In my wildest dreams, I can’t imagine why he attached himself to her. I’m sure it had nothing to do with the fact that she completely smothers him with love and affection.

 
 
 
Walter is very, very excited in this photo. His heart is doing back handsprings.

It’s just that with Bassets, these things are a little difficult to see.

 
 
 
Oh, do these two love each other.

 
 
 
She talks to him in a voice she only uses with Walter.

“Oh, Whatoh Whatoh Whatoh…are you my precious perfect boy, Whatoh Whatoh Whatoh? Yes? Yes? Oh, yes you are. What should we do today, Whatoh? Should we go on a WALK, Whatoh Whatoh Whatoh?”

And Whatoh, in turn, sniffs her face.

 
 
 
Walter is very, very excited in this photo. His heart is doing hurkeys.

Okay, maybe not hurkeys. Maybe a jumping jack or two.

I have never, ever been able to do a hurkey in my life, by the way. Not one.

Grand Jetés? Yes.

Tour Jetés? Yes. One of my favorites.

Entrechat Quatre? Yes. I loved them.

Hurkeys? Couldn’t do one to save my life.

I’m not sure ballet and cheerleading abilities can coexist in the same body.

At least they couldn’t in my body.

 
 
 
“Say wha?”

Never mind, Walter. Don’t pay any attention to me. Only makes things worse.

 
 
 
“It otay, Whatoh! Mama wivin’ in da past, back when she could do da spwitz.”

 
 
 
Walter and his person. Two peas in a pod.

I love to watch them together.

My point is, while there are things Marlboro Man and I would love to do in the future, building a new house for ourselves just isn’t one of them.

Now, building a new barn? That would be exciting.

I can’t believe I just said that.

 
Anyway, the reason I’m telling you this is that when I went feeding with Marlboro Man the other day, he actually took me to a spot I’d never, in all the years I’ve lived on the ranch, been before.

 
 
 
This was exciting in itself, but then I made Marlboro Man stop the feed truck so I could get out and stare.

 
 
 
I was in awe. There, right before my eyes, was my new favorite spot on earth. Although I’d seen these same pastures from a different perspectives, this view was one I’d never, ever seen before on all the feed routes I’d gone on with Marlboro Man. It’s a view that’s pristine, and pure, and unadulterated. Hardly any sign of telephone poles…no buildings…no roads. No indication of what decade—or even what century—it is.

And it’s 3/4 of a mile from our house, albeit through some pretty rocky terrain.

 
 
 
“Oh my gosh, honey,” I exclaimed. “This is IT! This is where we can build our dream house!”

 
 
 
“What dream house would that be?” Marlboro Man asked. “The one we said we’d never in a million years want to build?”

I laughed. I suddenly remembered. The plumbing. The septic tank. The flooring. The switchplate covers I had to use precious brain cells to pick out. Where to put the electrical outlets. Where to put the heating/air conditioning units. I’d so much rather plant potatoes.

I shuddered violently. Then I came to my senses.

“Ugh, you’re right,” I said. “Never mind.”

Marlboro Man laughed.

“So instead, we can just move our house to this spot!” I continued. “People move houses all the time, and we really need to get away from all the hustle-bustle of where we live now.”

“And what hustle-bustle is that?” my spouse asked.

“Oh, you know—just the whole rat race of where we live,” I lamented.

“Uh, huh,” Marlboro Man remarked. “You do realize the TV crew just left, right? I think you might just be feeling a little tired.”

“No, I’m talking about our everyday lives—there’s just too much stuff going on over there,” I said, describing a location less than a mile from where we stood.

“There’s way too much traffic…” (Translation: Josh drives through in his feed truck.)

“Way too many drop-ins…” (Translation: The Orkin man stops by every two weeks.)

“Way too many people…” (Translation: We have four kids.)

“Basically, I’ve just got to get away from all the craziness,” I summarized. “We need to bring up the children in a quieter, more peaceful place.

“Okie doke,” Marlboro Man said. “I’ll go get the backhoe and you can help me run the lines for the septic tank.”

 
“Never mind,” I said. “I like where we live now.”

Then we went home and ate some eggs.

Here’s what I sing when I tell my daughters they can’t date until they’re forty:

“I am sixteen going on seventeen, I know that I’m naive. Fellows I meet may tell me I’m sweet and WILLINGLY I believe!”

They slink away in embarrassment.

Here’s what I sing when Marlboro Man takes me feeding:

“High ON A HILL was a lonely goat herd, lay-dee-oh-a-lay-dee-oh-a-lay DEE HOH!”

He quickly drops me off at home.

Here’s what I sing to Charlie when he stands at my feet:

“Small and white…clean and bright…you look happy to meeeeeeeeet meeeeeeee!”

It really doesn’t fit him at all.

And my own personal favorite, when I’m cooking and the family is watching TV and I feel they are unaware or unappreciative of my existence:

“…Show them I’m worthy, and while I show them….I’ll…show…me…sooooooo let them bring on all their problems! I’ll do better than my best! I have confidence they’ll put me to the test, but I’ll make them see I have confidence in me. Somehow I will impress them! I will be firm, but kind! And all those children…heaven bless them, they will look up to me, AND MIND ME!”

Oh, man. Is that ever an anthem of motherhood.

I repeat: the preceding diatribe had absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with today’s post. Except the jam.

Thank you for loving me through these confusing times.

 
 
Tomorrow’s Food Network show focuses on a day in the life of our tiny homeschool co-op, which convenes once a week at my house or the Lodge or Missy’s or, in the case of one week last December, Pizza Hut. None of us felt like cleaning up to the point of hosting co-op that day, so we let Pizza Hut host it. But I made it up to them by eating my weight in salad.

Here’s my typical Pizza Hut salad bar salad:

Only the lightest, crunchiest chunks of iceberg lettuce
A huge pile of grated cheddar
A mammoth spoonful of chopped egg
A violent sprinkling of bacon bits
A meticulous perimeter of carrot sticks. They have to be touching.
A happy spoonful of pea salad
A meager spoonful of diced green pepper
Half a spoonful of sunflower seeds
A mild helping of ranch dressing
Two packages of Club crackers
Three if it’s a special occasion, which I did consider co-op day to be.

 
 
The day our Lodge co-op day was filmed, we had a pond water experiment planned, and I threw in a strawberry jam lesson because it’s a good way to teach food science and food preservation. Of course, because time is of the essence when it comes to TV show editing, the lesson on the show is not as comprehensive as it could be. If you’d like to read more about making/canning jam, here’s my post from a few years ago:

Strawberry Jam 101

I think I’ll try to do a specific canning show in the future, though, because mason jars give me reason to live.

But first, since today is the first full day of my being finished with filming for awhile, I’m just going to sit here and not shower.

And not do my hair.

And not do my makeup.

Oh! And speaking of makeup: after the first six episodes (which were the first episodes I ever filmed) I listened very carefully to your feedback on my gnarly makeup. You didn’t call it gnarly. You were very nice. But when I watched the first six episodes, I was the first to notice the following:

My forehead was shiny
The shimmer eye shadow I wore did not translate well
The glossy lipstick I wore did not translate well
Not wearing blush probably wasn’t such a good idea

I still didn’t want to get a makeup artist because that would mean I’d have to leave my house earlier in the morning, so I just concentrated on making everything more matte and unshimmery and embracing the reality that I am pale.

I’m learning. Slowly. Ten episodes from now, I may actually look normal.

 
 
The night before our co-op day, I’d made strawberry bars.

They’re so good.

They’re breakfast.

They’re dessert.

They’re a snack.

They’re everything. Except maybe an appetizer.

 
 
 
After we finished the jam-making in the show, Missy and Beth took the kids to the pond to collect water samples and I made lunch and sneaked in a DVR’d episode of The Real Housewives of Somewhere. Not really, but I was tempted.

 
 
Mercy. Do I ever love these boys. That’s mine on the left. I can’t handle his blondness and his boyness. It’s so wonderful. I cherish him.

And that’s Hunter, my friend Beth’s boy, on the right. I’m convinced he’s one of the ten sweetest human beings ever to walk the earth.

The episode shows a tiny sliver of the fun we have at our co-op. Mostly what we do on co-op day is have the kids collectively drill and recite material they’ve been learning for that week in the categories of history, Latin, grammar, science, macrame, square dancing, and advanced neurosurgery. Just kidding on those last three.

Although my best childhood friend did once have a macrame planter. It was ecru. And it hung behind their divan.

 
 
It was funny filming our co-op day, because apart from a few pauses while some lights were moved around, we just sorta proceeded as normal. The kids kind of forgot the crew was there.

I don’t think any noses were picked on camera, but I haven’t seen the final edit.

And anyway, I’ll worry about that tomorrow.

Have a wonderful Friday, everyone! It’s raining cats and dogs on the ranch, and I’m rejoicing.

(So are the cats and dogs. They’re inside on my sofa.)

Love,
P-Widdy Dub Diddy

Wait, never mind. That’s Jerry McGuire.

But it is all-encompassing.

That’s because when the filming is going on, I don’t cease to be a wife and mother, and all the juggling, managing, and balancing I do (and any mother does) on a daily basis continues…it just continues with twelve fewer hours in each day. No big deal!

Fortunately, my beloved is there to fill in the gaps, to keep the school plowing forward, to make sure the kids are nurtured and cared for and that the Ultimate Fighting matches that take place in our living room on a daily basis continue without interruption…and that some version of Real Housewives is playing on the TV when I finally walk in the door in the evening, completely covered in flour and grease and other forms of kitchen filth, reeking of garlic and onion and vanilla, makeup running down my face, clods of chocolate under my fingernails.

Marlboro Man is one lucky individual.

And okay, it’s not that bad. In fact this two-week period has gone really smoothly apart from Charlie finding that one bowl of freshly whipped cream, and I won’t be able to talk about that for at least a few more months. But because I have to pour every ounce of my reserves into Marlboro Man, the kids, and cleaning dairy products off of my dog’s ears, I wasn’t able to blog as much as I’d like to. Thank you for being patient with me. Now that shooting is wrapping up, I’m looking forward to crawling back into the cocoon of my school, cooking, and blogging routine, sucking my thumb and not wearing any makeup as I bring you such gripping and globally relevant stories as the time I shattered a doughnut case in a convenience store while attempting to retrieve an apple fritter.

 
My mom visited over the weekend. Here she is with my daughter. I’m sorry, mom, that I didn’t have my camera settings correct and that you are blurry. I’ll make it up to you in the hereafter, but I still think you look beautiful.

While my mom was here, we cooked and ate and on Sunday, my one day off, she went to church with Marlboro Man and the kids and me, then took the kids to The Wal Marts to buy books to read as well as motorized vehicles that required batteries, which my mom also provided. In other words, my mom is an angel sent from Heaven. I know this because she drops out of the sky right when I need her most and she brings with her messages of hope and joy.

But here’s the really fun part. My sister Betsy visited over the weekend, too. This meant that I got to hang with my mother and my sister, and this meant that my sister and I got to regress to our teenage selves because our mom was there to be the token adult. We performed our respective signature Nutcracker roles to the great amusement and ridicule of all the children, and unfortunately I strained a muscle in my everywhere.

 
But the big bonus for me was this: I got to see my nephew Elliot. He is a delicious morsel of a child, and he and my boys fight (and often kill) imaginary aliens in my house the entire time we’re together. Several times this weekend, Elliot came up to me and said “Aunt Ree Ree, look! See that alien right in front of you? I’LL KILL HIM FOR YOU!” Then he took the plastic sword my younger son had given him and he slayed the alien before he could harm me.

But the scariest part about it? I actually saw the alien. It was periwinkle blue, with yellow fingernails and bright green glowing eyes. It snarled. It’s a good thing Elliot was here; there’s no telling what might have happened to me if he hadn’t been.

I think a brief nap later today might do me some good.

They look good on Josh, though.

 
 
 
My nephew. He hopped up on the fence when a rather large calf decided it didn’t want to be in the chute anymore and then decided to run backwards out of the chute.

My nephew was behind it at the time.

 
 
 
My niece. I love her.

 
 
 
My niece and my baby. I love him, too—his scratches and bumps and baby teeth and permanent teeth and his sparkly blue eyes and his sweet, caring, generous soul.

 
 
 
My father-in-law and two daughters. They’re leaving the chute to go bring in some more.

My husband’s waiting at the end of the chute. I just thought I’d share.

 
 
 
Three generations working cattle together.

That’s something to be thankful for right there.

 
 
 
My husband. He’s still waiting on the calves. And wearing a vest.

And lighting my fire.

 
 
 
All the kids. They’re pushing calves down the chute. They were stubborn on this particular morning!

The calves. Not the kids.

Although…

Never mind.

 
 
 
My oldest daughter. She’s tough and multi-faceted and introspective.

And tall.

 
 
 
Suzie. She was sitting in the pickup and shaking her head.

She wanted a breakfast burrito.

So I let her out and gave her one.

Plain. No cheese. Just the way Suzie likes ‘em.

 
 
 
My family. They bring me joy.

I give thanks for them every single day.

 
Instead Marlboro Man woke them up at daylight so they could go saddle horses, gather cattle, and wrangle calves.

 
 
My baby rode along with them to show them the ropes.

 
 
When we see Tony and Bill, it’s usually in a city. So it was fun to see them both in Marlboro Man’s world for a change.

 
 
Bill was a natural! He got manure on his jeans, which is always a sign of hard work.

After they worked calves, Marlboro Man’s cousin Matteo came over and they all had a spontaneous football game with the kids, and you won’t believe the intensity of Marlboro Man and Bill, the coaches of their respective teams. As I watched an early version of the show, I chuckled at the part where Marlboro Man huddled with his team and Bill huddled with his. “Okay, kids, you go around to the back and then I’ll sideswipe ‘em and you cut ‘em off and I’ll come around from the back and annihilate ‘em!” It was as if all their pride, all their manhood, hinged on that one game, which involved players as young as three, by the way. These guys and their love of football. It’s quite profound.

Tony and Bill are two of my favorite people, and I love it when the three guys (those two plus my husband) get together. I turn into a fly on the wall and simply revel in watching three men who’ve known each other for over 25 years reminisce about their college days, give each other a hard time about any number of issues, talk about their current jobs and their parents and their siblings, and just enjoy spending time together.

 
 
On the show I make football food.

But even though it’s technically a cooking show, it’s really about three friends.

Oh, and Arizona State.

I hope you enjoy watching it as much as I did.

Love,
P-Dub

It takes more muscles to frown than to smile.

Turn that frown upside down.

Smile – It’s the second best thing you can do with your lips.

“A smile is a curve that sets everything straight.”
Phyllis Diller

“Let us always meet each other with smile, for the smile is the beginning of love.”
Mother Teresa

“One word or a pleasing smile is often enough to raise up a saddened and wounded soul.”
Therese Of Lisieux

“Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened.”
Dr. Seuss

“What sunshine is to flowers, smiles are to humanity. These are but trifles, to be sure; but scattered along life’s pathway, the good they do is inconceivable.”
Joseph Addison

“I like smiling; smiling’s my favorite.”
(Name that movie.)

Love,
Charlie
(And his mama)

They’re communicative.

They lie on their backs and allow me to rub their bellies without instinctively clawing and biting my hand because they’re afraid my hand is going to attack their internal organs. I assume that’s why most cats don’t let people rub their bellies, but I’m not sure. Maybe cats are just ticklish. Either way, I rub my cats’ bellies with impunity.

They’re sweet to each other.

They lick each other’s ears.

They lick each other’s paws.

They start purring when anyone starts talking to them.

They start purring when anyone looks at them.

They sleep together in a yin-yang position.

They’re always on the porch.

 
They let us adorn them in the finest jewels.

If Walter ever barks at them, they lie there and playfully swat at his ear because it’s dangling and they just assume he wants to play. Then Walter lies down beside them because he thinks it feels good when they playfully swat at his ear. And then they all nap together.

They pat at my earrings but have never clawed.

 
They watch my eyelashes blink but have never pounced.

They never scratch.

They never bite.

They watch everything around them.

 
They absorb affection like a sponge.

They move like graceful dancers.

Their meows sound like sweet little songs.

 
They’re the two very best cats in the world, I think.

(Besides yours, of course.)

Here’s a poll for you. Happy Monday!

If my parents had never met, they wouldn’t have gotten married.

If they’d never gotten married, I wouldn’t have been born.

If I’d never been born, I wouldn’t have had a brother.

If I’d never had a brother, he wouldn’t have drawn a kindergarten picture of himself sitting alone in a room with a sad expression and a caption underneath that read “I have no dog.”

If my brother had never drawn that picture, my dad wouldn’t have felt sorry for him.

If my dad had never felt sorry for him, he wouldn’t have bought my brother a puppy.

If my dad had never bought my brother a puppy, we wouldn’t have had a Basset Hound named Rusty Boy.

If we’d never had a Basset Hound named Rusty Boy, I wouldn’t have developed a biological need to have a Basset Hound near me at all times.

If I’d never developed a biological need to have a Basset Hound near me at all times, I wouldn’t have gotten Charlie four years ago.

If I’d never gotten Charlie four years ago, I wouldn’t have grown accustomed to having him nestle next to me on the couch on cold winter evenings.

If I’d never gotten used to having him nestle next to me on the couch on cold winter evenings, I wouldn’t have gotten in my vehicle to retrieve him the other evening after he’d followed Cowboy Josh home.

If I’d never gotten in my vehicle to retrieve him the other evening after he’d followed Josh home, I wouldn’t have seen this sky.

 
 
If I’d never seen this sky, my life would be bleak and colorless and I would have spent the rest of my days in a state of unrest, always feeling like I’d missed something important and beautiful, but never knowing exactly what it was.

Thank heavens for Basset Hounds.

Or my grandparents.

Or my brother.

Or my parents.

Or Josh.

Or my vehicle.

Or everything.

The End.

 
 
 
Beautiful Kitten
Sleeps facing the other way
Afraid of dog breath.

 
 
 
Walter hears the click
Of my cam’ra and opens
His sweet droopy eyes.

 
 
 
Walter asks Kitten
“Want me to go get a mint?”
Kitten says “Please yes.”