May your bulls be satisfied and your heifers pregnant,
~Richelle
Let’s talk cows. Bulls and heifers, to be more exact. Obviously these animals are a necessary evil on any working ranch, because it is pretty hard to keep your herd numbers up without them. Unless you AI everything, you are bound to have a bull or two hanging around, being obnoxious and just waiting to tear stuff up. Being only of any real use about 60 days out of the year, the trick is trying to figure out how to keep them out of trouble the other three hundred and five. One is bad enough, but rarely is there just one bull residing on the place at any given time. Like any man, they have to constantly prove they are worthy contenders for the attention from the female species. Unlike men though, they don’t have fists to pound the crap out of the other guys sniffing around their girls; but I suspect that is why the good Lord made them so massive. If you think two thousand pounds of beef can’t move very quickly, just try cutting one out of a herd of cows. Not only are they fast, but they know they are big and they will take the shortest route from point A to B, regardless of who or what is in their way. When two or more bulls decide they want to fight, they can brawl better than any drunk football players; you just have to hope you are out of the way and there is a lot of room between them and the fence. Not necessarily ones to appreciate a horse trying to crawl up their butt to keep them moving either, if given the opportunity, a bull will brush up in the trees faster than the takeoff of a 747 jet airliner. And, like most men, they take their sweet-ass time to go everywhere except where you want them to go. Typical. God has a funny sense of humor, therefore he also created the heifer. Like any young group of girls, heifers are curious and full of sass… while cute at first, they become a major pain in the ass anytime you are trying to accomplish something while they are around. Like a band of sheep, if you have one heifer that finds a hole in the fence, the rest will shortly follow her. Instead of moving out when you and your trusty steed try to round them up and push them into another field, they circle around and soon you find yourself with a nice little string of little shits that would rather play ring around the rosy with your horse than go where you have intended for them to go. As long as you aren’t trying to move them around, chances are they could be a mile away and the minute you ride into the field, they will flock to you like gulls in a dumpster. But beware that if you try to push them to do anything, they will probably scatter like shotgun pellets in a tornado. The measure of a cowboy or cowgirl is not always how well they ride; it is, more or less, how well they can think like a bull or a heifer. How you can prevent a catastrophic event by being at the right place at the right time, being able to read their irritating little minds, and how well you can coerce your livestock into thinking it is their choice to move to greener pastures. No matter what, you can bet that working with either critter is going to make for an interesting day.
May your bulls be satisfied and your heifers pregnant, ~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. 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 Do you ever have those days when no matter how hard you try to find the silver lining, it seems like everything you do is wrong? Or how even if you recite the words in your head, the words that actually come out of your mouth sound more like a toddler practicing Chinese? That moment when you know you really should care, but your "give a damn" is completely broken and you realize you have no filter? Some days, after the kids are in bed, and I finally have five, maybe ten, blissfully quiet minutes to myself, I look back on the day and wonder how the hell I made it here with out literally reaching through my telephone at work and beating the crap out of a customer or slapping a co-worker that acted like a moron. I am not a violent person. In fact, I prefer a good tongue-lashing to an actual physical altercation. (Mostly because I couldn't fight myself out of a wet paper bag). But I digress.
I am thoroughly convinced that there is such a thing as Irritable Female Syndrome. When I tried to Google this, it came back with all sorts of fun information about a real disease, called Irritable Bowel Syndrome. While I don't doubt the two could be mildly connected, that wasn't what I was looking for. I wanted answers as to why the female race seems to go through these periods of time where they become moody, angry, violent; even psychotic; and I am not talking about that awesome time of the month that makes every male within a hundred-yard radius run for the hills. I am talking about a real issue that affects us all, at any given time. There are real symptoms; and while I am no doctor, I think I have come up with some pretty sound treatment options for those of you who may be suffering from this terribly frustrating condition. First off, we have to figure out what we are dealing with. {While some indications that you or a loved one may be struggling with this condition may be unnoticeable to some, most of the symptoms I have noticed are no less noticeable than a pink elephant in a white room.} -- Tightly clenched jaws/knuckles/etc: Generally a good sign something is not right. -- Glaring: Perhaps the sun is in her eyes; or perhaps she is trying to bore a hole through your soul. Either way, put down the peanut butter and walk away. Just walk away.... -- Lack of humor/sympathy/empathy: If she isn't laughing at your normally hilarious jokes, and seems to care more about cleaning the imaginary dirt out from under her nails, it is time to move on. -- Tension: If it seems like you could cut the tension around her with a butter knife, don't ask her what is wrong. Chances are she won't tell you; you may need to put a preacher's number somewhere close. -- Throwing objects/Yelling profanities/ slamming drawers, etc: This is probably a really good indication that you have either worn out your welcome, said something really stupid, or she is suffering from some other incurable fit of rage brought on by demonic possession. Maybe put that preacher on speed dial. But what causes women to suddenly be overcome with such manifestations? We've all seen it. You might have watched your sweet, quiet, lovely grandmother suddenly turn into a crock-tossing maniac when your grandfather pissed her off. Or maybe you, being all mild-mannered and innocently sweet (oh, hell who are you trying to kid??) have become overwhelmed with the syndrome and couldn't fight the urge to shit a chicken in your cubicle when your computer auto restarts, your coffee spills on your desk, files are missing, you see baby puke all over the front of your blouse, and at that very moment that you don't think it could get any worse, a co-worker dares to peek around the corner and ask if you need some Midol. Yep, pretty sure this is just a pure and simple case of IFS. Other triggers may include: - Having to repeat everything you say a minimum of 3 times, because no one will listen and/or doesn't really give a shit about what you are saying anyways; -Coming home to a dirty house and finding your significant other drunk and passed out in the recliner (I've never experienced this one, but I hear it happens); - Stepping on Legos/ army men/Lincoln logs/My Little Ponys/ Polly Pockets five minutes after asking your kids to "PICK THAT SHIT UP!" -Not feeling appreciated, for doing all the sucky jobs no one else ever volunteers for; But this list could go on and on. The more I think about this, this syndrome can't just be for women. Men must deal with the same moronic people we do on a daily basis too? Right? I guess that is what keeps Budweiser and Absolut in business. And Hershey's. And Ben & Jerry's. Because the best form of treatment appears to be the ingestion of large amounts of alcohol, chocolate, or ice cream; but I don't recommend mixing the three or you might end up with Irritable bowels. Other long term treatments include telling your co-workers where to stuff it; flipping off ignorant drivers; blasting whatever kind of angry music you need to blast until your shoulders finally relax; and last, but not least, taking a hot bath with a glass of bubbly and then turning the world off for at least six hours. Hopefully, by the time the inflicted party wakes up the next day, she will be feeling much better, and will be able to cope with the frustrations in her life once again. Oohh, that reminds me, I was on a mission to get a beer out of fridge roughly 33.76 minutes ago. If that doesn't help, it might be time to call the preacher! Best wishes to all my afflicted friends out there; until we cross paths again. ~ Richelle 4. He might think the kind of music you listen to is crappy now, but someday you will find him secretly rocking out to "Sink the Bismarck" and then thanking you for broadening his culture. Be warned though, that his sick sense of humor will come full circle and you will be quoting Rodney Carrington and the guys off of Duck Dynasty more than you care to admit. It's true. I may have been a bit of a prude back in high school, but thanks to my great hubby, those days are long gone. 5. Laugh as much as possible. Things are going to be rough. Throwing children in the mix doesn't make marriage any easier, especially when the little tyrants start mouthing off and instead of offering support, your husband busts out laughing and has to leave the room. It will happen. And if you can't laugh with him, well, your going to have a tough go of it. Life is too short to fight and argue; if you really love your spouse, you'll figure it out. Valentine's Day may come but once a year, but true love is a work- in- progress kind of romance. Whether you are celebrating your first month with your new love, or surviving another day with that meat-head you married thirty-some years ago, I hope that you take a moment to show your partner some love. Don't forget that they love you and put up with your weirdness and stupid mistakes just like you do for them. I know this is a little early, but happy Valentines day to you and yours! I am finding it hard to believe that my husband and I have shared 11 years together. Had anyone told me 11 years ago that I would be married to the redneck I was dating at the time, well, I probably would have said, "Duh! I knew I was going to marry him in seventh grade!" Okay, so even though I had a weird premonition in middle school that I would be spending the rest of my life with my best friend, the last eleven years haven't been with out their ups and downs. From the booze cruises through the mountains that seemed to have a way of finding his pickup sideways in the middle of a ranchers hay field, to the long distance cell- phone relationship through college, we have always found a way to work through some less-than- perfect situations. Don't get me wrong; there have been times where I am pretty sure that had I had some weapon besides my tongue, one or both of us would not be on God's great earth today. You see, Murphy's Law has always had a special place in our marriage. Things that could have gone wrong generally (actually, without fail) did go wrong. But rather than dwell on all of the stupid and idiotic things he or I have done to each other in the last few years, I prefer to look back at these fond memories and appreciate what we have learned from them. For example: 1. Always, ALWAYS double check how much fuel is in the tank. While taking a walk down a gravel road in the middle of summer might be something I enjoy doing with my children strapped into a stroller now, it was not any fun when my dad's semi ran out of fuel coming up a hill four miles from their house. And let me tell you, it didn't get any better when a strange thunder storm passed through and soaked us to the bone. Of all the times for there not to be any damn traffic on the road, it had to be that day. I still think God was a little afraid of the wrath I may have inflicted on Shane if front of some poor innocent passerby, so he just made sure there was not a single car on our road until we were home. I can laugh about this now, but if it happened again tomorrow, I am pretty sure I would still be pissed. 2. Just because the speedometer goes past 95, does not mean you should drive 95. I will take full responsibility for this one. Apparently driving your boyfriend's Ford F250 Powerstroke at 95 mph is a no-no; especially when you are 350 miles away at college. Of course alcohol may have been a slight factor in this momentary stroke of genius; the good news was that we beat those weenie rodeo-cowboy wannabe's! Thank God the pickup was no worse for wear. I think it had already seen some it's worst days in high school, but I can't take the blame for that. 3. Even though he is "pretty sure" the Ranger is not going to get stuck, you might as well get out and start walking back to the house. Because it IS going to get stuck. And you are going to be so MAD that he will be lucky to still be alive at the end of the day. Because not only is it cold and windy and the only way you are getting out of this is by walking back to the house, but you are certain the cows are watching this shit show going down and laughing their asses off. I have learned that when your husband says anything like, "It should be fine"; "This will only take a couple of minutes"; or "Honey, just hold it here, you shouldn't get too dirty", you better realize you are going to be here at least half the day. Don't plan on wearing these clothes again either, because it is guarantee that you will be covered in grease no matter how far away you stand. "Babe, you will have wash Ainsley's blanket, it got some mud on it and is a little wet." Panic mode sets in. Those are words that strike fear in my heart, not only because now I have to do laundry, but mostly because of the impending tantrum that is soon to ensue. Ainsley takes her blanket everywhere. Linus ain't got nothing on this kid. As I grab the blanket and trudge down the stairs to the wash machine, all I hear at the top is Pippa screaming bloody murder, as if she has just watched me take the scissors to her beloved blanky. And it only gets worse from there. For forty minutes all I hear in "my blanket, my BLANKET"! Even her sister is trying to calm her down; bribes are just a pipe dream at this point. I swaddle her and wrap her in her "monkey" (because we have 3 blankets for her now, not just one). This only pisses her off more and I hang on for dear life while she rolls around like a gator in a rope. Pretty soon, there are no tears left and any chance for a nap has clearly flown right out the window. The only thing left to do is walk back down the damn stairs and throw the blanket in the dryer. I only redeem myself the third time I come up the stairs holding out her blanket like an olive branch or a white flag of surrender. She takes her blanket, walks off happy as a clam, and leaves me to wonder what the hell kind of monster I have created. And I know I am not the only mom that has to deal with their child's irrational need for some source of security. Our oldest daughter was a binky-baby; we lived in constant fear of losing or having one of those silicone suckers get a whole in it. It was a bittersweet day when I dug a hole in the back yard and told her to round up every remaining pacifier on the property and put it in the hole. Two days later, she could finally live without it. My best friend is currently facing the same issue with her little girl; all I can do is pray that God provides her patience and good humor because she sure the hell is going to need a few extra good virtues for a while! I don't think there is a person in this world whose mom couldn't tell a story about their "bubby bear" whose hair was completely stroked off, or the wash- cloth horsie that stunk so bad because their kid sucked on it all the time and finally had a bitter demise in the wash machine. Or the blankets that can't be washed, the dollies covered in dirt and food and Lord-knows-what-else, and the thumbs that were dipped in hot sauce a time or two to help speed the detachment process along. So to all you mommies and daddies out there, just remember you aren't alone. Someday you will be able to laugh about the meltdowns and the tyrannical behavior of your two- or three- year old. But for now, just roll with it. Because even though it is it is so tempting to throw all that crap into a pellet stove and watch it burn, there really is nothing sweeter than watching your little one take that clean blanket under her arm and drag out to couch and curl up with it like there is no tomorrow. It really is the little things. |
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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