Young love

In an effort to claim the elusive "Mother of the Year" award, I took my kiddies out to a matinee show yesterday afternoon. Yes, I know dear internet, movie and popcorn does not alone entitle me to that trophy. What gave me an edge, was the fact I made sure some of Fric and Frac's friends would also be in the very same theatre at the very same time, for the very same show. Aren't I thoughtful? Because I am such a hip mom (and this was proven when a dozen eight and nine year olds gathered around my nose and ohh'ed and aww'ed) I let the kids go sit with their friends as I joined the gaggle of mothers in the middle of the theatre.

Fric joined her buddy, and twittered like the school girl she is, about her little school crush, who I'll call Frank. Frank and his buddy sat two rows ahead of Fric and kept looking behind him to make kissy eyes with Fric. Ahh, young love.

Frac and his cronies, sat two seats over from Frank. Frac is no dummy. It wasn't long before he figured out the kissey eyes Frank was making were directed to his sister Fric. As the younger, immensely less mature brother, this grossed Frac out to no end.

Now Fric and Frank have yet to declare their young love. They prefer to pull one another's hair and hide each other's shoes out on the playground. When together, they blush and pretend that neither is actually alive. However, in the darkness of the theatre, and away from their prying mother's eyes, all bets were off. I don't think either actually saw the movie since they only had eyes for one another.

Eventually, little brother had enough of this. Apparently, making kissey eyes is against an unwritten boy's code. Frac didn't watch the movie either. He was too busy tossing popcorn at Frank and conjuring a plan to wreak maximum embarrassment on his sister.

I, being the wonderful mom I am, watched all this go on and pretended they weren't my children.

At the end of the show, everyone gathered in the lobby to say goodbye. Fric and Frank resumed ignoring one another. Frac had other plans though. In a very loud voice he announced to the group his sister had written in her diary that she intends on marrying Frank. Frac then said "Good luck with that Frank. I've slept with her and she snores and picks her nose while she sleeps."

My poor darling girl died a thousand deaths, and Frank was mortified. Frac however, giggled like a loon and ran to hide in the bathroom like the pansy he is.

I consoled my daughter and told her revenge is a dish best served cold. Perhaps a little bird needs to whisper in Fric's ear about her brother's crush on Lexie...

Hillbilly Wars - It's a Piss Off

Part of the charm of living out here in the sticks is the show nature puts up for us on a daily basis. We are adjacent to not one, but two local nature sanctuaries so we see a lot of nature. Birds, rabbits, porcupines, beaver, a badger or two, some coyotes and a fox. They all call my property home. Not one of them pays me any rent.

Things get interesting when the larger forest critters come out to play. We have several deer who have taken to eating my trees until they are nothing but sticks. Then there are the swamp donkeys, also known as moose, who nest in my trees and poop on my lawn. Lovely. But I always have organic fertilizer.

Last summer, a big boy came out to play. Not a wimpy, grass-eating, manure-spreading herbivore. More of the hear-me-roar, blood thirsty carnivore type. A cougar. We are surrounded by bears and cougars, and for the most part, we ignore them - carefully. And they generally stay away from the residential areas. But this was an aging grampa who didn't see the carefully posted Nature Sanctuary signs and made his way over to my side of the fence.

Since my small children were inside, and my dog was away sowing his seed, there was a decided lack of food at my place. So off to the hillbilly neighbors he went. Over there in Hicksville, he found himself an assortment of penned sheep and little goats. He, literally, had the pick of the litter. So after making his choice he would then bring the carcass over to my property and have himself a merry little feast. Nothing like a picnic on a sunny afternoon.

My hillbilly neighbors soon noticed livestock was missing and set out to solve the problem. They tracked them big ole paw prints and found several half-chewed animals. After having the local authorities out to confirm the kill as a cougar's, the friendly neighborhood hillbilly made his way to my house.

Now, I know, dear internet, you are thinking, well that was mighty neighborly and all. Clearly, Hillbilly neighbor is not that bad of a guy. After all, he went out of his way to let me know a rogue cougar was out and about, and please, don't let the kiddies get eaten. Up to this point, I might even have agreed with you, dear internet. But stay with me here. I do have a long-winded point.

Seeing my neighbor's battered pickup truck weave up my driveway, I went out to greet him. I am no fool. I didn't want him in my house.

"Howdy," he said. Clearly a little inebriated, he wobbled, and then pulled an eviscerated goat out of the back of his truck. "Found this here, out on your property. Damn cougar is picking off my goats and eating 'em out in your trees."

Being the good neighbor I am, I thanked him profusely for the heads up. After all, it is a tad alarming knowing a large hungry cat is on the prowl, possibly waiting in the woods just to take a bite out of you. But the hillbilly neighbor is leering just a bit, having trouble making eye contact. Great a damn cougar and now a hillbilly pervert. A little uncomfortable, I take a few steps backwards and try to get him to take a fucking hint and leave. Clueless hillbilly. The dumbass wants to know if I have any beer? After all, it's thirsty work tracking pussy. Picture a crestfallen hillbilly when I told him I had no beer.

Saying thanks and goodnight for the umpteenth time, I backed up more. He took two steps forward, and then seemed to clue in, and muttered goodbye. Halle-fucking-llujah. But just as I think he's going to weave his way home, he unzips, whips out ole millimeter peter and starts to piss. On the ground. In front of me. His whizz splashed my slippers.

What did I do, dear internet? Stood there like a fucking statue and waited till he finished. It is not everyday a complete stranger pisses on my feet. And not a quick pee either. It was the mother load of urine, a river puddled at my feet and ran down my driveway. Finally, he gave his willy a quick shake, tucked it in and like a true gentleman, offered to shake my hand.

I wish I had a snappy comeback, but admittedly, I was in shock. My first golden shower. There were no words at the time. I scurried into my house, bathed and burned my slippers.

In the end, the evening taught me something. I learned nature knows no boundaries and most importantly, I learned that my husband is hung like a friggin' horse next to our neighbor.

**Stay tuned for next weeks edition of Hillbilly Wars when I write about the hillbilly's dog from hell. It involves dirty diapers and dead chickens. How's that for quality entertainment?**

Whose my Daddy?

Having survived a long weekend with five of my favorite nephews and niece, as well as saying good bye to my brother's puppy, you would think waking up this morning I would be the picture of Susie Sunshine, all bright eyed and bushy-tailed. Instead, imagine a bleary eyed, red-nosed grouch who seems to be in withdrawal. Like the town drunk, only I apparently, am in withdrawal from lack of urine to clean up. Go figure.

With all the kiddies gone home, to be tucked into their own beds, I counted on having a fairly blissful sleep. Hubs was home for the evening which meant there was even a chance for some romance in the night. I always was a dreamer. Instead of back rubs, and passionate kisses, we argued over who was going to get up and close the damn door. Because we are mature. Hubs, having lost that argument, decided to take revenge. Upon his return into our love nest, he rolled over and gazed sweetly into my eyes.

"You're not the boss of me you know." Hubs whined.

"I am if you want any tonight, big boy," I replied in my sexy voice.

He muttered something about revenge being a dish best served cold and then gave me a quick peck on the lips and rolled over.

"What, where's the love?" I countered. He looked over his shoulder, sighed like he is doing me a big favor and rolled back in my direction. I should have figured something was up when I saw the evil gleam in his eyes.

"Oh, I've got the love, baby. Don't you worry," he says as he reaches down to pull the covers up while closing his eyes to lay a big romantic kiss on me.

I have said it once, I will say it again. I, the Redneck mommy, am a fool. Outfoxed by a man. Bastard.

Instead of laying the big one on me, and kick starting our night of passion, he pulled the covers over our head (isn't that romantic?) and let loose the biggest, smelliest damn fart I have ever had the misfortune of inhaling. Picture me thrashing wildy around, trying to escape. While being poisoned.

When he deemed I had sufficiently inhaled enough of his sour gas, he loosened his iron grasp on the covers and let me come up for air.

"Whose your daddy now?" he purred.

Next time, I'll shut the damn door myself.