burned out, thank you big box retailer.

With our new and improved lighting Husband was able to notice, for the first time, that the original two counter top sections did not match. He had them laying out on the driveway--because that's where country people are contractually obligated to store unwanted home fixtures--and said to me did you ever notice these don't match? I responded Only every single day for the last 14 years.

OK, back to the counter tops, because they are the piece de resitance of the room. We went with a blue speckled Corian--with built in sink, ahhhh. Of course, I wouldn't be the daughter of a plumber if I didn't also take the opportunity to install a sweet new faucet.

To summarize, this project had multiple steps, including a get rid of the fluorescent light and make a mess in the kitchen phase, a oh !@#$^ we better get a guy to patch that hole phase, a good grief what did your Dad do to the plumbing under the sink phase, a from the smell of it you really need a new garbage disposal phase, a basic clean-up phase and the inevitable wow this cost more than we thought it would phase.

Here's one of my favorite after pictures. All the crap that goes on that counter is behind the camera on the table. I just took this picture to make you think it's all nice like that right now.

So there you have it. What we did last summer in our kitchen. I was just getting ready to write something suggestive about Husband and open counter space and then I remembered that my Mom reads this blog, so The End.

Remembering my Grandma

2010-09-18T19:56:00.000-04:00

Remembering my grandmother tonight... she spent hours reading us books from her well-stocked bookshelf, she always had chocolate pudding ready in little bowls when we visited, she used a wringer washer well into the 1980s, she made notes of the weather and occurrences daily on a calendar and she said "yallo" when she answered the rotary dial phone she kept on the wall in the kitchen.

She really hasn't been that Grandma for many years and I'm glad that after almost 97 years of life, she is at peace.

Grandma Brown with Ryan in 2001.

Cleaning Up at the County Fair

2010-09-09T22:31:00.001-04:00

For many years, I dreaded the end of the county fair. The end of the fair meant saying goodbye to the 4-H animals we had fed and tended for months; the end of the fair meant saying goodbye to fairtime friends; and later, the end of the fair meant I wouldn't have the opportunity to flirt with the world's most dreamy pig farmer. Sigh.

I still am a little sad at the end of the county fair but for the last 14 years I have been able to go home with my handsome farmer, so now I can spend the end of the fair boasting to friends and family about all the great things my kids did that week.

In case any fashionistas have accidentally found this blog, I want to assure you that the above photo was taken before Labor Day. The boys (Ryan is on the right) are dressed in their white to show their dairy heifers. Why white? I don't know. Asking people who are about to work with cattle to wear white is about as ridiculous as expecting people who are about to paint a room or cut open a body to wear white--and yet we do.

Luckily, it will be a few years before we have to wrestle these three down and put them in white. Until then, we'll keep them enrolled in the dirt-eating contest they love so much.

But let's get to the bragging, shall we... Ryan brought home trophies for both his pigs and dairy heifer. Morgan won a blue ribbon for her flamingo cupcakes and a cute little pig trophy for winning pee-wee pig showmanship. Justin won a coveted pig brush for his pee-wee pig entry and also was the big winner in the Kids Bucks Game Show, winning a stuffed animal.

Oh, and there was a historical display of photos. Look at this cute little historical guy with his champion chicken. Who would have guessed he'd grow up to be a dreamy pig farmer?

I still get a little pang every year when we leave the county fair. It's a great week of family time, a celebration of our agricultural life and a place with so many memories. Check out this year's memories here:

Unofficial County Fair Guide

2010-09-02T18:22:00.002-04:00

I want everyone to have shavings on their rug and children with black knees. Join us at the county fair, won't you? See my Top 10 fair attractions and treats at DaytonMostMetro.com.

I'm not sure what's more rare, my mother-in-law taking a photo, or me being in one. Here I am last Sunday, helping prepare the pig pen at the fair--sometimes I do actually help.

Sign of the Farmpocalypse

2010-09-01T20:16:00.001-04:00

Every issue of Sports Illustrated has a brief quote titled Sign of the Apocolypse, a humorous but true sports news item that makes you wonder--have we gone too far? In that spirit, I present another installment of Sign of the Farmpocalypse, because I just can't make this stuff up.

Conversation Husband had at the local soccer fields:

Rural parent: Hey, how ya been. Say, you're a man about town, right?
Husband: (uncertain) I guess.
Rural parent: Well then, do you know where I could get a chicken dressed?

Husband was happy to help but we couldn't help laugh later. Apparently, where we live, being a man about town means knowing where to get your chicken butchered.

Flower Girl

2010-08-29T19:39:00.001-04:00

May I present to you the first ever example of a preschool Styrofoam-cup-planted sunflower actually blooming.

This sunflower survived being squashed by the dog, battered by wind and deprived of water. For a while, it laid flat on the ground until we propped it up and miraculously the damaged leaves and shoot were replaced. It finally bloomed this morning.

Our next school-based horticultural challenge: growing an apple tree from the half that comes home in a plastic bag with a damp paper towel.

County Fair Preview

2010-08-28T17:42:00.001-04:00

Aside from that day Uncle Wendell almost drowned in the manure pit, there is no more exciting time on a family farm than the county fair. There are hides to be washed, coats to be trimmed, equipment to locate--and then after the kids are ready, we have to start preparing the animals.

This year, once again, our family is packing up an extensive collection of entries, including 10 amateur photos, 9 decorated cupcakes, 8 crossbred pigs, 7 types of snacks, six geese a laying (not really), FIVE CHANGES OF CLOTHES, four cases of pop, three 4-H posters, two dairy heifers and one scarecrow dressed like a post man. Whew.

Take a sneak peek above at our decorated cupcakes (flamingo, gold fish and apples). We did a trial run last week and discovered that pink melting wafers a) don't really taste that good and b) cook rather than melt in the microwave. We also expect that since I had trouble finding them, by the law of motherhood, every store I visit for the next year will be selling circus peanuts.

We will be posting photos and official ribbon counts as the week progresses. If you're in the mood to join us, please visit http://www.montcofair.com/ for the full schedule. We'll be there all week!

Year of the Pink Boots

2010-08-23T23:44:00.000-04:00

A few weeks ago, at that other state fair, Morgan and I snuck off and bought some beautiful pink boots. Since then, she's been anxiously waiting for another opportunity to wear them.

This weekend we headed out to the Indiana State Fair--with free tickets I won from two great Indiana farm bloggers. While Husband and the boys stuck around the hog barn to watch the show (we decided not to bring any of our own pigs this time), Morgan and I ventured out to see the sights.

We were really excited to get some free ice cream, courtesy of this giant cow. There's nothing we like better than visiting the State Fair and hanging out with fake Holsteins.

Thank goodness this giant farmer couple was available to clean up after her. You can see the wife looks a little miffed that the husband is making her sleep in the barn, but you know those dairy people, they camp out. You should see the size of the crockpot she brought for their dinner.

All in all it was a great day of pink boot compliments, fake animal posing, real animal watching and pig farmer networking. It's great that this was Year of the Pig but next year, we want a giant pink boot.

County Fair - Win Some Tickets!

2010-08-22T20:30:00.000-04:00

In my role as Rural Life correspondent for DaytonMostMetro.com, I get to help promote one of downtown Dayton's oldest and most fun (my opinion) events.

Enter here to win a carload pass to the Montgomery County Fair, September 1-6.

Come see us. We'll be there all week. I'll be the one with three filthy children--and lots of ribbons.

They've Gone and Ruined Poop Day

2010-08-15T18:34:00.002-04:00

Political correctness has gone and ruined Poop Day. One of the earliest posts on this blog was about the annual Poop Day in our town--an event wherein farmers bring fecal samples (of their farm animals, of course) to the local grain elevator to be evaluated for parasites. It's the social event of the season around here.

You can imagine my disappointment when Husband received his invitation this week:

Parasite Evalution Clinic? BORING. We want our Poop Day back!

Can the event really be the same now that political correctness has run amok in our annual Poop Day festivities? Oh look, hamburgers and drinks will be provided--now THAT'S a Parasite Evaluation Clinic I can get behind. Maybe not behind.

'Round the Block: Straight talk from two women just like you who have been there and done that

2010-08-13T22:40:00.002-04:00

Bloggers Megan of Soy Boy Mama and Holly of Bringing Home the Bacon have survived growing up in the '80s, college, graduate school, married life, motherhood and the corporate jungle. They want you to know breastfeeding boobs are workin' boobs, but they won't be that way forever. (Although you might not recognize them at first ... without a baby attached ... and you'll have to look lower ... no, lower ... little lower ... there.)

Holly: Did I mention that I live in a farm house where the conditions, especially in the summer, are only two steps above Little House on the Prairie (indoor plumbing is step one, not having to sleep with a hat on is step two). My point is that it is HOT here and my computer is in a room with a giant window facing west. It is damn hot and yet I am blogging anyway. This is the level of dedication I have to this column and to my dear friend Megan.

While I wait for pa to finish the chores, I want to share with you some of the feedback we've been getting:
Love this idea and the 2 of you!
You two must write a book or get yourselves a newspaper column.
Hilarious. You could do a farm-oriented radio show similar to Click & Clack.

We better enjoy the accolades while we can, because there is no way to make people happy answering our newest reader question from a real, actual reader. Let the Mommy Wars begin!

Reader Question: So, I am a new Mommy and a working FT Mommy. What is your advice for me to stay balanced in both areas? (Oh and to not feel guilted by people for not staying at home)

Megan: I can't really provide advice on work-home balance. I left a corporate job and college-level teaching position three years ago to stay home with my three- and two-year-old boys. And I've never actually experienced the Mommy Wars. I've read about it and I've heard plenty of stay-at-home moms (SAHM) talk about how hard it is to be a full-time mom and how "women who work outside the home" think it's all snicker doodles, play dates and craft projects. The thing is, I've never actually heard a working mom say that. And I've never heard a SAHM say that a working mom doesn't love or care for her kids just because she works. Instead, I hear women using the mythical Mommy Wars as a catalyst to tell their own story -- to defend their circumstances or vent about the struggles they have in their lives.

I'd venture to say if a mom is the target of negative comments about the choices they've made -- for themselves, their children and their families -- it's less about the mom and more about the person making the judgment. To that I say, screw 'em. Don't waste a moment's thought on what they have to say. Your energy is best spent demonstrating every day to your kids that you are being the best person you can be -- whether that be by providing financial support to your family, excelling at something you love, and/or taking on the day-to-day tasks of home and family.

I can't wait to read what you have to say about all of this. Maybe I'm just sheltered and there really are Mommy Wars being fought in every cubicle, play group and weekend soccer game. Anyway, I know you'll be an excellent person to ask about work-home balance. I am always amazed at what you are able to accomplish after working all day. You and your husband are among my most favorite and respected parents I know.

Holly: When my first son was born, I stayed home with him as long as possible (the full FMLA 12 weeks, some without pay) and I enjoyed every minute. But one reason I enjoyed it so much is that I knew it was a temporary break and that I had a job to return to. I enjoyed it in the same way a vacation to the islands is enjoyable and you think you want to stay forever, but you find out quickly that living there all the time means giant bugs, mildew in your closets and $8 a gallon milk.

I'm glad I was honest enough with myself to know that being a working Mom, while tough, would be the best choice for me. My advice to you on staying balanced is to be fully present in the role you're in at the moment. So when you get home from work spend a few moments with your baby--who, no doubt, will be wiggling all over in excitement to see you. Those were some of the best moments of the day with my babies.

When you are at work--be at work. Besides lining up good childcare, line up a back-up plan for sick days and then come up with a contingency plan beyond that. If you need to work late or come in early, have a plan for that too that you can activate with a quick phone call. The time and expense you may to incur to make these plans will be well worth it. Even if your employer is very family-friendly, being able to pitch in on short notice is always respected.

As for people who may try to "guilt" you about not staying home with your kids. I think every working Mom feels that. Fortunately, we live in a more enlightened time when working Moms are the norm. I feel for the Moms of the 80s who had to deal with school conferences scheduled during the day, dance practices at four in the afternoon, and company policies that forced women to fake illnesses themselves to stay home with sick kids.

Megan has a point that the Mommy Wars are largely self-induced by working Moms who are secretly jealous of SAH Moms spending afternoons as the community pool--not actually for the time they spend with children but for the perceived easiness of their lives. BUT also SAH Moms who are secretly jealous of working Moms with their non-yoga pants wardrobes, business trips, including hotel rooms where they SLEEP ALL NIGHT, and the income they have.

If you think historically, isn't it interesting how staying home with the children was something poor women did (have you looked at the plot of Mary Poppins?) versus now when staying home with the children and raising them yourself (home schooling if you really want a place in Mommy heaven), is for families who can afford it.

Women haven't changed but somehow society has. Some of us will find our life's fulfillment from a career and family, while others will see 365 days of raising their children as just another wonderful day at the beach.

Megan: Hey, I love my yoga pants. What you forgot to mention was my envy of your daily access to adults and grown-up conversations. Of course that's why I do this blogging thing. Reader comments quench my thirst for adult interaction, so please, Holly might not need the feedback, but I do. Be my cool, tall glass of water and leave a comment or question below for us to address in a future column.

Don't forget to read our previous Round the Block columns on Soy Boy Mama, plus here and here.

State Fair 101

2010-08-11T22:13:00.000-04:00

I mentioned recently that we were heading out to the Ohio State Fair and many of you wished us well. This year I tried to take some photos of the work that goes into a state fair visit, because for us, there's very little eating of cotton candy (although last year we did have some fun milking a fake cow).

When we arrive at the fair, we back the trailer into the barn to unload the pigs. This involves Husband skillfully backing the trailer and me not helping at all, unless you count when I let the truck hit a guard rail.

Husband enters the trailer and opens each pen to unload the pigs one by one directly from the trailer into their pen, which has already been bedded with wood chips (like their cousins the guinea pig).

After the pigs are unloaded we get the rest of our gear and stow in an empty pen. I am a veteran farm wife and so I know that everything needs to be about six inches from the edge of the gate in case a pig with a long nose gets put in the next pen.

After unloading, the kids and I usually need a break but Husband keeps working hard, washing each pig in a special washing pen, almost like a pig shower stall.

Once the pigs are washed, we can number them. The numbers are for easy identification during the show and sale (auction) that follow. Husband uses metal numbers on sticks dipped in paint to add the right digits. Green for the white pigs, yellow for the black ones.

During the show, Husband is intense. I learned a long time ago that show time is no time for goofing off. This year, Husband and Ryan got to show against each other. I was able to capture this touching moment!

As serious business as our trips to the state fair always are--this is Husband's equivalent of a trade show--we girls do take time to steal away for some shopping. Doesn't every farm girl need pink boots?

Dayton's Hottest Armpits

2010-08-06T22:38:00.000-04:00

My latest contribution to Dayton Most Metro. I confess to being a very hot environmentalist.

Farm Wife Tips: Packing for the Pig Barn

2010-07-30T22:34:00.000-04:00

My friend and fellow blogger, SoyBoyMama, is running a weekly series of Tuesday tidbits where she shares great ideas, like a simple way to keep kids puzzles from getting mixed together. Since I'm forever stealing her memes, I have a few tips to share too. Farm wife style.

Tomorrow we are heading out to the Ohio State Fair for three days of pig showing. As a veteran fairgoer and mother, I have a few tricks up my sleeve to ensure a fun and safe trip.

First, you never know what you'll encounter at the fair. Actually, you do: dust, messy food, sweat and manure. I carefully choose the bag I bring to the fair. It needs to be able to withstand spilled water (or pig pee if you're really unlucky) and wipe down easily if it gets dirty.

I use this large bag I was fortunate enough to get for free a few years ago. It has survived several fairs and even a few nibbles from the pigs.

Inside I pack a head-to-toe replacement set of clothes for each member of the family. Trust me. When your four-year-old gets so exhausted that he pees himself in the barn, you'll be glad to have not only the underwear, but the socks. I bring a complete change of clothing for myself. Every Mom knows from experience that kids rarely get messy without sharing a little of the filth with Mom.

I pack each person's clothing in a Ziploc bag. First, it helps keep the clean clothes safe from the many perils of the pig barn. Second, in-barn clothes changes are usually happening in an emergency situation. It's great to be able to find the whole outfit quickly and easily. Third, the plastic bag can be a safe storage place for the icky dirty clothes.

Last year we ordered at set of tattoos with Husband's cell phone number on them from SafetyTat. These are a GREAT way to keep kids safe, especially at a place as big as the State Fair. We always keep an eye on the kids, but feel better knowing that if the little ones wander off, there is an easy way for the authorities to contact us. [I am not affiliated with SafetyTat. I just like their product.]

One last tip for all visitors to the fair. Unless you like the feeling of excrement between your toes--leave the flip flops at home!

Out My Kitchen Window

2010-07-25T21:49:00.000-04:00

What do you see out your kitchen window?

Last week I looked out my window to find three calves (plural of baby cow) eating the weeds from my flower bed. As you can see, Morgan and I sprang into action--to ensure the scene was documented for this blog.

I never know what I'm going to see out my kitchen window. But I know this.... it will NEVER be someone else's kitchen window.

Sign of the Farmpocalypse

2010-07-21T19:20:00.012-04:00

Every issue of Sports Illustrated has a brief quote titled Sign of the Apocolypse, a humorous but true sports news item that makes you wonder--have we gone too far? In that spirit, I present another installment of Sign of the Farmpocalypse, because I just can't make this stuff up.

The Midwest Dairy Association has created a new Facebook app that allows you to create your own "Butter Cow" display, with you as the star.

“‘Round the Block” offends, er, I mean, offers perspective to a preacher

2010-07-14T20:48:00.000-04:00

Friend and fellow blogger Megan at SoyBoyMama has been keeping me on task this week with a new Round the Block posting hosted over on her site. Go check it out! Don't forget to read our previous Round the Block columns here and here.

Rainbow Connection

2010-07-11T22:37:00.000-04:00

Am I alone in this or am I correct that every choir in the 80s was obligated to own the sheet music to Rainbow Connection?

When I saw this beautiful rainbow over the corn field last week, I immediately heard the opening bars to the Muppet Movie and saw Kermit sitting in his swamp. Of course, my pop culture challenged and musically agnostic Husband knew nothing of it.

Along with E.T., Back to the Future, Ghost Busters and Goonies, I'm adding the Muppet Movie to the list of movies I want my kids to see. If nothing else, they'll know what I'm talking about when I say phone home and who ya gonna call. Maybe next rainbow, we'll sing it together: Someday we'll find it, the rainbow connection, the lovers, the dreamers and me.

'Round the Block: Straight talk from two women just like you who have been there and done that.

2010-07-05T21:03:00.000-04:00

Bloggers Megan of Soy Boy Mama and Holly of Bringing Home the Bacon have survived growing up in the '80s, college, graduate school, married life, motherhood and the corporate jungle. They know from experience that the best way to (surprise!) birth children 18 months apart is to mock your friend who had kids 20 months apart. Karma is a b*tch.

Holly: Our first column was such a huge success that we already have questions coming in. One, from a preacher looking for help on his sermon (I'm not joking about that) and another on Megan's site, oddly enough, wanting to get the definitions of some farm terms. Should we tackle them?

Megan: Bring it. Since the request -- "I am extremely intrigued and just dying to know the difference between a blue butt and popper. Please explain." -- was submitted on my site and since I have actually walked the streets of Amsterdam's Red Light District, I'll answer that one first. The difference between a blue butt and a popper is 10 euro and one extra round of antibiotics. No? Oh. Maybe you should answer that one, Holly.

Holly: Several years ago I went to a pig show in Oklahoma with my husband. I wanted to explore the little town while he was in the barn but our only vehicle was the full-size pick-up truck, so I went antiquing in Duncan with a little blue butt pig in the popper in the back of the truck.

A popper is a bottomless aluminum box that farmers put in the bed of their pick-ups to haul pigs. One farmer we knew learned the hard way that it is important to strap down your popper (insert dirty joke from Megan here); he was cruising down the interstate, heard a bang and saw his popper flying over the median and a very surprised looking pig standing in the back of the truck.

A blue butt is a "bi-racial" (crossbred is the proper term) pig, the product of a white (Yorkshire) mother and a black (Hampshire) father. Or, it can go the other way, like that couple on The Jeffersons. Blue butt pigs have a "blue" or dark roan coloring on their backside. The pigs are prized for their muscling and leanness and are commonly used as show pigs at county and state fairs.

Megan: So our takeaway here is always strap down your popper or risk losing your blue butt. Words to live by, people.

That's probably enough learnin' for one day. Next week's column will answer the preacher's question: Is it always better to look forward .. to never look back? (And dear reverend, I hope I didn't offend with my prostitution reference. Jesus did love the prostitutes. Luke 7:36-50.)

Wanna join us? We are looking for questions to answer. If you need advice, we'll dish some out but we also can just lend our views to the issues of the day, so feel free to just ask us. As Megan so eloquently put it: we are not experts in anything but we do a lot of stuff and love the variety. Participate in the comments anonymously or with your name and a link to your own blog.

I Have Wasted My Last Nickel on Swim Lessons

2010-07-01T19:04:00.005-04:00

My children will never be lifeguards. Like their parents and grandparents before them, my children are destined not to be swimmers.

How bad is their swimming genealogy? My mother graduated from college only because her counselor found a way to waive what was at that time a mandatory swimming credit. Likewise, my father-in-law barely made it through college without drowning in the university pool. Interesting side note: He went to Ohio State, which didn't allow clothing in the pool--so yes, he had to pass his all-male swimming class in the nude. (I am NOT making this up; these requirements still exist.)

I have tried to help my children become real swimmers. As a kid I spent a LOT of time at the lake and developed some basic swimming skills but don't have any fancy strokes to share. Unfortunately, their father sinks like a stone, so I should have known our kids were not destined to take on Michael Phelps.

Over the past few years I have tried a number of swimming lessons at a number of pools. The first time I took Ryan to swimming lessons, he was one-year-old (you do ambitious things like that for your first kid). He was within the age range for the class BUT the teenage instructors didn't seem to realize they were dealing with a baby. The very first lesson they said now we're going to the deep end. I asked why. The kid responded well, they need to get used to the deep end for when they go off the diving board. MY SON IS 12 MONTHS OLD. I went back to the office, got my money back and never went there again.

The second time was at a different pool. The instructor seemed more mature, the class small, but she had some book she followed for the lessons, which had her teaching my kid who could barely put his face in the water a complicated backstroke. Waste. Of. Time.

I could go on about the shivering four-year-olds crying at the edge of the pool, the class of 13,000 kids taught by two guys younger than my socks.... It's been a nightmare. So I am declaring now--and let the PC mommy armies advance--that we are not doing anymore swim lessons.

I want my children to be safe around water and I want them to develop basic dog paddling but the 1500 meters Butterfly is not in our future.

Guy Reads: 80s Haircut Edition

2010-06-30T19:43:00.002-04:00

It's time for another installment of Guy Reads, the exciting feature where I share news items that Guy, my nickname for my husband, should glance at after he gets done with the sports pages. Technically, this is a Holly Reads column since Guy knew all about this story.

Husband is a tad shy and modest, so he was reluctant to share this article with me (maybe because I was planning to blog it and mock his haircut). But as you can see, back in 1988 he was named an excellent young hog farmer, following in "A Tradition of Excellence."

Click on the image to read the full text.

We came upon this ancient text while working with another excellent young hog farmer, our son Ryan, who was working on a poster for a hog show in Louisville about the history of the Hampshire breed.

Husband was a sophomore in college when this was written (I was in the 8th grade, HA), but I believe our son will be ready for his write-up by the time he's a sophomore in high school. I can only hope his haircut stands the test of time a little better.

'Round the Block: Straight talk from two women just like you who have been there and done that.

2010-06-22T22:41:00.003-04:00

Bloggers Megan of Soy Boy Mama and Holly of Bringing Home the Bacon have survived growing up in the '80s, college, graduate school, married life, motherhood and the corporate jungle. They want to warn you that calls from the corporate lactation room may show up on caller ID as "Lactation Room."

Holly: Ok. So this is our new column and it's going to straddle our two blogs. How should we start? Introduce ourselves? Take a question from the audience?

Megan: cricket ... ::blink:blink:: ... cricket ... cricket ... Um, Holly, can I talk to you in private?

Holly: Listen, Megan, you agreed to do this. Don't go chickening out on me now. It's going to work. We can take a topic and discuss or take a question from our readership. Ok, so I may have to make up the first question myself but just think of it as a conversation starter.
I'm going to kick things off by introducing Megan. A fabulous writer who shares slices of her life on her blog, Soy Boy Mama, Megan is on hiatus from her life as a corporate communications guru. She is currently raising two classically suburban boys who know Ikea and Costco better than their own play room. She is married to a WONDERFUL man who was willing to give up his cat to spend a hairball-free life with her.

Megan: Well, that wasn't very private. BTW, can I use "declared a 'corporate communications guru' by top Web site" on my resume´? I'd also like to go on record as saying it took THREE years to send that cat packing. That's more than 1,000 days of sticky cat hair, clumped kitty litter and butt-hole licking, my dear, so don't make him out to be too wonderful in that context. My turn. I have the pleasure of introducing Holly, an amazing woman who juggles life on a hog farm with her husband and three children with her life in corporate America as a social media expert. You can read of her adventures on her aptly named blog Bringing Home the Bacon. The best way to describe Holly is to say she's like a Ho-Ho. On the outside she has this smooth chocolate exterior that seems so serious. Peel that waxy coating though and you'll find some hilariously twisted shit -- some of it dense and dark, some of it white and fluffy, all of it good.

Holly: Thanks for that kind and also delicious introduction. Now, on to our reader question. Note: In today's performance, the part of Reader Question will be played by Made Up Question.

Reader Question: What kind of bloggers are you? Mommy bloggers? Food bloggers? Coupon bloggers? Also, how did you come up with this column and what kind of questions do you want readers to submit?

Megan: I chuckled when I read this was the first question. Holly, do you remember the first time we met? We were both corporate communications new hires at a large corporation. During our first conversation, you asked me, "So, what's your area of expertise?" I thought: "Damn. She's serious. Expertise? What the hell is she talking about? Aside from sleeping and bitchin', I have no expertise. I can do a lot of stuff and I love the variety -- a Jill of All Trades, if you will -- but expert? HA!"

Here we are again; and, I have the same answer. I'm a Jill of All Blogs (a JAB?). I love to tell stories. You'll find stuff about my two boys; being a SAHM; and my life before marriage and children. I love juicy nuggets, so I'll share interesting or useful tidbits I stumble on. I love goofy ideas. Once, every day for an entire month, I posted a photo and story about what the boys stashed in the compartment of their ride-on toy car. My eldest has a dairy allergy (thus the blog title), so I have The Soy Pages section that focuses on dairy-free recipes, products, policies and encounters. I love to take pictures and edit videos and I love to make people laugh. I'm a whore for a hearty laugh. So, I guess to answer the question, "What kind of a blogger am I?" I'm A Blogger Who Loves. Some say too much. Pain be damned. I do it for the readers.

Holly -- she's always thinkin' -- she came up with the idea for the column, so I'll defer to the Column Expert (couldn't resist) to answer the last two questions for us, as well as talk about her blog.

Holly: Megan is never "off." I would guess even her grocery list is a good read. Her private e-mails to me are just as crisp and full of wit (with a pinch of sarcasm) as her blog posts. Our personal exchanges are so funny that I started thinking that we should share the good writing that comes from the give and take of our relationship. I had seen this two-person column format before with an advice column and thought it would be fun content for our two blogs.

As far as my own blog... well, some people find it by Googling "bacon cough," "year old pee," and "how to bring a skunk back to life." Um, I really AM happy to be a resource for that insane person who is trying to resuscitate a skunk. Anyway, while I have dabbled in Mommy Blogging, consume plenty of food and always love a coupon, my blog actually straddles the sometimes equally stinky worlds of agriculture and corporate life.. My blog is not really for farmers, which works out well since 98 percent of the people in this nation don't know a blue butt from a popper.

Wanna join us? We are looking for questions to answer. If you need advice, we'll dish some out but we also can just lend our views to the issues of the day, so feel free to just ask us. As Megan so eloquently put it: we are not experts in anything but we do a lot of stuff and love the variety. Participate in the comments anonymously or with your name and a link to your own blog.

A Friendly Letter on Fathers Day

2010-06-20T19:17:00.000-04:00

Ryan had a school assignment to write a letter to a friend or relative about what they want to be when they grow up. The teacher shared this letter with my mother-in-law (also a teacher) who kindly intercepted it to be presented today as a Father's Day tribute.

A sweet tribute to the man who has taught him everthing he needs to know in life--from his friend, Ryan M.

Sign of the Farmpocalypse

2010-06-09T19:04:00.000-04:00

Every issue of Sports Illustrated has a brief quote titled Sign of the Apocolypse, a humorous but true sports news item that makes you wonder--have we gone too far? In that spirit, I present another installment of Sign of the Farmpocalypse, because I just can't make this stuff up.

The souvenir stand at the 2010 World Pork Expo in Iowa sells commemorative thongs.

PR Idea of the Week

2010-06-08T20:42:00.000-04:00

OK. It's been more than a week since I've published any PR Idea of the Week columns but inspiration just struck and I've had fun tracking down some links I want to share here.

I recently cleaned out 15 years worth of corporate files and in a folder of career-related gems I found this old column from Gene Weingarten of the Washington Post from back in October of 2000. Read the full article here, I'll wait. The key quote:

I phoned 15 PR people, nine of whom leaped at the chance to mortify themselves in print in return for a few meager lines of positive ink for their clients. (I chose only the most embarrassing).

For the past 10 years, PR people have been debating whether this article should have happened, whether they themselves would have taken Weingarten up on the offer, and how everyone else's jargon-laden press releases contribute to the overall reputation of flacks.

Re-reading this article brought back memories of a simpler time--the Internet was the new frontier and e-mail its stagecoach. Think of the tweets and Facebook backlash these PR people and the journalist would have been under.

And I realized that I have actually met one of the profiled flacks recently (not disclosing which one).

I Googled around, trying to see if this article stayed with these PR people over 10 years. All but one still have Weingarten's article on the first page of their results, which means everyone who searches for Alicia Levine will know that she once got a standing ovation for accidentally appearing naked from the waist down at a basketball game.

Apparently, this hasn't hurt her PR career. In fact, ever the spinmeister, she has this to say on her LinkedIn profile about her work on behalf of her client: Applied innovative methods to secure additional MuseumShop.com premium coverage with The Washington Post Magazine.

Innovative methods, indeed. There's nothing like getting the Washington Post to say your client represents the pinnacle of human achievement.

Your Duties There?

2010-05-25T23:25:00.003-04:00

It's springtime on the farm. Time for pig sales, playing in puddles and for me to flex my vocal chords for another season of screaming at my kids: SHUT THE DOOR! SHUT THE DOOOOOOR!

I was thinking the other day that it would be easier if I just stationed myself by the door. And it made me remember my high school days as volunteer waitress at the annual springtime FFA banquet. In case you haven't had the opportunity to participate in a formal FFA opening ceremony, let me explain that it begins with each officer located in different places, with the vice president calling role. Each officer reports in that they are stationed by the door (sentinel), by the flag (reporter), by the ear of corn (secretary), etc. and the symbolic reasons why.

So with utmost respect for FFA traditions, let me adapt this meeting format for a new era in my life. At this time I would like to call to order the Desperate Farm Wives Club of America. Let us call the role:

Vice President: Playtime Mom
Playtime Mom: I am stationed by the door
Vice President: Your duties there?
Playtime Mom: Through this door pass many muddy boots, bugs and the occasional non-house-trained farm dog. It is my duty to stem the inbound flow of things that have been in the barn, plus ensure that all gathered flowering weeds are placed in crystal vases and boxed reptiles are released before dark.

Vice President: Mealtime Mom
Mealtime Mom: Stationed by the fridge
Vice President: Your duties there?
Mealtime Mom: The fridge is the symbol of healthy, well-planned family meals, which is why we keep one in the kitchen--to remind us of that unrealized ideal. I hand out popsicles, apply peanut butter to crackers and encourage the consumption of apple slices.

Vice President: Activities Mom
Activities Mom: Stationed by the mini-van
Vice President: Your duties there?
Activities Mom: I transport the farmer's children to their many activities: baseball, ballet, swine boot camp, soccer, etc. The mini-van stays mud-splashed from pot-hole filled gravel farm lanes and smells like Tractor Supply, all in accordance with the by-laws of the Desperate Farm Wives Club of America.

Vice President: Madam President, all officers are at their appointed stations.

President: Where did all these kids come from? HEY, GET YOUR MUDDY BOOTS ON THE RUG! WATCH IT--you are dripping popsicle on your sister! I TOLD YOU not to leave your cleats in the barn!

All Present: GO OUTSIDE AND FIND YOUR FATHER!

Family (Farm) Planning

2010-05-04T21:42:00.000-04:00

In my latest post on Dayton Most Metro I marvel at Husband's ability to plan his pig growth strategy months ahead, while unable to think 20 minutes into the future at home.

Dayton Moms Escape the Jungle

2010-05-01T18:08:00.001-04:00

Some of Dayton's coolest bloggers have put together a terrific event for this week--an opportunity for Moms to relax with free food, great company, and awesome swag bags from a great group of sponsors.

Shhhh, don't tell anyone but they accidentally included ME on the list of cool bloggers to invite. And before they realize what they've done, I'm going to invite YOU to come too!

Registration is FREE! Bloggers, tweeters, facebookers and just regular Moms who need a break are all welcome! Join us Thursday, May 6 at 6:30 p.m.

Au Revoir

2010-04-26T22:28:00.000-04:00

The pig sale is over and Claude' is off on his national pig grooming tour but he was kind enough to leave behind his friendly but much less flamboyant half-cousin, Bob.

Bob is a big hit with the kids and really knows his way around a pig farm.

Au revoir, Claude'. Whenever our ears catch the gentle hum of livestock clippers or we set our eyes on a freshly groomed pig--we'll think of you.

The Mysterious Claude'

2010-04-23T23:05:00.000-04:00

National pig-clipping man of mystery, Claude', is greatly enjoying the fame and fortune that come from being featured on this blog (maybe not too much fortune, actually).

It will soon be time to say goodbye to our dear friend as he leaves us to impart his swine grooming knowledge elsewhere. Husband would not have made it through the week without the help and guidance of Claude'. We only hope we can book him for next year.

Ladies, I promise I will do my best to capture Claude' in action at our pig sale, however, you need to know that he is happily married to a lovely woman who bakes blue-ribbon winning pineapple upside down cake. You don't stand a chance.

Weekend Plans Cut Short

2010-04-18T20:20:00.002-04:00

I haven't been at my current job long enough yet, apparently, because people still make the mistake of asking me what are you doing this weekend? I say that it is a mistake to ask me about my weekend plans because that question is supposed to be followed with an ordinary answer like going to see a movie or yardwork.

But when you ask me about my weekend plans, you're likely to get an answer like this: well, we'll be pretty busy getting ready for our pig auction. Husband has to give haircuts to 100+ pigs.

Yes, you read that right. Pigs get haircuts. Husband is grooming them for the pig auction (we call it a sale) that we are having on Saturday. In the market for a pig? Head over here.

Pigs have short, coarse hair that in days of old was used to make brushes (and maybe still today). Husband and other pig farmers clip the hair of the pigs shorter to make them look more appealing to potential buyers, who in this case are 4-H kids and parents looking for a hog to take to the county or state fairs.

What are the steps in cutting a pig's hair? And do you have photos? I thought you'd never ask.

The first step in any animal grooming project is corralling the animal to be groomed. In this case, Husband uses our farm trailer to transport a litter of pigs (brother and sister pigs) to the barn beauty parlor. Ryan, Justin and Morgan were along for the ride, along with nationally renowned pig clipper, Claude', whose secret identity we must preserve lest he be stolen from us by our swine grooming competiton. (Claude' is not his real name; his credentials may have been exaggerated.)

The pigs are then snared at the nose to keep them from running off and then Husband uses animal grooming clippers to clip all the hair on the pig's body. The pigs, surprisingly, are not keen to have their normal routine of pooping, chewing on the fence, eating, sleeping, and more pooping disturbed. While the haircut does not harm them, they do not like the process and tend to squeal.

Proving again that our children have very different milestones than most kids, today was a big day for Ryan as he clipped his very first pig.

Claude' was kind enough to guide him through the process while Husband entertained some potential buyers from out of state. Justin maintained a supervisory role while Morgan hid in the house to avoid the squealing.

Husband and Claude' clipped about 35 pigs this weekend, only 75 more to go! Fortunately, we have the services of Claude' all week. He and Husband will get all the pigs groomed in time for our sale, I'm sure.

Stay tuned for next weekend's adventures, which include bathing 100+ pigs (Husband and boys) clerking a pig auction with my in-laws (me), and closing down Frisch's in Eaton (all).

Sign of the Farmpocalypse

2010-04-16T20:26:00.000-04:00

Farming is a Business, Darn It

2010-04-13T22:56:00.001-04:00

My latest post is up on Dayton Most Metro, wherein I preach to urbanites about how farmers face the same issues as every small business.

Following up on Poop Day was tougher than expected.

Sign of the Farmpocalypse

2010-03-31T21:16:00.001-04:00

Two Years of This

2010-03-23T17:45:00.002-04:00

I can't believe it's been two years since I sat down during a blizzard to start this blog. On my first blogiversary I thanked my blogging muse, my dear, sweet Husband. After two years of this, he really deserves a medal.

This year, I'd also like to thank all my loyal readers who read this blog on their lunch hour--even though I sometimes post things that cause Diet Coke to shoot out their noses. (Ok, maybe that only happened to one reader.)

I'd also like to thank all my lurkers. I'd thank you by name but then what fun would that be. You wouldn't get to pretend you don't read the blog; I wouldn't get to post things to get your goat that you can't say anything about since you offiicially don't read the blog. It's complicated but entertaining.

This year I took on a few new blogging challenges. I added the Dayton Media on Twitter listing, which has been quite popular. I also became a guest poster at Dayton Most Metro and tried my hand at Mommy Blogging.

Thanks to my Facebook friends and Twitter pals who I lure over here periodically, my Aunt and Uncle-in-law in New York who always praise my writing, and my co-workers who tell everyone I have a blog about pig sex.

Leverage Two Synergies and Call Me in the Morning

2010-03-21T11:55:00.001-04:00

Last week I got a text from my good friend and former corporate colleague, M, who is now a stay-at-home-Mom (SAHM). M had just dropped off her oldest for two hours of pre-school; she was sitting in her minivan in the Starbucks drive-thru lane when she realized she was slipping into SAHM-hood, perhaps losing her corporate edge.

Racing to the elevators on my way to a meeting, I thoughtfully texted back, You are a lost cause. I was joking--just because M doesn't have a corporate paycheck doesn't mean she isn't the same smart, savvy corporate player she always was.

But I can understand her concern about losing her corporate mindset in a world filled with Yo Gabba Gabba. So I have helpfully developed a list of things that SAHM's like M and other women who find themselves away from the corporate grind for a while can do at home to stay in the zone corporate-wise.

Create a corporate atmosphere - It's probably not possible to cover your walls in grey cubicle fabric, but there are a few inexpensive ways to create a more corporate atmosphere in the home

Ask your neighbors for some random leftovers. Put them in the back of the fridge and let the lovely aromas instantly transform your kitchen into a corporate break room. Bonus points for posting a passive aggressive note above the garbage disposal switch. Oh, and don't forget to burn some popcorn in the microwave once a week, at least.
Create a cumbersome barrier to your bathroom. Lock the door and tie the key to a giant block of wood or maybe walk through three or four rooms of the house each time before you get to the door.
Get a lot of fake, green leafy plants. Or if budget permits, get a lot of real plants and hire a lady with a cart to come through and water them. Bonus points for posting Don't water me signs on each pot.

Simulate corporate interactions - It's the people that are a company's most important asset, right? Do what you can to recreate the special feeling of belonging to a corporate workforce.

Type up a detailed report of everything you did this week--then e-mail it to someone in another city who you have only talked to on the phone but never met. Bonus points for using Excel.
Instead of talking to the people you see every day, like your neighbor or even husband, send them lots of detailed e-mails.
Stop driving all over town for PTA or neighborhood association meetings. Make every meeting a conference call. Bonus points for scheduling them back to back.

Enjoy an expense account - Recreate that feeling of satisfaction you felt in spending the corporate budget like it was your own money. Except now it really is your own money.

Hire an agency to do something you used to do (e.g. housework, childcare, cooking, landscaping). Announce that you will be doing the strategic thinking while they act as your hands and feet. Fire them in six months when you get sticker shock from the invoice.
Go on a boondoggle with one of your biggest vendors. Note: Call this by the corporate name of User Conference rather than the SAHM term: BlogHer.

So you see, it is possible for SAHM's who want to re-enter the workforce eventually or women who are currently looking for a job to keep their head in the game. I guarantee that these tips are just what the doctor ordered to keep you prepared for corporate life. If they don't, you can always leverage two synergies and call me in the morning.

Guy Reads: Senior Clip Service Edition

2010-03-15T23:36:00.002-04:00

Corporations and celebrities hire clipping services (or at least they did before the Internet) to track their media coverage and send them relevant articles from the newspaper, however, if you live in small town America or are the offspring of someone who lives in small town America, you have a built-in clipping service. There are armies of little old church-going ladies who, if they know you or anyone in your family tree, will clip news articles about you and put them in envelopes in the hopes they run into you at church or their next social outing/funeral.

Last weekend at church a woman gave us this clipping from the Dayton Journal Herald from February of 1952. Her husband was in the the war (Korean?) and she would mail him clips of local people to read. So this clip is not only 50+ years old, it's been to Korea and back (probably) and it's about Husband's grandfather.

Isn't it quaint that the paper gives nearly a half page (OMG, newspapers have shrunk in 50 years) to writing about an old famer and his herd dog. I never got to spend time with my grandfather-in-law, so I do appreciate the opportunity to read this article and share a little bit about Great-GrandDad with my children.

Will I be running around in 30 years, zapping old blog posts into young people's finger-tip sized electronic gadgets? For the sake of my grandchildren, I hope so.

Dayton Media on Twitter

2010-03-12T21:54:00.003-05:00

Cleaning Up After the Octo-Farmer

2010-02-22T23:44:00.000-05:00

My friend and fellow blogger is running the cutest posts for February on the toys and treasures that her sons stash in their ride-on car.

I thought that I could do the farm version and share the nasty things that Husband likes to store in the kitchen or even in the bathroom that most people wouldn't allow in their garage.

How many hands does Husband have? Apparently all eight of these wet, bloody, poopy gloves need to be on the kitchen floor to ensure a thorough soaking of newsprint into the carpeting. Note, that I, no fool of a farm wife, have sought to counter-act his efforts by installing the darkest most speckled carpet ever made.

Stay tuned to future posts for the crisper full of refridgerated pig medicine and the dryer vent of straw. Cute!

Sign of the Farmpocalypse

2010-02-14T20:53:00.003-05:00

Every issue of Sports Illustrated has a brief quote titled Sign of the Apocolypse, a humorous but true sports news item that makes you wonder--have we gone too far? In that spirit, I present the first installment of Sign of the Farmpocalypse, because I just can't make this stuff up.

I couldn't see because there was pig milk in my eye.

- Husband desribing his nightime duties as midwife to our sows (mother pigs) and how he got a teat-ful in the face when he was checking to see if the sow was ready to nurse pigs.

Dayton Gets Schooled on Ag

2010-02-08T19:36:00.000-05:00

Ahh, Poop Day, God's gift to farm wife bloggers. My latest submission to Dayton's online hub, Dayton Most Metro, not only shares important Poop Day advice but provides definitions of key agricultural terms.

Would you click if the headline was Key Agricultural Terms. I didn't think so.

Winter Wonder Farm

2010-02-06T21:08:00.002-05:00

Yesterday we got eight inches of snow. My driveway is not scraped; my back porch remains icy. Here on the farm, all the shoveling and snow removal is focused on the livestock. Snowed-in farm wives, minivans and sidewalks are not a priority.

A self-proclaimed fair weather farmer, I ventured out today with Morgan, sacrificing my cozy sweatpanted existance to bring you a winter weather farm report. I even caught the farmer out hamming it up (get it!).

By the time I got out there, the shoveling was done and feeding time had begun. These hungry sows (mama pigs) were glad to have a cleaned off spot in their pen to eat dinner.

Right now we are in baby pig season at the farm. I know it seems like a better idea to have babies in the spring, but since we will be selling the majority of the pigs to 4-H'ers for the county fair and to other farmers as breeding stock, we want them mature (250-280 pounds) by August/September for fair season.

Can you believe this sweet little guy will be a big hog in six months?

Or these? I love the little Herefords. Thanks to Husband's hard work, they can come out of the little house they share with their mother and not get buried in snow.

Fortunately, this little one and her brothers love to shovel snow. If I can just get them strong enough to put the snow blade on the John Deere, we'll be all set.

Spring Training 2010

2010-02-02T18:52:00.001-05:00

This weekend was baseball / t-ball sign-ups for our home town league. Justin couldn't wait to get signed up for his second year of t-ball with Daddy signing up to be head coach.

Serving as head coach of a t-ball team is a little like being assigned to herd cats. Thankfully Husband has the patience of an angel.

This patience was tested later this weekend when Justin insisted on going outside in freezing temperatures to take batting practice.

A Few of My Favorite Blogs

2010-01-31T15:14:00.004-05:00

It's been nearly two years since I sat down at the computer during a blizzard and created this blog. A college professor told me once that the the best way to improve my PR writing skills was to read good writers and it seems that the same would go for blogging. I have become a fan of a number of good blogs and Web sites but here I share a few of my favorites and how they've helped shape this site.

There are two national sites I love that are just too important to ignore but I also admire local bloggers who aren't as famous but still give me inspiration.

Dooce

Ok, so maybe not the most original choice but I, like many others, find Heather Armstrong's style and ability to find self-deprecating humor in everyday life very entertaining.
Why I love this blog: It's a peek into another Mom's life that is very irreverent. Her frankness is refreshing and her writing is superb.
What I learn from this blog: Headline writing is a lost art. Use creative phrases to draw people in.
Does she know I exist: No
Why I am insanely jealous: Do I need more than two best-selling books and an estimated advertising income of $40,000 A MONTH?

The Pioneer Woman

In four years Ree Drummond took her blog from obscurity to national awards to a 23-state cookbook tour. What's not to admire. Why I love this blog: The blog is about a woman who can see rural life with an outsider's eye. She's married to a handsome farmer and has a bunch of very active children who love to be outside. Aside from her gorgeous red hair and mastery of the kitchen, we could be twins (ha!).

What I learn from this blog: It's all about the pictures. Show the 98% of people who are not involved in agriculture what goes on behind the scenes.

Does she know I exist: Well, we corresponded once when her site broke my computer. She was very kind in helping me get things fixed. I have not yet been invited to The Lodge.
Why I am insanely jealous: Doesn't every woman want to completely redesign a separate guest home on their property. I want her sense of style (and her budget).

Mommin' It Up

Dayton area mommy bloggers Jenny and Emily are everywhere. They tweet, they blog, they review products and they travel to all the major blogging conferences.

Why I love this blog: Jenny and Emily are down to earth and fun. The writing on the site is warm and friendly but no-nonsense. They joke about being "kind of a big deal." And they are.
What I learn from this blog: Don't knock mommy blogging until you've tried it. There are people out there who want your help to connect their brand with an audience.
Do they know I exist: YES. I have met both Emily and Jenny and find both to be just as friendly and open as they come across on their site.

Why I am insanely jealous: They just announced that they both are getting brand new appliances from Frigidaire.

Soy Boy Mama

She'll probably laugh when she sees I've put her on the same list as Dooce and Pioneer Woman, but Soy Boy Mama is an important influence on my blogging.
Why I love this blog: Soy Boy Mama posts slices of life that make me laugh out loud. She has a unique style of writing and a dry wit that I love.
What I learn from this blog: Don't wait until you have the perfect 300-word post in mind before blogging. Throw it out there and have fun. UPDATE: Soy Boy Mama is pretty darn near perfect. I only meant that I tend to want to create essays instead of blog posts.
Does she know I exist: YES. She's the one who told me I needed to start a blog.
Why I am insanely jealous: She managed to post every day in November as part of National Blog Post Month and she gets comments on almost every post.

Thanks to these talented bloggers for serving as my inspiration.

Gettin' Funky with Soft Scrub

2010-01-25T22:42:00.001-05:00

When I was making the case that I should be included in the ultra-exclusive (only 200 bloggers picked!) Soft Scrub Club Captain list, I told them that I lived on a farm and things get messy here.

I didn't want to scare them or I would have confessed that I have to wipe out the inside of my washer every week. Yes, you read that right. I have to clean inside my clothes washer or else farm funk will build up inside the lid. You don't even want to know what kinds of things are on the clothes to cause this.

Right before my free (disclosure of product gratis) sample bottle arrived, the pipes in our kitchen froze. Not only did our old pipes freeze, our drain froze too and water and gunk began building up in the garbage disposal. I thought it would be a good idea to turn it on, which caused the funk of 40,000 years to gurgle up into the other drain. Delicious.

Fortunately, I had a full bottle of Soft Scrub and a healthy skepticism of their claims that this bottle works upside down. So I sprayed and I foamed and I tried to hold the bottle in a position in which it wouldn't work. It always worked. And the sink got clean. Very clean.

Thanks to Soft Scrub and its easy-to-use, nice-smelling product a miracle happened at my house this weekend. I cleaned both bathrooms and the kitchen.

Did I mention about the foaming and the spraying. This crazy bottle does both. I experimented with each but found that spraying works most of the time, with a little foaming action good on spots that are very icky.

Like where your five-year-old missfires.

The best part, if you've read this far, is that I have plenty of Soft Scrub left in my bottle for next weekend's cleaning (ha!). So if you want a free coupon to try this yourself leave a comment and I'll do a drawing. It may just be between you a that Korean SEO spammer, so you'll have a good shot.

And in case your laundry also contains clothing soiled with pig poo, pig afterbirth, pig snot, barn filth, matted straw and corn dust, don't worry Soft Scrub can keep your washer gleaming.

If You Can't Beat 'Em, Join 'Em

2010-01-16T21:56:00.007-05:00

When I first started this blog, I did it to have a creative outlet. I was very tired of spending my days writing about my B2B employer's leading innovative solutions. I never had any goals for this blog about making money from selling ads or any type of sponsorship.

Along the way I heard about these very savvy women bloggers known as the mommy bloggers, a term some embraced, others decried but all were willing to have tattooed on their a$$ if it meant a free trip to Blogher.

I kept hearing about the trips, the clothes, the free toys, the Twitter parties with giveaways and finally I said to myself and my good friend and fellow blogger M, maybe we're doing this wrong.

One day, on a lark, I signed up for Mom Select, a company that connects mommy bloggers and companies. I thought it would be good research for my career. I also used career research as the excuse for applying for my very first mommy blogger adventure--becoming a Soft Scrub Club Captain.

Well, Big Butter Jesus on toast (this phrase may be copyrighted by Soy Boy Mama), they picked me.

As Bugs Bunny would say--and oh God, most of the mommy bloggers are too young to have seen Bugs Bunny--if you can't beat 'em, join 'em.

So stay tuned. I took pictures of my filthy sink.

Guy Reads - Wild Hog Edition

2010-01-12T22:31:00.002-05:00

Wow, it's been a long time since we had a Guy Reads segment, I had begun to worry that intrepid ag reporter at the Dayton Daily News, Ben Sutherly, had been permanently reassigned.

But never fear, last week the Dayton Daily News ran its annual OMG there are wild pigs in Ohio story (covered here expertly last year too).

This year's headline: Wild hogs could be past point of elimination in Ohio. This is a serious story for Husband because wild hogs can carry disease and if they came onto our farm they could wreck our feed, tear up our farmland and de-flower our gilts (virgin pigs--I'm not kidding).

It's amazing to think that there are hundreds of wild pigs in the state. According to the U.S. Department of Energy (not sure why they are involved), wild pigs cause 27,000 auto collisions a year nationwide.

Photo: http://www.huntinghog.com/

In the comments section of the Dayton Daily News story, many were comparing wild pigs to coyotes, both wild animals that seem to know no boundaries with humans and encroach even in developed areas.

This is definitely not good. Oh, yes, it could be disasterous for the farm but I mean this is not good for me. How am I going to be a niche blogger with pigs in her back yard when everyone has pigs in their back yard.

Obscure Seinfeld Reference Goes Here

2010-01-10T13:29:00.001-05:00

Well, I've really done it now. Dayton Most Metro, an online hub for all things Dayton, has published my submission, obscure Seinfeld reference and all. If headline writing were like Scrabble, I think I'd have a triple word score for getting both chicken and sex in the title. Check it out.

Acting My Age

2010-01-03T17:17:00.005-05:00

Yesterday I did two things a woman my age should not do:
1. Go roller skating.
2. Watch a 1973 edition of the Lawrence Welk show.

I am too old for roller skating and have the locker-key shaped bruise on my thigh to prove it. But my younger, hipper sister thought that roller skating would be a fun activity with the kids while she is in town. Even Husband got in on the act, putting on skates for the first time in at least 30 years. Fortunately for him and all the hungry pigs on our farm, he did NOT break his leg. Believe me, I wanted to get photos but was told no blogging. (oops!)

Later in the afternoon I turned on public television, hoping to catch a little Antiques Roadshow (more my speed, you see) but instead saw the intro for a replay of a special episode of the Lawrence Welk show featuring Disney music. The clips looked like long-lost Will Ferrell Saturday Night Live sketches but they were REAL! I decided to pop in my dentures, re-position my Hoveround Chair and settle in to watch TV that was on before I was born. So much of it was unintentionally hilarious but this Mickey Mouse Mambo was the best.

Husband is famous for watching old people shows like Diagnosis Murder and Matlock, so I asked if we wanted to join me. He said, Are you going to put on the blog that you watched Lawrence Welk?

I said, of course, dear. Don't worry; I won't mention that you are old enough to have watched it the first time around. (oops!)

Thanking our Children for Poor Behavior

2010-01-01T21:42:00.002-05:00

I am not a stellar mother. I sometimes let my kids eat chocolate cake for breakfast. I have been known to hide from them in the bathroom.

But here's at least one thing I get right: I don't thank them for poor behavior--ever. You may be thinking Well, duh, nobody thanks their kids for being bad. Let me just share a little scenario with you and you can see if you recognize anyone.

Dad at McDonalds Playland entrance: Sophie, it's time to leave. Come out now.
Sophie: Whines and doesn't come. She continues playing.
Dad: Sophie, come on! We're leaving.
Sophie: She continues playing.
[repeat three more times]
Sophie: Finally stops playing and comes to get her coat.
Dad: Thank you, Sophie.

Did he just say thank you? Thanks for what? Thanks for finally obeying your father after like 10 minutes of ignoring him? What are the odds that Sophie will do what her father says the next time he tells her something? What's the incentive?

I don't know if it has to do with that self-esteem BS or some misguided attempt to teach manners, but no one, even children, needs to be thanked for doing what they are supposed to do.

Now, yes, children can be praised for being cooperative and helpful, but kids who are old enough to handle the McDonald's Playland on their own are old enough to be held accountable for following simple instructions.

Sophie is smart. She's just as bright as her parents think she is, which is why Sophie has figured out that listening to Mom and Dad is optional. And if she does finally get around to doing what they ask--she will be thanked.

Sophie will have to go out in the big world someday. A big world where bosses, colleagues and friends will not have the time or inclination to express their appreciation every time she gets around to doing what she's been asked to do.

Watch out Sophie. My kids will be there in the big world too; young people who have more self-respect than self-esteem, hustlers who understand the value of a job well done. Actually, it won't be hard for my kids to outshine the Sophies of the world. Sophie, send my thanks to your Dad.

[Note: Sophie is not any actual child. She represents all the kids who are being over-esteemed by their parents.]

Year in Review

2009-12-31T20:38:00.007-05:00

Happy New Year. The second year of this blog has been even more enjoyable than the first. More and more of you are reading and sending your friends--and I greatly appreciate that. Of course, I still have plenty of lurkers and it's been fun baiting you to see if you'll admit reading here.

In 2009, Bringing Home the Bacon was visited by very puzzled people from 52 countries and more purposefully, I hope, from residents of 48 U.S. States (Wyoming? North Dakota? Can I get some love?). My U.S. visitors came from 635 cities, from Altoona to Zephryhills.

Many of my visitors these days are stopping by after seeing my posts on Twitter and Facebook, although a few stragglers are finding me via search engines, using search terms like bacon cough, year old pee, how to bring a skunk back to life, and Husband's favorite, Dayton+police+Holly. (These are REAL search terms people have used to find my site, courtesy of Google Analytics.)

I spent an enjoyable afternoon reading back through the year's posts and came up with a list of favorites:
• The most popular post, by far, was the Dayton media on Twitter.
• Justin made an interesting Christmas list.
• We did our part to pass Issue 2 as many people's "token farmers."
• I shared my misadventures in motherhood.
• My lighthearted post comparing corporate life to working at a nonprofit healthcare provider netted me a speaking gig at a local grant-writing organization.
• And what self-respecting farm family lets the summer go by without a trip to the state fair.
• The blog wasn't all farming; we entertained our island-dwelling kin.
• Once, I got left in charge of the farm. Fortunately, I didn't lose any livestock.
• My computer got infected with viruses and I met a Geek Squad Double Agent.
• I voiced my opinion about a PR social media "scandal."

So thanks for reading and come back soon to see what 2010 has in store. Remember, if you're ever searching for cows faking farm, breastfeeding and my tits, or bacon secret code, you know where to look first.