Birth Order, KP, The Help, and Laziness

Okay, first things first, you need to go read my sister's blog over here.

Then you need to realize that I am hoping she will bring lots of eggnog to Thanksgiving next week, and I will provide Captain Morgan spiced silver rum.   And then we will pretend we are pirate wenches as we make some Christmas crafts Mom has planned for us.  Dawn will be the good one, and she will no doubt be cleaning the kitchen as we are living it up and letting her assume her God given role as older/responsible sister.  And while that role may sound sarcastic, you can't beat birth order, and she is undoubtedly chosen to be the oldest.  Therefore, she is the most responsible.  Poor her.


You know, I used to feel bad when my siblings talked about how spoiled I am as the youngest sibling.  Then I decided that I have no control over birth order.  And if I was spoiled, then it wasn't my fault.  So now my response to the fact that Dawn was never allowed to have Barbies because Dad thought they were trashy is "Sorry about your luck.  I even owned the Barbie town house, complete with elevator.  So there."

Doesn't she appear to be beleaguered and overworked?

 And as for Paula being the middle sister in a family of four kids with one boy, it just is what it is.  Surely that means she can relate better to my mom, who is the middle of three sisters also.  And it means that since her feelings are never considered, she is more aware of how others feel, so surely she's a better person for being a middle child.  Again, this may SOUND like sarcasm, but I'm just citing birth order theory and lately it's been hitting me how REAL the characteristics are that develop as a result of birth order.

Yes, this woman is obviously never noticed or considered.

My oldest wants to adopt a child.  Not like an African child, where you are committed to $25 dollars/month, but a child that will come and live in our house.  Forever and ever.  That was a bolt out of the blue.  And it would turn my youngest into a middle child, and let me tell you, she does NOT have middle child tendencies, so it would be a struggle for her.

And speaking of siblings, a few weeks ago the girls and I were having a random conversation about something.  I know it related to Brent never being at the table when the rest of us were ready to eat.  And somehow that evolved into disappearing acts for kitchen clean up.

"I don't know which of you it will be, but one of you will be shirker of kitchen clean up at family dinners.  The shirker will either suddenly develop the urge to use the bathroom, or breast feed a baby, or possibly even sit in the living room to 'visit with grandmother.'  Do not think for a minute that those in the kitchen are unaware of your shirker ways.  They WILL be aware, and they WILL be talking about you."

And I was honest enough to admit I myself have been the shirker of kitchen duty.  And I was also honest enough to admit that it has probably never been Dawn.  Because, again she is the oldest.  And therefore the most responsible.  Her burden is immense.

Anyhoo, that random conversation has lead to the fact that if one sibling leaves the kitchen to visit the facilities, the other sibling stops all kitchen duty until the absentee sibling shows up.  I acknowledge this was an unintended consequence.  But it is an amusing one.
 
Speaking of lazy,  I AM LOVING WORKING TWO DAYS PER WEEK!!!  I have moments where I feel guilty because I actually have free time.  But then I get over it.  It is so awesome to not have to clean my entire house on Wednesday, along with grocery shopping and car washing and seven loads of laundry.  Now I do a chore every day, along with a load every day.  Well, I was doing a load about every day anyway, but Wednesday was also bedding day.  Now, I wash one person's bedding per day and my back is not in misery at the end of sheet day!

I have time to work out!  I have time to coupon!  I have time to actually stroll through the store and see things that I never saw before because each trip to the store was simply a marathon sprint of tunnel vision where I only got what was needed and did not allow myself to browse as there was no time!  And now I'm realizing that browsing the store can lead to unexpected purchases....

Leading up to Christmas this is expected.  But I will have to be sure I don't let it become the pattern or Brent will make me start working more.

Speaking of sheet day, have you read The Help by Kathryn Stockett?  I thought it was so funny how Minny hated "damn sheet day."  And I always said a little "amen" in my head every time she bemoaned washing sheets.  And my task is not near as onerous or hands on as hers was!

Okay, this post has gone entirely too long.   Have a happy weekend!

P.S.  In FOREsight, this post could possibly come back to haunt me.  As in next weekend at Thanksgiving when we will have a family dinner, complete with big kitchen clean up.  *sigh*   Perhaps foresight isn't a good thing when one ignores it?

A Hypothetical Life Lesson: Repeated

Today I read Taylor's post about the scariness of choking.  It made me reminisce over my own experiences with choking.

And they aren't actually FOND memories, but they are now funny stories, and that's all that really matters right?  Because, clearly sometimes the WORST experiences make the BEST stories.

And I'm all about the stories. 

So, in my reminiscing, I read a few old posts regarding choking.  They are a few years old, but I really wanted to share them with you again.  I could just post links, but experience has taught me that readers don't always click on the links, no matter what the promise of laughter is dangled in front of them...

Well, at least I am too lazy to click on a link. Perhaps i shouldn't paint my children with the same brush as I myself, eh?

So, without further rambling, I will happily PASTE a previous post involving a humorously choking child.
And her hypothetical mom...

Let's pretend for a moment, shall we? Let's just say, that hypothetically one child has a ring pop that she is eating. The other child wants to taste it. Now, the latter child has a ring pop, but cannot eat it until after her game. Child number one offers to let her sister taste it. Hypothetically speaking, of course.

The mother of this hypothetical pair pipes up, "No, you can't share your sucker, your sister has a cold." The hypothetical mother in this hypothetical situation then witnesses her hypothetical daughter, who is having a surprising moment of a sharing spirit GIVE HER SISTER A LICK OF HER SUCKER. Well, this hypothetical mother then said, "Okay, now you're going to go throw that sucker away. I don't want you to get your sister's cold."

Hypothetical child of the ring pop disappears around the corner....presumably to dispose of her sucker in the bathroom trashcan....

Time is passing by...

Passing by.....

Now, let's just say, hypothetically speaking, of course, that child of the ring pop comes bursting around the corner, face VERY red........................coughing..................... choking.................gagging.

Hypothetical Mom: Are you choking?
Child makes gagging and coughing sounds, but is moving air, so hypothetical mom, who could possibly be, hypothetically, a nurse, tells child to go to the bathroom, and follows her.

Just to add a little interest to this purely hypothetical situation, let's pretend it's picture day for basketball, and child with a cold's entire team and their parents have witnessed all of the above exchange.....If this were not a purely....hypothetical situation, you can imagine the gasps and murmurs of concern....

Mom and child who is not choking on her sucker (so she is vehemently denying at this point) quickly make their way to the bathroom. Child who is not choking, continues to cry and make gagging noises....

Hypothetical mom: Did you go around the corner and chew your ring pop as fast as you could instead of THROWING IT IN THE TRASH?
Child shakes head emphatically no, but continues to cry and cough.
Hypothetical mom, now holding coughing child's face in her hands and looking as mean as she, hypothetically, can.....IS THERE A PIECE OF SUCKER STUCK IN YOUR THROAT THAT IS HURTING, THAT IS MAKING YOU COUGH, MAKING YOU GAG, AND MAKING YOU CRY!?!
Child, no longer meeting Hypothetical Mom's eyes, slowly nods yes.
Hypothetical Mom (with, quite possibly, hypothetically speaking of course a look of smug victory on her face): Well, that's what happens when you don't mind your mommy. Drink some warm water, the candy will dissolve, and stop hurting in a little bit......

And with that she leaves the bathroom, hypothetical crying child in tow.

Now, let's say Hypothetical Mom and child round corner to find everyone anxiously watching for them and asking after the well being of this hypothetical child....

Hypothetical Mom in all her hypothetical nurseyness replies, "She's fine, she just had to learn what happens when you don't mind your mommy"....quiet laughter is heard in the hallway from various other hypothetical parents.....

So, in the above hypothetical situation, one might assume that the hypothetical child of the ring pop would have learned to mind her hypothetical mom. Sadly, one would be VERY wrong in making that assumption....

Hypothetical child of the ring pop had received a juice pouch from her hypothetical teammates after her hypothetical game....

Hypothetical Mom: Do not open your juice pouch. We don't want to spill juice on the church floor. You can drink your water....

You can see where this is going, can't you? No one ever accused you of being slow Dear Reader....

At about this time Hypothetical Dad is back with sandwiches to share with his hypothetical family between 2 games and 2 sets of team pictures....

Hypothetical Dad: I thought I heard your mom telling you not to open it....Oh well, it's open now, hurry up and drink it....

Let's pretend, just for a moment, now humor me here....that the hypothetical mom's head spun around so fast it nearly broke the sound barrier, and saw this hypothetically EXTREMELY DISOBEDIENT child sucking on a juice pouch....Now, let's pretend that hypothetical mom RIPPED the above juice pouch out her hypothetical child's hand and carried it to the trash herself.....

You see, Dear Reader, the hypothetical mom can learn a hypothetical lesson....Never trust a hypothetically EXTREMELY DISOBEDIENT child to actually throw away her treats!

The end.

Hypothetically, of course.

Disclaimer
This is a hypothetical situation. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the hypothetical author's imagination or are used hypothetically, and any resemblance to actual hypothetical persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental. Hypothetically speaking, of course. 

Now, wasn't that fun?

For more choking fun, how's about I post a few more jollies for you to enjoy?  Of course, you will have to actually click on the links and FOLLOW them.  That may require more fortitude (read here: time) than you have at the moment.  If that is true, I will understand.  Barely.

How to Perform the Heimlich Maneuver.
Rasslin'  Attention:  this post has NOTHING to do with choking, but it popped up in my "choking" search for my blog.  And it made me laugh all over again.  So, I'm linking it.  Because it's my blog, and I can do that.

Camping: Family, Turtles, Dogs, Fish, and WATER MOCCASINS

We went camping with my mom's family over Memorial Day.  We had lots of fun.

And lots of food.

And lots of sweat.

Because it was hot.

But never fear!  My Uncle JimBob who never considers anything that could be classified as "fun," also "inconvenient" brought his old easy set pool.  My sister in law saw the pool and said, "Someone brought a POOL?  That's is pretty redneck.  But it's really fun too."  And it sure was.

It was the hit of the trip.

Dead Eye got a "new" boat from my cousin Diane's husband, Phil.  Maybe that was the hit of the trip.

My cousin Matt's son shot water moccasins with his BB gun.  While they were still in the water.  Perhaps that was the hit of the trip?

Chesney jumped into the pond and decided to go for a swim.  The pond is  surrounded with cattails and moss.  Grace and I were paddling about in the boat when she decided to join us.  I knew there was no way I could haul a 60 pound dog into the boat, and I didn't want her to get tangled in the reeds, so Phil called her back to shore on a log where he could drag her out.  As she swam to shore, she went straight to a heavily mossy area.   Of course.

Later that same day, the kids were switching places and Kelsey ventured out onto that very log to supervise.  And she got knocked in.  The girls started screeching and panicking, and generally over reacting.  I called her back to the same low spot on the log where Phil had drug Chesney in, grabbed her collar (the water was about 9 feet deep in that spot, per Dead Eye) and pulled her to safety where she trembled and quaked, then ran to the camp grounds where she collapsed in relief under our camper and did not move again until we returned to camp.

Perhaps that was the most memorable moment of the trip?

Oh, wait!  Maybe it was when two little boys decided to moon three little girls in the pool.  I'm pretty sure the girls won't soon forget it.  And since all I could do was chuckle in response to their humble apology, I'm not sure they were as contrite as the adult who scolded hoped when I just laughed.

Or, maybe the most memorable moment was this: 

This is my nephew.  And he almost NEVER lets me take his picture.  But this time he did!  Now, it could be because I took him fishing, and even put the worm on his hook for him.  Then I took the fish off of the hook.  Perhaps the whole worm touching, slimy fish removing thing raised me a few bars in his estimation.

Oh!  Do you see that log right up there?  That became the boat dock.  And this is the very log Kelsey fell off of (have I ever told you she HATES water?).  AND this is the exact log that Logan jumped off of to cool off.  And he learned the water was about 9 feet deep here.

And he learned that not only were there turtles, fish, and water moccasins in the pond, but the pond was also home to LEECHES!  I asked him if he's ever seen "Stand By Me."  He hadn't.  Do you remember the scene where they fall into that little swampy area, and Wil Wheaton's character discovers a leech on his "private body" in the words of my sister?  Well, I just linked that clip up to facebook for his viewing enjoyment.

I regret to report I got no pictures of the wiffle ball game.  I wish I had evidence of this unruly game.  Our rules differ somewhat from other family's wiffle ball, most glaringly by two very obvious differences:  Five strikes to get out, and to tag the person out, you simply throw the ball at them and if it nails them, they're out!

What games do you play with your family get up to whenever you get together?

I'm Raising Children, Not Carpet

I once heard a friend tell her husband, who was frustrated by a stain on the couch "We are raising children, not furniture."  I thought that was a beautiful word of wisdom.  In fact, I frequently recite that phrase to myself as I look at the stains on my dining room chairs, and the stains on my carpets.  Of course, I'm also raising a husband, three cats and two dogs, so there you go. 

Translation:  My carpets are a disaster.

Sunday the girls colored Easter eggs.  Before we began, my youngest was popcorning all over the house, doing handstands and cartwheels and flips.  "You better get some control of yourself if you want to color eggs."  I'm pleased to report that she settled right down and did not have one single mishap. 

Have you ever noticed that some colors always turn out beautifully- like yellow- but every single year the purple is a disappointment?  This year the pink was especially bad.  I think that next year I will just try making dyes with food colors.

Bookworm decided she wanted to do half of one egg green, then the other half pink.  She carefully held the egg in each color.  She did the pink last.  We all shook our heads at the disappointing flecked appearance of the pink half of the egg.  She slowly and methodically reached across the table to the rack I had set out to dry the eggs on.  As she delicately released the egg to the rack, she let loose with a giant grin of relief and sagged back into her chair...

Catching the cup of pink egg dye with her elbow in the process.

As it turns out, the pink dye stains the carpet in a lovely dark pink color. 

And for the record, I did NOT pay her to dump dye on the carpet that I loathe. 

But I might have if I'd thought of it.

Can I Please Have Some Secret Jam and Toast?

Friday night as I sat in the back yard, staring at the three holes where a dog had decided to uproot two iris and a malva I sighed to myself that apparently I was going to have to go to the store to buy some unsightly fencing or I would have no flowers left.  Gentle Reader, if one wants to have a gloriously beautiful yard  with no holes or uprooted plants, I fear one should avoid acquiring animals of the four legged tail wagging variety.

Somehow the trip for fence supplies turned into a trip to buy goodies for a tea party.  The girls were each having a friend over, and I was desperately needing to mow and do various other projects, but once the tea party idea took root, there was no going back.

As we planned our menu, Bookworm suggested that we most definitely needed jam.  I sat there, stumped and silent for a moment.  "Jam?"

"You know, 'Could I please have some secret toast and jam?'"  she quoted in her best British accent. 

So, of course we had to have jam.  I bought some cheap white bread to make cute shaped sandwiches, and put grape jam and cream cheese on some of them.  It was rather quite good if I do say so myself.

We feasted on fruit salad, tiny crustless sandwiches, carrot sticks, cheese and crackers, mini blueberry muffins, and strawberry shortcake for dessert.  We had strawberry limeade, iced tea, and lemon water as our choice of beverages.

I picked up the girls around ten, and then worked quickly to get ready for the party.   As I was preparing my messy porch and weedy yard kept calling my name.  After all, there was never any question that I was going to blog the event.  And undoubtedly those pictures would depict the shortcomings of my yard... I began to lecture myself that if I wait for the perfect moment to have fun, those fun times will pass me by.  Because I'm fairly certain that my girls will not grow up and dwell on the out of control crab grass in our yard, or the mud tracked all over the porch, or even clumps of dirt tracked through the house.

I think instead they will remember an unseasonably warm March morning where we had a tea party with friends, and they all proved virtually incapable of being at all proper or elegant.

But I decided that if they can overlook my weedy yard, I could try and overlook their fingers in the fruit bowl as they fished out bits of mango, or their double fisted clutch of the tea cups...

 After the tea party, they changed out of their tea party gear and had a dance off in the living room, while I continued my hand maiden role and cleaned up the mess we made in our morning full of fun.

Once the mess was cleaned up, it was time to get myself cleaned up so we could head to the movie to see "Mirror, Mirror."  And just in case you are mistakenly reading reviews and considering skipping it, I have to say we all five unanimously LOVED it.  Absolutely laugh out loud LOVED it.

So, all in all, we had a perfectly glorious "girls day."

What special memories are you making with your children this spring?

Way Down Yonder in the Indian Nation

As I've mentioned about forty dozen times in previous posts, my girls went to my folks for Spring Break.  And my dad brought them with him to the lake when it was time to meet up for them to come home.  Brent and I brought hot dogs and chips and we all had a nice time just sitting at the lake chatting and enjoying that sense of calm that seems to descend when one is at a place where there really isn't a schedule.  

Unless one is fishing.  Which I'm usually not.

I prefer to sit on the shore and day dream or read, or go garage sale-ing if it's Fall Break. 

For fishermen it's OGF (Operation Get Fish.)  And yes, I just made up OGF, but it seems rather catchy don't ya think?  I think all four of my readers should start flinging this acronym around whenever the opportunity arises.  I'm pretty sure that it's going to go viral.  And then you can say, "I remember when an obscure blogger brazenly threw out that phrase.  It was a rare moment of genius and I was privileged to be a part of it."

Feel free to adjust the script to suit your needs.

Anyway, David and his son went out to put out jug lines, and Dad stayed on shore to chat with us while the girls (after exuberantly greeting us, then moving on to bigger and better things) ran around like wild Indians...

Which was imminently appropriate as we were in the Caddo Indian Nation at the time.

I was quite happy to realize I was wearing the appropriate foot wear when I looked down and saw I was standing on actual hieroglyphs as I shot pictures of an Oklahoma sunset.

Even if my Minnetonkas were actually made in China...

The sentiment was there and I was pretty sure I could hear the distant beat of a tom tom in the background.

Either that, or a boat wasn't running as smoothly as one would hope...

P.S.  Is anyone singing "Way Down Yonder in the Indian Nation" right now?  Well, I promise if you click  this link you will be happily humming for the rest of the live long day.
Your welcome.

Peeps On a Stick

 Last week we finally fetched my girls from their grandparents after being away from home for eight whole days.  We met my dad at a nearby lake.  As we were headed out Studmuffin asked what we were doing about supper, "Because we will be getting there about 6 and you know the girls will be hungry."

So, we threw some drinks and condiments into an ice chest, grabbed a bag of charcoal and chips then ran into the store to grab enough hot dogs to feed a small army.  After all, my 16 year old nephew and one of his friends was going to be there too, so I figured it wouldn't be possible to have too much to eat.

Anyway, I have more to say about our trip to the lake, or rather to SHOW you about our trip, but today's post is not about the lake. It is about Peeps.

Or rather, S'mores made out of Peeps.  

 

Perhaps we should call them S'Meeps?

Why do all of my posts begin with topics that are irrelevant to my actual post?  Gentle Reader, it is entirely possible that you should pity the people who are frequently inundated with my circular conversations.

 So as we were dashing through the store, grabbing all beef hot dogs and buns, Studmuffin caught site of some Peeps.  "We should make S'mores out of those!"

 And so we did.

Sisters, Septics, Chicken Tractors and Weddings. (Not necessarily in that order.)

I slept in  until 9am....

Now that I've gotten that off of my chest I will continue my line of confession:

• It is 11:02 am.  I am still in my pajamas.
• I got home from five nights away from my husband and I acted like a shrew.  
• Because it has been raining.  
• And we didn't get our new septic put in this winter like I wanted.  
•  And now I am stressing about all of my castle issues.  
• And yes, all of those statements are deserving of individual bullet points.
• Instead of doing spring cleaning (after all it's hard to clean too terribly hard when you're limiting the water that goes into the septic) I've been reading blogs.
• And now I'm typing a blog instead of exercising.
• I just refilled my coffee cup.
• I am considering going to upload some photos to be developed as I haven't scrapbooked in over a year, and now my kids are gone for two more days, so I better make myself useful since I took the week off.
•  I read this blog, and was slapped in the face by this scripture:  Proverbs 27:15-16 A quarrelsome wife is like a constant dripping on a rainy day; restraining her is like restraining the wind or grasping oil with the hand. 

I ask you:  Who wanted a conviction this morning?

My niece got married this weekend.  At the reception we had a tea party for roughly 300 people.  It was really fun.  I came to the conclusion over the weekend as I spent time with my sisters and watched my niece Sarah help her sister Molly get ready for the wedding while fretting on behalf of her sister that all things go off beautifully that sisters are the best thing.  EVER.  Brothers are all well and good, but sisters are just about the best gift God could give a girl! Anyway I certainly have tons of fun with my sisters.  And I know my mom does too.  Speaking of fun:

Here's my mom and her sister and sister in law at the photo booth for the wedding:

 And here's me with my sisters at the photo booth:

And here's my Grandma Irene and my dad's cousin Loretta!

Grandma decided she needs a  photo booth because she thinks she looks so young in that picture!  And I would have to agree.  I hope I'm half as fun as she is at nearly 92 years old!


Oh, and here's us with Grandma:

Oh! Would you like to see a photo of the bride and groom?  Well, venture on over to Dawn's blog for a peek at the lovely bride and groom!

Anyway, I'm off to be productive. I'm feeling the itch to buy some flowers or perhaps build a chicken tractor, as I happen to know baby chicks are at Atwoods...Because I'm just not convinced that I have enough animals cluttering up my life.

What sort of spring plans are you building  in your mind?

Attractive Creeping

I have discovered an unsettling truth about myself.

I'm quite adept at being worthless.  Especially if my husband is out of town.  If he is gone, and I'm home with the girls, I immediately become worthless.

I'm fairly okay with that.

This weekend I was unable to be as unproductive as I'd like for the simple reason that my children needed new shoes for softball (which I'm so excited about I can't hardly stand it) and Popcorn had the audacity to grow out of her school shoes...

And I had to take Bookworm to her basketball game...

And clearly, my life is just so DIFFICULT.

Anyhoo, my nephew was in town the last two days for a state wrestling tournament.  He had asked me to try and meet up with him.  He is 17, and has all of the responsibilities of a 17 year old...


Trying to get the details of when/where to meet, or if it was even possible to plan ahead was next to impossible.  Of course, it ended up that we couldn't meet because he was busy with matches except the time frame we were at Bookworm's basketball game.  I told the girls that our plans for meeting Kris were cancelled.

They took it pretty well considering we had eaten early so Bookworm would not get sick in her game, so they were being quite the little complainers about having to wait to eat anyway.

Bookworm asked if he had a job.

"No, I don't think so."

"Well, he better get one if he wants girls to find him attractive.  Girls want guys to have money!"

And being the wonderful example I am, I died laughing...

And then texted Kris the tip that Bookworm had for him.

He LOL'd and said that he did too.

Me:  You find guys with money attractive too?

Kris:  LOL  NO!  I seriously need a job.

Me:  Good, because I was about to post a facebook prayer intervention with you tagged in the subject line.

And the reality is I'd probably do that, all in the name of being a bossy loving aunt...Because while he may think I'm creeping on him when I'm checking his facebook albums and status updates, I consider that part of being a loving aunt.  PLUS, I thought creeping was viewing without the person's knowledge.  I am very upfront with my nosiness loving concern.  At least I message him any concerns instead of voicing disapproval in comment form...

If course he DID block his status updates from my view.

Wonder why???

A Day's Wages: A Cowgirl's Story: Part 3

Have I lost your interest?  Part 1 was most assuredly TOO long.  But I felt you needed the background.  I think I did better with shortening Part 2.

Part 3 will, hopefully, be the end of this particular saga.  Well, unless I somehow end up working for that former employer again. 

Although I can't quite fathom such an occurrence.  But after getting paid with promotional items from my Dad's business, I had sworn to never help him again.

But Dad made me anyway.  However, this time he agreed to come along.  Especially in light of the fact that I told him my "employer" had sworn at me, and yet said nothing to his slump of a son who was scared to get his horse out of a canter.

Yes indeed, I did have a very smart mouth.  But Dad was gracious enough to not smack me in light of these  spoken truth...Not that he ever smacked me...Except a few spankings that I truly deserved...Although each time Dad spanked me, David got one too.  So, it was probably all David's fault, and I was just the innocent bystander.

Sorry.  I rambled there.  Oops.

So Dad and I were off to help this individual work cattle.  This was a semi load of cattle that he was expecting delivered first thing in the morning.  He was quite proud of his truck load of Limousin cattle.  I had never worked with Limousin cattle, but I confess I was intrigued as they certainly sounded impressive!

We arrived about the same time as the truckload of cattle.  We watched them trot off the truck and scatter through the corrals.  I don't remember finding anything special about them. 

However, as you are about to learn, I soon realized that they had one very specific trait that seemed to run through every single one of them.

Dad and the Employer did the little chat with the trucker thing that comes along with such goings on as cattle, then he headed off down the road.  And we commenced to grouping the cattle into one large corral, with the plans to bring them by smaller bunches into what's known as a "crowding pen."

Okay.  I will now stop this post for a bit of explanation on the system.  The cattle are in a large pen.  You bring them by bunches into a smaller crowding pen.  Once they are in a crowding pen, the person working the pen, brings them by groups of two or three into a narrow lane.  The lane should be just wide enough for the cattle to fit through.  I'm sure fancy operations have a gate to swing shut in their lane.  We had a gate in ours, but always found it simpler to use a fence post that was narrow enough to go through the squares of the corral.  You run the cattle into the lane, then make them stand as close to each other as possible and then with your hip planted firmly into the last calf's backside, you shove the post in.  Not too high, or he will get under it.  Too low and he'll pull his back legs up and climb backwards over it.  When I helped my dad work cattle at this age, I'd run the cattle into the lane, shove in a post, then  climb the fence to help work them.  We had a nice little system where we knew exactly who did what.  He nearly always ran the head gate, as I was too slow to get it closed, and the calves would jump through, then be loose in the final big corral where you let the cattle after they'd been worked.  My ineptitude with the head gate would lead to sorting the cattle to get the ones I'd let go back through the chute.  This was nearly always a big hassle as the cattle tend to be a bit wound up after being branded, ear marked, vaccinated, and if they were bull calves, castrated....

This isn't our chute, but you see if the head gate doesn't get closed, the calf runs right out the front.

In the system we were using with Dad and Employer, we would all three run a group  into the crowding pen.  I would work the crowding pen, then stay in the lane behind the cattle trying to keep them in place as Dad and Employer did the actual "working" of the cattle.

My job was not a fun job.  It involved getting pooped on more than should be necessary.  I also got kicked more in that single day than I was kicked by cattle in all my days combined...

You see, Employers lane was too wide.  The wide lane meant the cattle had room to turn around.  And switch places in the lane.  And generally be pains in the rump.  When it came time to put them in the chute, inevitably the next calf was facing backwards.  Only I wasn't able to really do much about it, because I discovered that the cattle had the most amazing ability.

They could climb fences.

I'm not kidding!  Because the lane was not narrow enough, and they were apparently crazy as bed bugs (there seemed to be a pattern that developed with all of the Employer's livestock) they would literally turn up on their back legs and start climbing the corral panels until they just literally kind of climbed/fell over the sides.  Please understand, Gentle Reader, that the average corral panel is about 6 feet tall.

I am saddened to admit that I was quite intimidated by such goings on as I had never in all my born days seen such behavior in cattle.  However fearful or not, I had two people up in front attempting to work cattle, and my job was to get the cattle to them. So I soldiered on with much grumbling and whining on my part, I'm quite certain.  I was a teenage girl after all, and grumbling and complaining was all part and parcel of using me as a hand.

My Grandma Irene brought us a sandwich at dinner time (remember this is the noon hour, or "lunch" to town folk).  As I sat on the tailgate of the pickup eating my bologna sandwich with a slice of American cheese, lettuce, tomato, and potato chips on it, I tugged off my boot and pulled up my pant leg...

My legs were swollen and black and blue from the knee down where I'd been getting kicked repeatedly by those dastardly Limousin calves...

My employer took one look at my legs and said, "Well, I guess you're going to sue me over that."

"Well I would, but Grandma won't let me."  I said in all seriousness.

"Oh now listen here, kid.  Nobody's suing anybody.  Now just don't talk like that."  And sadly her statement was pretty much law, so I dropped it.

Aside note:  As I think about my acceptance as adults word as the law, I can't help but think of kids today, and their lack of it.  And directly on the tail of that thought is the thought that it's the parents fault.  If we as parents demanded the respect, and taught respect and most of all SHOWED the respect that I was taught, kids today would be respectful.  It's really a pretty simple solution.  Well, and I also have the solution of ceasing to allow kids to watch all of those shows where kids talk sass to their parents, and it's treated as humorous....But I will now step down from my soap box and return to the story....

Forgive me, I just can't help it!

That is the last time I recall helping that employer.  I'm sure there were other times.  However, that experience with those crazy Limousins is burned forever in my brain....

When we moved down by San Antonio, there was a Limousin bull ranch about two miles south of our house.   He had fences that we use around here to keep bison in...I think they are a good seven feet tall...

So I'm guessing the propensity for climbing fences wasn't exclusive to that one herd.

At last the saga of a cowgirl's life is wrapped up.  How sad for me, as my blog ideas have been few and far between lately. 

What's the most exciting job you ever had?