How we're built

Can I take a moment of your time to complain about something?  And, to you, it may seem trivial, and a bit 'first world problem-ish', but I really hate when people remark to me, "Oh, you're so skinny!".  It's always said in somewhat of an accusatory manner.  I never, ever, brag or complain about my body shape or size.  Thankfully, I have learned that I am the shape that I am through genetics and sheer luck.  I eat what I want and when I want - although sometimes it seems I eat like a horse with the metabolism of a hummingbird.

Can I be proud of my body?  Even though I did nothing to achieve it?  Can I be proud of that body even though it's skinny? I have a flat stomach, with a bit of pooch that comes from bearing two beautiful babies.  I love that it has been resilient and amazing and went right back to what it was without any prodding from me. Is it right or wrong for me to be proud of what I have even though some women spend hours upon hours trying to achieve what came naturally to me?

Sometimes, I feel skinny-shamed.  That other people are telling me "I'm SO skinny" to make themselves feel better about their own bodies and choices?  Are they resentful because I drew a lucky hand?  Because I have literally sat on my ass and ate a tub of frosting in the course of a week and it has affected me in no way, shape or form?  I never, ever comment on someone's body, positive or negative.  If someone I know is working to lose weight, I support their decision and comment on their hard work and dedication, not the results.  I feel like the, "You're so skinny!" comment should be met with a, "You're so fat!" or, "You're so pale!"  It's just a comment on my physical appearance that has nothing to do with my character or personality. I just wish we would stop trying to build ourselves up by putting another person down.  It doesn't do anything.

Rage Against the (washing) Machine

I love my front loader.  I really do.  It uses less water and detergent, and in a frugal household, that's a plus.  It spins faster than a conventional top loader and therefore the clothes coming out of the washer take less time to dry.  I can't tell you the last time I used my dryer.  I'm considering selling it.  Drying is usually done outside in the sunshine when weather and temperature permits, and inside on racks next to the woodstove when it's cold out.

For a while now, I've been noticing an odor coming from the washer.  But only when the machine is on a spin cycle.  After a load finishes, I leave it open to prevent it from getting musty.  Sometimes, I'll even go so far as to put a little fan in there to circulate some more air.  But I still noticed the odor.  People who gave me advice about this problem were convinced it was because I shut the door and it was getting smelly from there.  I disagreed and ran the washer on a clean cycle.  Still stunk.  So, after some traipsing around the internet and various washing machine forums (yes, that's a thing!), my next step was to clean the drain hose.


HOLY SHIT.


Literally, shit.  After 3+ years of cloth diapering, the sludge that had accumulated in that thing was revolting.  I had a giant pipe cleaner-like device and I shoved that bad boy into one of the business ends of the drain hose.  And I pulled out the grimiest, brownest, foulest goo that almost made me toss my cookies.  So, lather, rinse, repeat on the other end and swish with a bit of bleach water and ta-da!  No more smell!

I replaced the hose and have yet to run a new load to see if that was the problem, but I'm fairly confident that I solved the mystery of the smelly washer.

And next time, I'm just buying a new drain hose.

I'll just pay for mine, thanks.

I'm nervous about going to a Starbucks drive thru. I'm afraid I'll be caught in one of those "pay for the car behind you" things, and knowing my luck, it'll be the office gopher getting triple venti lattes for the entire marketing department and if I don't pay for them, I'll look like a total turd. 

Organic food rich, land poor.

At best guess, I'm currently sitting on a few thousand dollars worth of organic meat and produce.  And all we paid for it was a few bucks in seed, and countless hours of canning and processing.

Let me tell you, growing organic is HARD.  I can see the appeal of hosing down my garden with chemicals and mind-altering drugs to keep away potato bugs, squash bugs, harlequin bugs, and stink bugs.  But we choose not to.  We are feeding our kids these foods, and I want to be confident that they can, at any moment, go out into the garden and pick some tomatoes for a snack.  I don't have to worry about making sure the Round-up is dry before going out into the garden.

But you know what?  My tomatoes aren't always pretty.  They're spotty, misshapen, and I might have to flick a bug from one here and there.  And they're delicious.

I can understand the appeal of subscribing to a CSA and supporting your local farmer.  It seems that people are martyring themselves to be the 'most organic' and lamenting about the prices of organic food and how hard it is to eat clean, and wah wah wah.  You know what?  Rent yourself a garden plot and grow your own organic stuff.  Then you'll see how hard it is to keep away bugs and get the pretty produce that you see in the stores every week.  Even if you replace one or two of your landscaping with an edible plant, then you're taking charge of your own food.  I'm a fan of Rosalind Creasy and her Edible Landscaping idea.  Long ago, land was for gardening.  You had space, you grew something to eat.  It was the rich who flaunted their wealth with ornamental gardening. "Look at me! I'm so rich, I can use my land to make pretty knot gardens and will just buy my food from you peasants!" That attitude had remained to this day.  I truly hope it changes, and people start going the way of victory gardens.  I see all this development and the one thing I see is that when new houses go up, the builders plant one bradford pear tree in the front yard and call it a day.  I hope, one day, developers will put in apple, pear, cherry, and peach trees as landscaping.  And blueberry bushes as ornamentals that flank your welcome mat.

I'm definitely not against industrial farming.  I think it's saved millions of lives.  Our generation (and perhaps the one before us) may remember not getting strawberries year round.  Or corn.  Or salmon.  People who didn't can their summer bounty perished or were malnourished in the winter.  Remember the story of the grasshopper and the ant?

And for now, I'll go back to my garden and dig up some potatoes for dinner.

One is silver and the other gold.

There's something to be said about making new friends.  Today, I jaunted up to see two dear friends while Papa B and Girl C were at the farm for a few days.  I decided that I needed a road trip and these ladies provided me with an excellent excuse.

My first stop was to S. She's a lawyer who pretty much drools over any and all farm goodies she is gifted with.  She's smart, witty, and gorgeous. Just the way I like my women :-).  Since she is a working gal, I had to leave so she could make her 12 pm conference call (did I mention how I love being a SAHM?).  I then zipped over to see M and her husband C, who are staying at a hospital sponsored "family house" for families of patients.  They have a set of twins who are downright off the adorable scale. The little miss hasn't gotten her walking papers yet, so I was able to visit with her husband and the other half of the twosome while M went to feed her daughter. 

You know when you meet someone and you just instantly love them?  Not romantically, of course, but this is how I felt when I met M's husband.  He's a military guy and pretty tough as nails.  He and M had been dealt a pretty crummy hand, but the way they have made it through it all with humor, love, and a bit of foul language makes my respect for them completely immeasurable.  He would go to hell and back for his kids, and due to their significant medical challenges, it seems like they are halfway there.  Sure, his language is salty, but the love that just pours out of him is amazing.  My friend is so lucky and blessed, and for her sake, I'm thankful she has him to be the dad he is.  If I were in her shoes, I'd want one just like him, too.

We had a great visit and promises to meet again to share life and its amazing bounty and wonder. 

The things I won't do for free food.

It being 7/11 today, apparently, there are a few free deals out there for those who are inclined to go out and get them.  Free Slurpee from 7-11, free Chick-Fil-A (if you're dressed like a cow), and (really cheap so it might as well be) free Krispy Kreme donuts.

But, I enjoy other types of free food.  Thankfully, our property and its surrounding areas are loaded with wild edibles.  I particularly love how when one food is waning another is ripening and will be ready to eat.  My kids love going outside with me and picking black raspberries.  Those came in first.  If you're curious, there is such a thing as giving a one year old too many black raspberries.  Oh, the diaper mess!  But, despite the aftermath, I'd rather him stuff his face full of fruit than anything else.  Next came the wineberries.  If you've never had a wineberry, you're missing out!  It was originally imported as an ornamental plant and from what I understand, it fell out of fashion, and it went wild.  Well, I'm pretty cool with it as an invasive species since it yields me an abundance of sticky sweet red berries.

And finally, the blackberries are just starting to ripen.  This morning, I took the four-wheeler out to my favorite spots to pick some. It's hard to go out with the kids in tow since little hands don't care much for getting stuck by the thorns of the blackberries.  I was content to go by myself.  I hit one spot and then went to the next which was a little bit more difficult to reach.  So, I aimed my four-wheeler, threw it in reverse and backed myself into a huge tangle of berries, leaves, and thorns.  I'm perched precariously on the bed of the vehicle, and teetering over what is best described as nature's razor wire.  needless to say, my legs and arms are all scraped up (not to mention a touch of poison ivy). but I've scored a huge bowl full of berries to whip up into a blackberry cobbler.

UPPOTD

I wonder what it sounds like when a movie is filming a scene where the actors are playing instruments that they clearly have no idea how to play.