Raw

Well, our little family has just embarked upon a new and unexpected little journey...we former "city mice" have decided to go a little less urbane with our diet and have started drinking raw milk.

Raw milk, for the uninitiated is simply milk fresh from the cow. It is not pasteurized (cooked) as typical, store-bought milk is, nor is it homogenized. This means that the cream will separate out. It means that our whole milk is *truly* whole.

On average, our family of four drinks about 6-8 gallons of milk a week. (What can I say, the kids and the husband are milk drinkers...) At current local prices nearing $4/gallon, that is a healthy chunk of the grocery bill. This past Sunday, after church, we went to a small local diner with some friends. In typical diner fashion, the placemats had little ads all around the border. One of the ads was for raw milk, $2.50/gallon. This prompted a lengthy discussion, and the decision to venture out and try it.

So Monday afternoon I drove out to the dairy farm, picked up a gallon and we gave it a test run. It certainly has a slightly different flavor, but the kids and the hubby have decided that they like it.

There appear to be many potential health benefits to drinking raw milk, and it is certainly less costly, so we'll just have to see how this works out over the next several weeks.

Sick...of Being Sick

It is now Day 2 of the great green days of May for me. I know, I know you never even knew it was Day 1...Last week the girl child was stricken with a nasty stomach bug, that her firmly parked on the couch for 2 days. What had started as a perfectly ordinary morning quickly changed, leaving the boy child to trudge on to the bus stop alone, and the girl to practice her mad vomit aiming skills. Thankfully, as these things typically do, it passed.

Yesterday morning I got up and felt ill. Like rollicking, going to toss my cookies, just what did I eat last night ill. Ill enough that when it was time for me to venture out, to pick the kiddies up at school and take them for piano, I didn't bother to put on a bra. Or proper pants. I ventured out in my lovely pink puppy fleece pajama bottoms. Because I am especially classy that way. Oh, I didn't brush my hair either.

I had hopes that today would be better. And in brief shining moments it has been. Then there are all of the *other* moments. You know, the ones where I wish I at least had had a really good night of drinking under my belt to show for all of this nausea.

**side note: The proper way to say it is that you feel nauseated, not that you are nauseous. Nauseous refers to an odor, so if you tell me that you are nauseous, you can expect me to plug my nose. It is a pet peeve of mine, and I know it is a bit OCD, but I decided to embrace my inner Mr. Monk a long time ago. **

OK, now back to my regularly scheduled whining.

Anyway, all of this queasiness has led me to the same cold sweat fear that I always land at when I feel sick for more than a millisecond...

Which led me to wonder if I am normal to always jump to the same unlikely yet terrifying conclusion, or if this is something which ALL women - or at least all women that have had children - immediately default to?

Because the only other times that I can recall feeling this sick for this long for no reason were those times that I was pregnant.

Which is obviously not actually true...because I know that this is at least the 4th time that I have had this same fear in the last 2 years. Which means that it has happened, I just have chosen not to remember it.

And is not even really possible, since I have successfully had an IUD for the last nearly 5 years. (This November I will need to get a new one...aren't you relieved to be in the know on that??)

So is it just me? Or does every woman "go there" every time she feels like technicolor hurling?

Great Expectations

As Mother's Days go around here, yesterday was pretty decent. Typically, almost any day that is used for the purpose of celebrating any single individual within this household is met with an underwhelming lack of fanfare. Sure, sure I make a big deal about the kiddos birthdays but the husband usually manages to effectively mar those efforts by being a complete and utter asshat. There is apparently something about birthdays, Mother's Day and other "Hey, this is YOUR day" type events that triggers some mild form of psychosis in the man.

Being that this is the custom, I have learned to pretty well dread these otherwise festive occasions, and do my best to shield the kiddos from the nasty demon in the the daddy shaped flesh suit that comes to visit us on those days.

This year started off about a week ago, with the husband actually asking me what I would like for Mother's Day. Which nearly made me swallow my own teeth. Recognizing that I had a rare possible window of opportunity here, I put in a quick plug for the porch swing that I have been wanting since the very day that I first set eyes on our home. For four years I have wanted one. For four years I have been forbidden to purchase one because, and I quote "That's a ripoff, I can build one much cheaper."

Yes, yes I am sure you can. Of course it will take you until the 5th day of Christmas 2033, and by the time that you are done, NONE of us will be speaking, you will have insulted EVERYONE involved in the process and it will weigh enough to keep any portion of the Titanic that may have considered floating to the surface firmly pinned on the ocean floor.

At any rate, I offered the coveted swing up as a wish list item. Which was met with the rejoinder, "Get the %$$%@ Christmas trees off the porch, and we'll talk." For the record, there are *no* "Christmas Trees" on my porch. There are two lighted fir trees in pots at either side of the door. Sure, I had originally purchased them as Christmas decorations, but thought "Heck, why not use them year round to spruce up the porch."

A few days later, I jokingly pointed out a very.expensive. car stereo and claimed "That's what I want for Mother's Day." This immediately elicited a sneering remark about putting something like that into a Ford.

Anyway, the mere fact that he remembered that Mother's Day was coming and was making noises like it was going to be acknowledged set me completely off balance. But in a good way.

Exceeded expectations.

A few days later, he called from work and mentioned that there was no.way. that I was getting that stereo, as he had priced it, and it was waaay more than he had ever spent on a deck, but that maybe Kenwood or Clarion make a model that I would like. Honestly, that was the closest I think I have come to swooning in a dog's age.

Far exceeded expectations.

Saturday arrived, and he informed me that the odds of him coming to church the next day were slim, as the Chelsea/Wigan game was coming on at 11, and he wanted to watch it. Which would mean that I would be in church with both kids, dealing with any behavior hiccups that might occur, on my own, on Mother's Day. Typical. A little part of me started screaming "DVR the damned thing and come to church you asshat!!!" Unfortunately, that little part was not connected to the mouth bone, so no one heard me shouting it.

Meets expectations.

Sure enough he stayed home from church. ANd I could feel my aggravation level r-i-s-i-n-g QUICKLY. Someone suggested that perhaps I would walk in to a great spread that he was getting ready for me? I responded saying "Yes, if that happens, you can visit me at the hospital, as it will be the big one Margaret."

Meets expectations.

So I loaded the kiddies up and contemplated NOT going home. But I had on sandals, and my toes were cold, and I wanted socks. As I turned onto our street, I immediately noticed that the garage door was opened, his car had been moved and was backed up to said garage, and he was stalking about in the garage with a broom and a large stack of wood.

Potentially exceeding expectations.

I walked inside and found flowers - granted inexpensive, last minute, purchased at the grocery store flowers, but flowers none the less.

Exceeds expectations.

My aggravation quickly changed to cautious hope, thinking wow, he is DVRing the game and building me my swing, at long last!!!!

I ran upstairs and got changed.

He called me out to the garage.

And started asking me my opinion - which we all know he doesn't REALLY want - on whether it would be better to leave the boards at their original thickness or to rip them in half. Because they would likely be too thick for the desk that he wants to build. For the kids.

Meets expectations.

Ripping boards is one of my least favorite things to "do together". I am alway sin the "catcher" position on the far end of the board, which he feed it along the table saw. And I always manage to "Do it wrong" and get yelled out.

My blood started to boil realizing that he had the notion that I should help him rip boards on *MY* day.

Meets expectations.

I went inside and seethed for a minute or two.

He came inside and started watching the recorded game.

We never discussed the boards again.

Apparently he can get a clue every now and again.

Exceeds expectations.

The rest of the day was fairly uneventful, with me going to the store and picking out what I wanted for lunch and dinner the rest of them be damned.

For our household, that is a fairly successful personal holiday. It would be fair to say that it exceeded my original expectations.

And then, after the kids went to bed he said to me, "So I saw you were looking a the Crutchfield catalog. Did you find one that you liked?"

Exceeds expectations.

Perhaps he is learning.

Understatement

Me: I think I killed my lawnmower.

He: Oh? Why's that?

Me: It started smoking, then the oil cap shot off, and oil flew out of it in all directions.

He: Yeah, that's typically not a good thing.