Rough LIfe

The outage is hard.


Really



really


hard.


I am trying to understand how it can turn a rational human being into a crazy man.


Who, by the way, I still love a lot.


no matter what.

My opinion matters so little to the little man

I have a son, who, by ill design of genetics, does what he wants.

I know all who have a son would say that, but no really, he is worse, or if you looked at it another way, engineered with more of "it" than yours.

Case in point.


He wants an ice cream cone. I said "no"

He went into the pantry, took a stool with him and got down the cones anyway.

"No, Wes, you can't have one."

"But, mom, I got the cones down, can we have ice cream in these?"

"No, Wes, not now"

So he carried the box around with him for a few minutes. "Mom, can me and my sister have an ice cream cone?"

"No, Wes, I told you no."

"Hey, sister!" He yelled into the next room. "Do YOU want an ice cream cone?"


"WES!, what did I tell you? I said, NO"

He fell as he was putting them away in the pantry, hitting his head. So serves him right. Uggh, my opinion doesn't matter, really, here at the Rafter Ranch, you know?

Scarbrough Band, The wind and indoor kids

Need I say much more? The title can say it all...

Where was the lovely Spring Break where I get a pre-summar tan by laying out on the protected side of my house?

Not here this year!

I work to EAT

ok, I work to FEED.

I know that doesn't make sense. It will in a minute. Today we received 1/3 of our yearly supply of food. The kids had a blast unloading it. The men who brought it were so nice to the kids. (Thanks Mr. Palmer!)

He made their day by letting them sit in the co-captain's seat and "drive" the unloader. I know there is a real name for it, I just don't know it.

Their second jump for joy was when he gave them:

Talking to myself, or am I?

Talking to myself has always been an activity I am used to: ie.


ME: "Turn to page 514 where we left off on line 20...."

"What page are we on?"

ME: "We are on page 514, line 20"

"What page is it, Mrs. Scarbrough?"

ME: "514, if you were listening the last two times"

"OH,"

"Hey, Mrs. Scarbrough, what page are we on?"

ME: "It's on the board, where if you would look everyday, you would know what we are doing."

"Where?"

ME: "UHH, sighh"

As you can see, I am good at talking to no one. :)

I have been talking to myself for 10 years, but more specifically, I have been having an ongoing monologue for 6.5 months with the cutest of persons.

I describe flowers, dogs, colors of the hay and horses. I tell her that what she is feeling is rough or fuzzy. I repeat the colors of the blankets, the sky, and the toys. I think teaching has prepared me to not even notice or mind that I do all the talking, in hopes someone is listening.

Already I am getting the "ma-ma, mmmm, Maaaa," much to the delight of my kids. They think her first word will be mama.


I think she will have much to say, just not right now.

I can wait. She is our last I want to enjoy ever little sticky, snotty, nuance that she has to offer.

Spring (break) has sprung! Who Hoo

Watch out world, teachers are dancin' the streets.

NAME CHANGE 'CAUSE I'M NOT ORIGINAL

I have changed the name of this blog to muddy boots... dirty carpets because I found another out there named the same thing as Scarbrough Fair. I thought I was original.



So not.





Ever.





Besides, this name is so accurate, it is scary. I am saving for new carpets. They will be cow crap brown with flecks of horse poop green. Maybe I can get it patterned with Dr. Pepper?

Sighhh, I wish I loved as much

Sighhh,

I

Wish....

I LOVED

JOggIN

as much as I loved

Reading, cause I love love to read... Don't love to work out as much. Though I pretend I do.

Roses and Huggin' babies

This morning I was just reading around- a nice way of saying "allowed stalking," when I ran upona blog from someone who had a huge tragedy. They had lost their baby boy yesterday after only knowing him for 8 sweet months. Even worse, their other little boy had found him.




This has made me pause, cry, and ponder all morning while I was getting ready for school. Even now I tear up as I write this.





Do any of us know how short life is? I say not. If we did we would take to heart those old cliche's like " Stop and smell the roses".

I am so sad for this little family. They even posted a pic showing them saying good-bye to the baby. It was heart wrenching. If Rafter JR and I ever have to have a simular life lesson, I hope we take it with as much maturity, faith and love as they have done so far, rather than let it rip us apart.

...and, So, I wonder if any of us realizes the importance of today?

How many times do we carelessly comment to others, harshly discipline our babies, or roll our eyes at our spouses? I know I do; if you were honest you do it too.

This incident brings to mind what my grandmother, Peggy, would say near the end of her life.

"Things don't matter, people do."

I don't follow this everyday like I wish I did, but it is there in the back of my mind as I strive to do what is better, and ponder my life. It is my beacon;one day I will truly be the embodiment of that sentiment. I know that I will live a long and healthy life until I learn this an other lessons in store for me. I only hope that others around me cut me more slack that I cut them. I don't deserve it, but maybe I will learn from them to be a more noticeably, better person sooner.

In the mean time,

I will hug my baby a little tighter,
thanking God for the time I have with her ( and the other cute punks o' mine).

No Pinching, Plu-eeze

I am not a fan of dressing up show off on any occasion. When it comes to St .Partick's Day, in some ways it is worse. I am not Irish. I can't say "Kiss ME, I am Irish". I don't drink...

I don't look good in goofy outfits. They are bad news. The more foolish -the worse, I say. I love Halloween, but hate to dress up. I know, what an oxymoron I am . Maybe I am just a moron?

Who




knows.


Anyway, this lack of exuberant festing all things silly goes for all holidays. I don't wear the light up Santa shirts or bell earrings, I don't like the heart socks on Valentines day and

I don't like to wear green on St. Patrick's day.

Forget about the tall GREEN pimp hats that have cropped up like weeds at the local Dollar store. Ugg, I won't buy those on sale in a week ,no way.

And yet, PinChing?

so much
worse.



Especially if those pinches are near my BeHind area. In fact, pinching, slapping, goosing, patting AND (oh so the WORST, bouncing) my flabby hind end is OFF LiMitS.



You want to make me upset? Try doing any of those things to the jelly-cause-jam-don't shake -like-that posterior.
I conceeded, due to my work place enviroment,

TO wear olive green. but I wore an orange hoodie (it matches, just trust me).

AND?

I still got pinched!!! The first thing in my grouchy morning- how is that for irony?

Stinky? Is it a sin or just annoying

One question, and I need need responses...

How do you tell someone delicately, firmly. ( who has been told many times before) That he/she stinks?

'Cause I have someone that I NEED to tell this to, because he/she has not gotten it the last 100 times anyone has told this person.

Pink Shirt- a copy cat post

After reading on someone else blog about her pink shirt, I longed for my own. The one that has carried me through bad days, big belly (baby belly not fatty mc fat fat belly- hey, not my phrase blame Friends and my nephew who spews that phrase all the time) and no laundry washed.
Ugg, anyway... dug for said shirt, and found said shirt at the bottom of my beautiful, unfinished, yet, still abused with unhung clothes ,walk in closet. Oh how I love that shirt and all other shirts that I have bought as spares that do not live up to their reputation as "the pink shirt".

This shirt is so versatile that I have worn it as a cover up to the pool, as a top to my fav blue jean skirt to work and church, on dates, and on cas days. As a disclaimer, I am not a fashionista (spellng???) , so I probably have mis worn said shirt many of time on many of occasions.

I have started to notice signs of dying. Smells that I think might still be there after a wash, mysterious "greasy" spots, stretching, shrinking, "see-through-ness" It breaks my heart. What if I can't find another PINK shirt? The right one doesn't just come along every day at the Dollar Store? 'Cause believe me I have looked, I keep an eye peeled for a sister for my pink shirt.

And so as Spring springs, I will be out there pounding the pavement looking, looking for the Perfect Pink Shirt.
However, I will not retire the original PPS until she decides she can't take the wear and tear of a life called Scarbrough.

Almost Rolled out of bed last night.

Resigned to our bedroom, I prepared to feed Kelsey and read Emma for the evening. I thought I had lost my "battle" with DH and BIL for the TV. I didn't feel up to watching Spicer Griper or Spicier Grip as some would jokingly call it for the seeming 100th time.

You see I am a roping widow. This widow was going to enjoy Jane A. all to herself. That is before, one by one, my little family ambled into the room. First K want to kiss the baby while she ate. Then III doing the same, but adding tattling to his agenda. Then, DH...

He toted the awkward old fashioned round table I have lugged from move to move since college years. (he had borrowed it from our room, not to return it until need forced him to do so) Then he lugged our bedroom TV back.

After resigning himself to a lost remote, he settled down to twitch in his sleep while visions of cows and horses danced in his head.

Realizing the time, I bullied III who was also glued to the roping (a true 4th generation roper, akkk) to bed with his unwilling sister.

So mama in her kerchief (not not really I just wanted to finish the analogy), watch tv blissfully alone after hubby, baby, and children were sound asleep.

Bliss to be alone in a quiet house of sleeping family.

However, in bed that night I was given 2 inches of room to sleep. Big daddy was spread eagle out on the bed, blissfully unaware of the sitatuion

I mentioned it in the morning and got "Welcome, to my world".

I don't do that and I don't snore either!

The Day that Scott was wrong

U-MAZ-ING



He even told me to blog about it. And so I am- was going to even if I didn't ahve his permission.



Today, March 7, 2009 at 10:00 am.



Westley Scott Scarbrough JR.



WAS...



wrong about something. Ha



and hell didn't even freeze over.



But it blew like hell.... maybe that is a sign?

Wanna Move??!!

Just live in SJ!

Ya those of us who have to endure it have not found it to be so fun, fun, fun til your daddy takes the T-bird away, but whatcha gonna do?

Keep thinking about the positive. While your top soil is blowing away, you are getting someone elses. I think I have good top soil because of my grandpa's fields across the road. Blow sand is good topsoil; look for it along your fence lines!

Days like these reminded me of a mostly forgotten movie that had to do with The Depression, blowing wind, a mom who went crazy and killed her family.

I have no idea what the movie is. I just remember one scene where the mom snaps from the sound of the wind and the dust bowl blowing through the cracks in her doors and windows. I vaguely rememeber seeing the dead baby in the crib and the family stabbed to death. Could I turn into that woman? The wind is getting to me, I know. See, this is why little kids shouldn't be watching scary stuff..

Ok, ok it is just me.

I still shoudn't be watching scary stuff.

Scott thinks I am an idiot. I can't even watch the previews for the new haunted house where the family moves in and there are ghosts watching them.

But I digress as usual. Here's the point...

I am so glad I don't live at the top of a hill today. ;)

Shakespeare's Puns

Should literature be explained with all the meaning and crude humor? I feel odd about doing so, until I have a student tell me about the latest rated "R" movie he/she has seen.

I wonder,would Shakespeare have written South Park?

It is all over but the rat killing

Catchy title wouldn't you say?

I think sometimes my titles are funnier than the posts. But today I am just grateful that I have a big, strong, mouse hunter.

Since we can't have cats, 'cause the dogs get them, and the dogs are too busy chasing the cows to worry about it, and I have slowly, with neck-scratching tippy-toe jumpin' fear, gotten ride of every snake that I see...

I have my own built in mouse trap.

Living in the semi-country that we do, and owning acrage comes with one or two disadvantages. One of them being field mice. Ugg, just thinking about them makes my skin crawl!

But, luckily for me, I have my brave mouse killer. What would I do without him?

Winter, Be Flung

Souldn't say a word, But going to do it anyway.

I think I am having a rought day or two or three. All I can do is complain and be frustrated.

I am tired of cleaning
I am tired of cold
I am tired of tired
and feeling so old



I am tired of so many "nos"
I am tired of me
I am tired of work
and ugly bare trees

Spring has not sprung
Winter, be flung
My white legs need a tan
I need a plan



Hawaii?.... Cabo?.... St. Thomas.... maybe