Our barn holds so many memories for me, and I know that someday my own girls will be making their own memories in that big red sanctuary. I wasn’t born in a barn, but am damn sure glad I grew up in one.
Till next time, friends~ Richelle
The cliche’ red paint color on the outside with unfinished wood beams inside. A dirt floor, a tack room full of saddles and reins and retired horse equipment from years gone by. Closed with up with cracked windows and heavy, hard to open doors, barn is not just another old building on a ranch. A barn is an institution of higher learning; a home; shelter in a storm, a storage unit. Big or small, old or new, stout and strong or fallen into disrepair; a barn is a mainstay in livestock country. They are a tribute to hard work, and cowboy architecture. A child that grows up in the barn learns things she would never learn in school; birth, death, responsibility. I have a lot of great memories from the barn on our ranch- playing with the kittens in the loft (but being scared to death to climb up the 2x4 ladder to get there); the smell of horse sweat and leather in the tack room; playing half-court basketball with my cousins with a hoop whose net was barely hanging on. I can remember sitting on the old pickup bench seat that was turned into a dog bed for the cow dogs, and racing between the horse stalls. I will never forget the time I opened the back walk-through door and ended up with a bat in my hair; I was jumping around and screaming like an idiot while my mom stood back and laughed {Yep, I am pretty sure she peed her pants a little}. I remember being the one to find my dad’s old dog, on a cold day, laying on that old pickup seat, and not being to wake him up and learning death comes swiftly and can’t be stopped; and yet watching a cow give birth in a back stall and being amazed at the hope that comes with new life.
Our barn holds so many memories for me, and I know that someday my own girls will be making their own memories in that big red sanctuary. I wasn’t born in a barn, but am damn sure glad I grew up in one. Till next time, friends~ Richelle
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Nine years. Where has the time gone? It will be nine years this July since we said "I do". Nine years since our long distance dating became a permanent, local fixture. We were truly blessed when we planned our wedding; I was 350 miles away at college, and I think both our parents figured out pretty quickly that if he could propose at 20 years old, and I was crazy enough to say yes, we understood there was no return policy. They gently gave their two cents when it came to who was going to officiate, but other than that, neither set of parents really had too much to say. I guess they decided to save that for when they became grandparents (insert smiley face).
Being married to your high school sweetheart may seem cliche', but honestly, had Shane and I not started dating in high school, I would probably still be single. College guys are morons of epic proportions, so he obviously never had to worry about the long distance thing being an issue. While sometimes it feels like he is still in high school, my husband really is one of those one-of- a- kind men; the kind that loves his wife, loves his kids, and can get along with his in-laws in spite of all their weirdness. He is my best friend, my biggest source of encouragement, and provides much needed testosterone in a house full of estrogen. He is my manly man, my cowboy, and my crush. I often feel sad when I talk to other women about their marriages; it seems to be a rarity for so many wives to speak highly of their husbands. I don't understand those kind of relationships. Trust me; Shane and I certainly don't have an inside guide on this whole marriage deal. There are days it really sucks, and when it would be so easy to give up and walk out. But I don't believe that marriage is just a piece of paper from the court house. Marriage is a career, a lifestyle, a choice. Any relationship is bound to have tough times; especially with kids and pets and in-laws and jobs and bills and vehicles and livestock and the list goes on and on. No one is perfect, and if you can't have a good laugh at your own expense, or learn to forgive your husband when he demolishes your toilet while you are making supper for your kids, maybe marriage isn't for you. In honor of my upcoming anniversary, I would just like to share a few things I {and probably we} have learned along the way. ~ You are going to get mad. At each other, at yourself, at situations of which you have no control. At your family and his family. As long as you don't resort to physical violence, or get into a screaming match with each other, time will heal the wounds. ~ Laugh. A lot. If you can't laugh in your marriage, what the hell are you married for? You are supposed to spend your life with the same person for eternity- better choose someone that keeps you smiling. Dutch ovens don't kill people; and trust me- your spouse will eventually get over that night you got so drunk and passed out before things got frisky in the bedroom. Laugh at each other, laugh at others, but most of all, laugh with each other. Ladies, if you think your husband is the most immature dork out there, you are in good company. ~ Make -up sex is a real good thing. Don't waste it. ~ When you have kids, your love for your spouse is going to change. It is going to deepen and there will be days you feel like your heart is going to explode. But be warned- it ain't all roses and butterflies, kiddos. Life changes when shitlits come along- be sure you want to share that roller coaster ride with each other long before you start picking out nursery colors and names. Don't forget to take time for each other. ~ There will be times when you will need to keep secrets from your spouse. Like how much you hate their haircut, or how ridiculous they look with a beard. Bite your tongue, and remind them (and yourself) how much you love them and why. Believe me- these kind of secrets are going to save you both a lot of hurt feelings. I ain't talking about big secrets like you won the lottery and don't want to share, or that you are going to surprise her with birthday weekend in the middle of BFE. I think you get my drift. ~ Don't lie. About anything; if she cooks something that looks like road tar and tastes like road kill, it is probably best to tactfully tell her thanks, but please don't ever make that again. Chances are she is secretly hoping you spit it out and offer to take her out to supper. And girls, if he tries to commit to no-shave November, don't go along with it just to appease him. I am pretty low key and low maintenance, but I draw the line at making out with a ZZ Tops look alike. This ain't Duck Dynasty, and he ain't a millionaire... here's the Schick, baby! If you like the beard, that's ok too... but don't bitch about it if you don't tell hh=im how you really feel. I admire couples that have been together for forty or fifty years. That still seems like an entire lifetime to me; as we say in our house, "till death do us part" isn't just a promise, it is a threat. This whole marriage gig is tough work, but just like raising kids, it is rewarding and satisfying and makes me feel whole. I pray that God guides us on our journey together, and continues to bless us with grace and love for one another. Nine years is only the first few chapters in our story together; and I know I look forward to writing the pages of the book with the man I love. Laundry.
Why, why can't these clothes fold themselves? WHY is it so socially unacceptable to not just wear the same thing day after day? Why do we have so many freaking clothes? Who wears all this crap, anyways? It feels like I fold fifteen piles of laundry at a time, and the next morning, I still cannot find a damn thing to wear to work. It is a conspiracy created by clothing stores, so that even though that new shirt looks so cute on the hanger and the first time you wear it, once it gets washed it makes you look like the Michelin man; hence making you go buy even more clothes. And heaven forbid you should throw anything away or give a few of those clothes away that never get worn... "I can't get rid of this white vest, it goes with everything! If I just wear a scarf with it, no one will ever see this stain here!" Guilty. Worse than guilty; I would probably just wear the stained item and blame the mystery spot on the children. Life was so much easier in college- when I had a closet the size of a box of matches, and the fanciest thing I ever wore was a new button up shirt and clean jeans. Dresses?? Ha. Would you wear a dress to muck out horse stalls? I didn't think so. And then those tiny, itsy bitsy baby clothes- I tell ya! Adorable, yes; pragmatic- hell no! How do you fold ruffle bottoms? Thankfully the girls have outgrown the little, tiny outfits, but now there are just more clothes to wash. And fold. And try to stuff into a dresser drawer that is already full of clothes. Then to dig through again tomorrow, wear; wash; repeat. In case you were wondering, I have clearly figured out more ways to put off folding laundry than just doing it. Which, I suppose, I should at least try to tackle one basket full tonight. Then again, I could look up some important stuff on Pinterest... Till next time, may you be organized and self- disciplined enough to fold your clothes as they come out of the dryer. ~Richelle~ “Do unto others, as you would have them do unto you.” I always thought this was a pretty good mantra, the Golden Rule. It only makes sense that if you want to be treated fairly, you have to treat others fairly first. But that doesn’t seem to hold much weight in this me-first, throw- away society we live in today. In a world where we try so hard to fit in, to be liked, to be everything to everyone, we forget to think about other people along the way. This self-centered, self-worshipping mentality has made us a society of shallow, self absorbed people that think that sharing an uplifting quote on Pinterest is going to make others think we are really deep, kind, and selfless. Instead of accepting our differences, and letting others’ opinions roll off our backs, we let people’s words bring us down and make us the casualties of unintended circumstances. Instead of holding firm to our values and sticking to our morals, we choose to tear each other down and blame one another for our own problems; because it is easier to play the victim than to pull ourselves up by our bootstraps and toughen up. Life ain’t fair, but it is better than the alternative! Race, religion, gender, sexual preference and political beliefs are not the problem. Men and women have disagreed on these things and more since the beginning of time; the difference between life now and even fifty years ago is how we choose to deal with those issues. Don’t advertise your dirty laundry on Facebook, and then get mad when others offer up their advice (or lack thereof). Don’t judge others based on what others say about them; just because someone doesn’t like you does not make you a bad person! Don’t get on your soapbox and preach the virtues of anything unless you are properly informed and are ready to defend your beliefs. Don’t be afraid to be wrong or to fail. If you always win, what do you stand to gain? We live in a country built on the foundation of equality- we all have an equal chance to succeed as much as we have the ability to crash and burn. The choice is ours. We reap what we sow; so we better be sure we can harvest the crop. Fill your life with beauty, and beauty will reflect back on you.
May your fields produce more quality than quantity. Until next time, ~Richelle Ahh, late spring in North Central Montana. Long days full of sunshine; the unending smell of barbecued burgers and cut grass. Camping, hiking, laying out on the patio. How could it get any better after our long, cold winters that seem to drag on for an eternity? Thankfully the weather has finally stabilized enough to start spending entire days outside, and it makes me *happy*. But summer is not all wonderful- living out in the sticks in the summer poses its own shitty health risks beyond the inevitable sunburn and mosquito bites.
Apparently, our cat knows he is close to being coyote bait; I think the little bastard thinks that by dragging his hunting trophies into my front yard is going to provide me with some rose-colored glasses through which I will see him as a ferocious predator that needs to be treated like royalty. What he doesn’t realize, is that the next flea-infested gopher or mouse that shows up on my sidewalk is probably going to be his last meal. The last thing I need is for my kids to end up with the bubonic plague thanks to the damn barn cat. Ticks. Mosquitos. Gnats. Are you itching yet? I am itchy just thinking about them. Luckily, our mosquitos are quite small (but no less vigorous) compared to Alaska’s so-called B-52’s, but our ticks make up for it. Have you ever seen a tick the size of a quarter? Count yourself lucky if not. Screw Dracula; Mother Nature has blessed us with her own blood-sucking vermin for real. Not only do they hurt like a bitch when you have to try to pluck one off your skin, but they also carry nasties like Lyme disease & Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever. Not exactly a romantic date. And to round out the fun, lets talk snakes. Bullsnakes. Rattlesnakes. Garter snakes. Blue Racers. The list goes on and on- and those are just the ones that hang out in my neck of the woods. Considering we don’t have vipers, cobras, or Diamondbacks, I shouldn’t complain, but I will anyways. Yeah, I concede there are some good things these devil serpents do- eat other snakes, mice, gophers, blah, blah, blah… but I am still not above taking a shotgun to one that gets too close to me. Take that, all you legless, slithering, cold-blooded creeps! After multiple encounters both on foot and on horseback, and having one in my house, I will generally be seen pulling up my skirt and running the opposite direction at full tilt. Don’t get me wrong. I prefer getting a minor sunburn when riding my horse compared to feeding my horse in a 40-below snow, wind, and ice storm. I love the long days that come with summer and the comfort of wearing a tank top and jean shorts without a parka. Just saying, be careful out there- keep your eyes open when running and jamming out to your music; don’t leave the house without sunblock and bug spray and take time to do a full body check while listening to Brad Paisley’s “Ticks”; and as for pain in the ass cat, well, I am sure my husband will be dealing with him shortly. Until next time, may your bug repellant be strong and your aim true! ~Richelle It has been said that having a baby changes everything. And if having one baby changes everything, then having two turns your world upside down. I knew going into this adventure of raising children, that our personal lives were going to change- no more sleeping in on Saturdays, no more date nights spent snuggled up on the couch "watching" a movie, no more spontaneous stops at the bar for a few drinks. Little did I realize how wrong I was- we still get to sleep in on Saturdays- we just have another person in bed with us, rolling and kicking and flailing around “watching” "Sophia the First" or whatever Disney show is acceptable per the dictator's liking. The hubby & I still snuggle up on the couch on some Saturday nights; we turn on a movie and ten minutes later we are both sleeping like bears in hibernation. I can't even remember the last time we actually watched an entire movie together at home. As for spontaneity, the only stops we make that are not coordinated as if the National Guard wrote our itinerary is for potty breaks. Yep, to say children change everything is about the most honest thing anyone told me when I was pregnant.
What I didn't realize when I was pregnant and glowing like a sweaty cow, was that having kids would provide me with new fodder for my professional life, too. Heck, thanks to my kids, I have a very full resume. I think all parents can relate; one day you're filling in your job skills with things like, "Excellent customer service; works well in a team setting; proficient with office machinery" and then you have kids. And all that crap flies right out the window. You have real skills now, and any boss would be crazy to pass you up for those innocent young kids whose resumes would make a thesaurus vomit. The next time I decide to apply for a new job, I am thinking my resume is going to look a bit like the following. Writing the cover letter should be a piece of cake- it could be pared down to a paragraph that looks something like: Dear potential employer, I am an extremely credible candidate for a multitude of positions within your company. As my resume will reflect, I have quite the arsenal of skills under my belt; everything from customer service experience to hostage negotiations. I look forward to meeting with you to discuss my flexibility and desire to work hard for you; please beware I may need to be told multiple times if you call to set up an interview time because I can’t understand anything unless it is said at least three times in a row by an irritated adult. Skills that I possess: -Responsibility: Ensuring two melodramatic girls and their father make it to their pre-determined destinations, on time, in clean clothes, clean underwear, and with full stomachs is not for the faint of heart. Meeting your deadlines should be a cakewalk. - Honesty: Four- and two- year olds are brutally honest, and having spent as much time with each as I do, sugar-coated conversations do not exist. Expect to hear what needs to be heard. - Threat negotiations: If I can talk a screaming toddler down from an all-out temper tantrum, your whiny, spoiled, and self-absorbed customers should be putty in my hands. Hostages? Heck, I can talk a teddy bear out of ending up with a swirly; I got this! - Stalling Tactics: Need excuses? I’ve got ‘em! Trust me, I am fully versed in the language of putting off anything that should be done immediately. Hunger pangs, thirst, bathroom talk, the apocalypse- I can reference it all. References- Let me put it this way: come spend fifteen minutes with me in my car after picking up my darling children from daycare. You will see that I can handle emotional roller coasters, discussions that are missing 90% of the pertinent information, and am able to find the solution to a variety of problems with one hand (literally) tied behind my back. I am sure my children would love to sit and tell you all about how great their mommy is at making mac and cheese, and reading bedtime stories, if you really care to sit and listen to it. Then again, maybe I should just stay right where I am. These people already know the true value of my experience, and they already know why I am an emotional, crazy, and tired hot mess. And I don’t have to explain why there are days that I walk around with my sweater on inside out with two different earrings on. Thank goodness for job security… ~Richelle "We were walkin' in high cotton, old times there are not forgotten, those fertile fields are never far away
We were walkin' in high cotton, old times there are not forgotten; Leavin' home was the hardest thing we ever faced" Alabama, "High Cotton" Those few lines from an old song say a lot about the truth about growing up in the country. Growing up in a home full of love, being raised by parents that worked hard to provide for their family, definately builds strong roots. And honestly, looking back on things now, leaving home really was the scariest thing I ever faced as a ranch kid, besides crotchety bulls and the occasional run-in with wild animals. The older I get, and the more things change, the more I yearn for time to slow down. Sometimes I just want to be a kid again; I realize now how much I took my childhood for granted. I see things differently now than I did even ten years ago, and it makes me realize why it is so important for my own children to be involved in our family ranch. I also know, too, that no matter how far displaced from ranch life I feel, you can take the girl out of the country; but you can't take the country out of the girl. A few days spent horseback behind a bunch of cows on rare weekends has replaced daily rides spent on my four-legged equine partner. Even though they are few and far between, I love those days. As soon as my butt plops into my saddle, I can literally feel all the annoying stuff-- the stress of my "city job", the frustration that comes from raising two overly dramatic daughters, the anxiety of impending changes-- melt off of me and I feel like I can breathe again. Laughter from good friends, the random whinny from a meat-head horse, and the sounds of moving cattle replace the phones, idle chit-chat, and noise from the office. Meadow flowers and fresh air replace the stench of burnt coffee and too-sweet donuts. Sunshine replaces high-beam florescent lights and the knot between my shoulders begins to relax. It is in this stretch of time, spent mounted and away from the rest of the world, that my soul comes alive. In this way, I realize that my life is full and my heart is happy. We all walk to the beat of our own drums. I hope that you all find something that brings you peace; something that helps make your soul come alive and your heart sing. Life is too short not to take long way home. May all your fields be filled with high cotton. ~Richelle Let me preface this post with the following: I am not racist; I don't care what color your skin is because good people come in all shapes, colors, and sizes. Your religion, or lack there of, is just important to you as mine is to me; so accept the fact that if what you believe is different than what I believe as a Catholic, it makes you no better or worse than me. I believe that God made one man and one woman, and together they were meant to go forth and populate the earth. While I do understand the fact that there are same sex couples, I am not so ignorant to deny them the same basic freedoms the rest of us have. Please just keep it to yourselves, and out of the eyes of my children; and I will do the same for you. Even though I consider myself fairly tolerant, I still have my own moral compass and my own feelings about the world we live in. You don't have to agree with me, but I believe we should all learn to respect each other's freedoms. I seriously wonder about this country we live in. Every day there seems to be something more fucked up than the crazy ass shit that was on the news yesterday; and I am saddened by the fact that it isn't going to change anytime soon. The media and our government has produced a culture of self- righteous, self- absorbed, and entitlement that cannot be changed by the few honest, hard working people that do not agree with the rest of society. There are so many things I can't understand; and how the hell do you explain things like this to your kids?
A man can be photographed for the cover of national magazines in drag, and be called heroic and courageous by our own president because "he" thinks "he" is really a "she"; but a movie about a true hero that paid the ultimate price for our freedom is condoned and banned by people that think it is racist propaganda. Chris Kyle was and is a hero; Bruce Jenner is a man going through a midlife identity crisis, and making a fortune in doing so. Pardon me if I find this a disgusting waste of money that could be better spent on something of value, say, for example, making sure that our veterans can come home and get the therapy they need to become active members of society again. Just saying. Black "thugs" can loot their own neighborhoods and kill police officers in the name of racial justice; but young white men can get shot by any cop and no one is breaking down the doors of city hall to pin the blame on the authorities. Children are being taught that genders don't exist, instead of being taught to honor and appreciate the way God made them. Instead of building up our children's self esteem, parents are so self absorbed with their own desires of having a perfect child that they are tearing down what our mothers, grandmothers, and others have worked so hard for. Who needs gender equality if we are all a bunch of hermaphroditic freaks? Muslims can wear their garb and pray where they so choose, and American Indians can claim Native Pride. Blacks have the ACLU and Reverend Jesse Jackson in their corner pocket. But to even say you are a young white male (or female, for that matter; I have been called a white bitch by more than one resident of a local reservation) somehow implies that you are a racist bigot. Just because I am white, does not mean that I am part of some sadistic white supremacy group. Much the contrary. I believe that people can be racist no matter what color their skin is. I see it every day; and it irritates me to no end that our government and media are always the first to bring race into everything. Perhaps if we could go one day without referring to one another by the color of our skin, we might see that the real issues start inside ourselves- not because of the outside of others around us. The problems don't just end with race or religion. Why is it that people that have no idea where real food comes from can tell the rest of how to eat and how to raise our crops and livestock? I think farmers and ranchers in the United States have done a pretty damn good job raising a surplus of food for the masses, so the rest of you can live in your fancy homes in the suburbs and worry about whether to buy the "organic" or "natural" strawberries. If you don't even know what the hell gluten is, then you probably aren't allergic to it. Monsanto does not own producers; and believe it or not, ranchers and farmers are probably one of the biggest reasons you don't have to worry too much about getting a blood transfusion the next time you eat American produce. We take pride in producing a damn good product for you to spend your hard earned money on, as opposed to producing garbage in mass quantities just to fill the WalMart truck. In my humble opinion, 'Chipotle' can take its' restaurants and shove them up the owner's ass. America, your problem is that no one has to be accountable for themselves anymore. Scapegoats are free for the taking; you have allowed us to blame our shortcomings on our religions; our disabilities; our parents- everyone but our own selves. You don't make us stop and think before speaking; you don't make us do our homework when you invite us to a fight. I wish we could get rid of politicians- they have become the blood-sucking ticks of our society and should be eradicated, along with the dirty money that speaks louder than the needs and dreams of the average citizen. America, I still love you; but just once, I wish you would let kids pray in school and recite the Pledge of Allegiance without making a big deal out of it. Kids that don't respect our flag can either leave the room or sit, just like when I was in school. I wish that you could just teach your children to be more tolerant, less arrogant, and more appreciative of what they have. Because freedom don't come free-- and last time I checked, this is still "one nation, under God, indivisible; with liberty and justice for all." God bless you all; even if you don't agree with me. "... but as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord." Joshua 24:15 ~Richelle I truly believe that all the people we ever meet, ever happen to run into, or even love, were put in our paths for a reason. Not because we are going to like them all. Not because we are going to love them all. Chances are really good that you might not even talk to half of the people that you cross paths with. For every chance encounter, new friendship, or phone call we receive, there is an opportunity to learn and grow. Sometimes these opportunities last far too long: angry customers that read the riot act; politicians that waste your precious dinner time with family; the person in line at the grocery store whose card is expired or out of checks or decides they need a price check. Other times, the time goes so fast that it is hard to appreciate those people until they are gone. Good or bad, we inflict ourselves on everyone around us. Like it or not, it only takes seconds for judgements to be formed; and it can take a lifetime to change or fix that.
I am trying to learn how to leave a more positive impact on the people around me; I struggle with meeting new people, and being introverted makes it hard to form new relationships. I am learning that being nice isn’t always enough; nor is being funny or genuine. It seems like God has a sick sense of humor; I feel like He is always putting me in situations where I either get to become really close to someone for a short time, and then He changes their path and they end of moving hundreds of miles away while I stay right where I have always been. Or, I get forced to be nice to people that don't deserve to be given a penny worth of my time, and they never go away. Staying positive in these situations is difficult; keeping the faith and being patient gets to be a full time job for me. Being a descendent of hot-blooded German and Scandinavian people means that I tend to be less than rational about a lot of things. A few months of therapy in my early twenties helped to ease the hair- trigger on my bitch-switch a little, but the facts are that no matter how many times I stop and take a deep breath and count to ten, I still find myself passing judgement a little too quickly; a little too attached to the grudges that I hold; and a little too emotionally psychotic at times. Sometimes, I find myself going back and forth between crying a river and slapping the shit out of the next jackass that happens to look at me funny. The doctors keep saying I am fine... but sometimes I really think that I should probably re-enroll myself in therapy again. I just don't have the patience for some of the people that I cross paths with. Thank God this isn't an everyday occurrence, or I may have to be committed. Paired with the ups and downs of raising two young girls, and working in an office full of women, I often wonder why men ever choose to get married in the first place. Women and girls are exhausting; I am one and I still can't figure us out. With friends like us, who needs enemies? Finding true friends in your late twenties is really hard. All of us are at different stages in our lives, and finding people that are easy to relate to and that share your same interests tends to be a lot harder than it was in grade school. Being someone that has always struggled in the friend department, once I make a friend, I hang on for dear life because having another woman to discuss girl stuff, men, kids, horses, and life in general is so rare, yet so important. Learning to be a better person and help other up instead of tearing others down all the time is really tough; having a good friend that makes you laugh and see the glass half-full makes it a little easier. I am sincerely sorry to all the people that my hot blooded German self may have offended or hurt along my journey of growing up. I worry constantly about how to fit in, whether my lack of a poker face is hurting someone's feelings, and if I am giving my heart and soul to the people that deserve it the most. I am learning that good or bad, how I inflict myself upon others will leave a lasting effect- far longer than I probably think. I hope that I inflict myself upon you all in a good way; unless you don't like horses, or cows, or country music. If that's the case, I already formed my judgement of you and good luck trying to change it. Until next time, may you crank up that Waylon Jennings station on your Pandora and drink another beer with me! ~Richelle A long weekend out of town is about the only way I actually get to spend more than 2 waking hours with my husband at any given time of the year. So when we get the opportunity to pack up the car and get the heck out of Dodge, we jump on it like fleas on a hound. The problem, though, is that while it is meant to be a relaxing getaway that allows us to do whatever the hell we want, it doesn’t pan out that way. It used to, but now, with a four year old dictator and her happy little minion along for the ride, vacations are less about “relaxing” and more like an Olympic Triathlon.
Seven trips from the car to the house, and I can actually *see* the floor boards (albeit covered in cereal and half of the gravel from our road). Five trips from the house to the car later, I think we have everything but the kitchen sink in the cargo area of my 4Runner. Hell, you can even see out the back window, so I guess we are golden. Get the kids, the stuffed lovies, the blankets, the milk jugs, wallet, purse, cell phones and chargers, portable potty chair, stroller, pack-and-play, and hit the road, Jack. Que Willie Nelson and “On the Road Again…” I refuse to let my kids stare at a television screen while traveling. Montana is a big, beautiful state, and if I figure if I never got to watch cartoons when we traveled in my parents little Ford Taurus with my brother, my kids can learn to enjoy the scenery or catch up on some much needed sleep. Needless to say, listening to a four year old give you a play-by-play for 250 miles will either make you kiss the city concrete under your feet at the motel, or make you drive an extra 5 miles to find beer. Not to mention that the headache from the token sibling fighting going on every 45 minutes or so is not going away anytime soon. It never fails that no matter how hard you try to pack the entire house for a three day trip, you inevitably forget the most important thing. 250 miles from home and I finally realize we forgot the diaper bag… thank God there is a Walgreens on every street corner in Billings, or I might still be recovering from a coronary. Honestly, what kind of mother leaves the diaper bag sitting on the couch? How could I forget the bag that every stop is planned around? If there is a bathroom within 200 yards, my oldest daughter will find it and use it to it’s full potential. I think she may have a problem…. Back to the relaxing part. Shopping with kids is apparently the good Lord’s redemption for grandparents. I understand now why the only place my dad ever let us go with him was to the feed store and the parts store. Any other store on the face of the planet is just teeming with tantrum-inducing products. Thankfully my children are relatively well behaved in public, but I can only imagine that if they weren’t; it would be their mother sitting in the middle of the aisle crying, not them. I am pretty sure my husband and I have set the record for saying the most “No’s” in a single hour. It is exhausting! Sleeping in a motel room sucks bad enough when there is just two of you; sharing a room with little ones can be brutal. Thanks to my husband for upgrading us to a two-bedroom suite so the children could sleep in their own bed; I just wish I could have slept as well as they did. Between swimming, shopping, eating, driving around looking at semi trucks and Caterpillar equipment, and being a tourist in general, this momma was so worn out by the time we finally got home Monday afternoon all I could do was lay on the couch and crash. The suitcase fairy did manage to get her ass fired too, because even though I had asked her to unpack the car and put everything away while I was napping, she basically gave me the bird and left me to wallow in my own self pity while cleaning out duffel bags. Of course the kids didn’t care either… they were too busy tearing apart the rest of my house and yard to be bothered with unpacking. Ahhh, to be home again. Don’t get me wrong; getting away for a couple of days was nice. I managed to max out what was left on my credit card and eat a whole lot of garbage that only widened my hips and increased my blood pressure. I have to go back to work now to have a vacation from my family, and to pay off the new shoes and clothes that we just couldn’t live without. Needless to say, it will be a while before we go on another family trip. I still haven’t worked the curve back into the flat spot on my butt yet! Til the next "trip"... ~Richelle |
AuthorHi, I am Richelle. I am a mother to two wild and crazy little cowgirls, a wife and friend to pretty awesome cowboy, and a lover of all things western. This is just my collection of my own observations of life, some of my photos, and a few recipes here and there. I hope you enjoy! Categories
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January 2016
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