What's Going On (thank you, Barry White and Marvin Gaye)

I haven't been blogging so much lately. There are many reasons but mostly, they involve children. Children, children, children. From the age of 18 to 3. It's an interesting age span, for sure. On a daily basis, I deal with everything from college anxiety to helping the three-year-old wipe his bottom after he goes to the bathroom. Of the two, I prefer the bottom wiping. Much easier. And just in case my 18 year-old is reading this, like she does from time to time to time, let me clarify. It's not that I actually prefer the smell of poop over your worries about college, it's just that I miss being able to help you solve your problems so easily. Like wiping your bottom.

And now she'll probably never read again. Sorry, sweetie.

Then there's my youngest daughter, who just went through her one hundred and twenty-ninth cell phone. Let's just say she's done her part to recycle as many phones as she possibly can since I purchased her first one at the age of 14. She's now 17. She's a giver, my Sara, always thinking about others less fortunate than her.

Then there are the two youngest, my five-year old stepdaughter and three-year-old grandson. I won't bore you again. You can read about these two poop-lovers here.

I just used the word poop twice in one post. As a matter of fact, the word poop seems to be the biggest part of my vocabulary these days. I think I need a vacation.

And I will get a short one soon! When the husband and I take Lyanna back home to Alabama next weekend, I get to shoot up to Knoxville and spend a few therapeutic, relaxing, Margarita filled days with Diahn and her sweet family. Where we'll most spend of our warm, late, summer evenings talking about poop. Good times. Good times, indeed.

In the meantime, here's what I've been up to this summer. In between the poop.


We've fed goats and fawns.


Some days, we just chill with our new friend below, Jack. He's so laid back and makes a mean Mint Julep. And he tells the best stories.


And then there's his best friend, Joe. He's kind of quiet. And he has a bad smoker's cough. But every now and then, he lets out a loud laugh and tells a story of his own. Or asks for water.

And then there's these guys...feisty, carnivorous misunderstood guys. They have no respect for personal space and at any given moment they might eat your face, but hey, everyone has their faults, right?

I think they're my new best friends.


Oh yeah, and in between the elaborate stories that Jack tells, and the slightly more interesting, albeit more dangerous, tales of our carnivorous friends, I visit the Shreveport Farmer's Market and buy soothing, comfort items like these....


This is a Thai Basil plant. I realize that the brick entitled "Rosemary" next to the Thai Basil doesn't make sense. In fact, it's quite confusing. When I purchased the plant and the brick, the lady behind the booth asked, "You do realize this is Thai Basil...not Rosemary?"

"Of course," I answered. Nosey woman. Like I use it everyday. I have no clue. I just liked the looks of it.

I'm like a ninja sometimes.