The kids made me breakfast this morning. How sweet the thought, truly sweet.

I can't eat in the morning. I have to be up for a few hours before I can eat. I like to do my aerobics and putz around. Then I have breakfast, which I drink (tofu, frozen berries, grapefruit juice, protien powder blended wonderfully together).

Just looking at the healthy breakfast that they had put together for me (Fiber One cereal, skim milk, apple, small piece of toast from homemade bread), made me want to vomit. But being the good mother that I am, I ate the cereal and toast (I just couldn't handle the apple at the moment) even though I had been planning on working out. Of course now I can't work out because I feel like I'm going to hurl.

I think if I did hurled I'd feel a great deal better.

I want THIS SHIRT in pink, size large.

I should be out jogging right now. My Bear was so kind as to give me a little extra money so I could get some good running shoes. After two knee surgeries, it would be stupid to not take the precaussion. I also run with a brace on my left knee WHICH has bothered me since I was a kid. Even surgery didn't help that one.

My eldest is in D.C. with a group of eighth graders. That includes 8th grade girls with boobs that are way too big wearing shirts that are way too small and pants that they roll down so low you KNOW they had to shave. And their mothers will wonder why they're pregnant at 15.

We have our first hatchlings here at the farm. They're so cute, but I can't get a picture because the mamma hen pecks me when I pull her nest out to look at them. I'll get you pictures when she pushes them out of the nest in another week.

We are also babysitting a baby goat this weekend. He has to be bottle fed three times a day. It's so much fun!!! That I have pictures of and will post later.

I'm having thoughts about my blog. You see, when I started "The True Bitch Inside" I was angry at the world, angry at God, and had a chip on my shoulder the size of Gilbrata. That is no longer the case. I still have pockets of anger that I'm sure I'll have to deal with for the rest of my life, but I no longer wish to make anger the center point of my life. I don't want to be known for that. I don't think that I want to be Krystal the Bitch any more.

So I sit and ponder what to do with this blog.

Oh, and happy June!

So...

when I first saw the smoke I thought, "The chicken boiled over on the stove, so now there's some smoke." I turned the fan on over the kitchen stove. But the smoke got thicker.

And there wasn't any in the kitchen.

So I go out into the living room to open the windows when I smell something burning that isn't chicken stock on the stove. As I walk across the room I smell the smell of burning paper and wood and something else. So I opened the window to let it out and go smelling the rest of the house. My mother-in-law is walking around smelling too.

I say to my fourteen-year-old, "Go see if you smell smoke in the basement." I hear that the basement is full of smoke. I go running down and when I inhaled I started to cough and choke. I handed him the box of kittens (our cat had kittens earlier this month) and I yell upstairs for everyone to get out of the house, there's a fire.

The smoke appears to be coming out from under the door to my husband's office, which is full of kindling...I mean books. I always thought I'd grab my Daddy's trumpet or pictures, but faced with the reality of a house fire, I got the kids out of the house, called 9-1-1, shooed out the animals, and grabbed my cell phone so I could call my Bear.

My father-in-law showed up about five minutes later. He found the source and put it out. A mouse had chewed through an extension cord. There was short. Some of the exposed wire was touching a piece of cardboard and a piece of wood. He unplugged the extension cord.

The fire department showed up and said that it was a good thing we were home. He said that the cord was burning and would have reach the electrical outlet it was plugged into and that would have been that.

I was pretty good for the first ten minutes the firemen were here. Then it hit me that had we gone to the park like we had planned to do, we would have lost our home and everything in it.

Of course, the only thing I was concerned about when facing the possibility of loosing my home was my family and the pets.

I am very blessed that God was watching over us. I'm so eternally thankful that my father-in-law forgot to get something at the store so he had to go back. I'm thankful that we got a late start this morning. I'm thankful that my FIL and children had meandered at the store to begin with. All these things made it too late to go.

But I am thankful, most thankful, that God allowed the short while we were here to stop the fire before it occured, instead of letting it go last night while we were gone or tonight while we were asleep.

I am very thankful, God, and I wish I could find the wight words with which to tell you what I feel in my heart at this moment. But I can't. So thank-you through tears will just have to do.

So I bought a used Bananarama CD (kiss my arse, people) and as a result I was in the kitchen singing, "I'm your Venus, I'm your fire at your desire." I was dancing around while measuring out my food (more on that in a sec) when my five-year-old daughter comes out and says, "That's gross what you said!" I say, "HUH?!" She replies, "You said, 'I'm your penis!'".

So I told her that no, Momma said VE-nus. Then when she left the room I laughed hysterical with my 14 & 11 year-old sons.

I put on my bathing suit. I have no arse. It has melted into my thighs. As I emailed a very good friend of mine, I am amazed at the amount of cellulite and fat that amassed on my ass during my winter hibernation. I must go now and do 1,000 squats and 1,000 lunges.

I am "to snack cakes, what Einstein was to nuclear physics" declared my bear on Friday. You see, another friend of mine had back surgery (her second in three weeks) and was on super drugs (she doesn't share well). The Xanax makes her crave chocolate. So off I was on the way to get her Ho-Ho's and brownie mix (she wanted the batter, not the actually brownies). So in the car on the phone with Bear I say that Ho-Ho's and Swiss Cake Rolls were the same. He had the audacity to say I. Was. Wrong.

We were discussing snack cakes. Saying *I* don't know what Swiss Cakes Rolls are is like saying Clinton didn't have sex with that woman (need another cigar there, Billy Boy?).

So after about five minutes Bear gets on the net. "Uh-oh" he says. He actually said uh-oh. HE had confused Swiss Cake Rolls with Zebra Cakes...two totally different beasts: Swiss Cake Rolls are chocolate cake rolled up with creamy filling and coating in chocolate...like Ho-Ho's, while Zebra Cakes are two layers of yellow cake with cream in between that are covered in WHITE coating with some chocolate lines on top (thus the name ZEBRA Cakes). They also have a salty sweet taste to them while Swiss Cakes Rolls are just plain sweet.

My knowledge of snack cakes is not to be questioned. Herein lies the reason my arse has melted into my thighs.

I've come up with a snazzy new nick-name for Bear's dog. Seeing how he's constantly getting out into the mud and getting burs stuck in his long thick fur which then TOTALLY mats up, I've decided to call him Nappy Headed Ho Dog. I realize that "ho" isn't typically used for males, BUT I've decided it works for this dog. Besides, once we get his balls cut off he'll be an it anyway SO it won't matter.

He doesn't appear to be traumatized by this new term of endearment which is a good thing. I wouldn't want to have Animal Planet or the Dog Whisperer get pissed off.

Till next time...

I woke up this morning to not one...
not two...
but FIVE

piles of dog crap on the office floor (the office is the front part of our bedroom).

Let's hope that the day gets better from here.

As if mouse killer wasn't bad enough...

I closed the door leading out from the walk-out basement last Tuesday morning. I know I did. But you see, the door doesn't catch well. That's why I always tell the kids you HAVE to latch it because the wind blows it open.

I went to feed the chickens and gather the eggs, but I went back into the house from the side of the house. I really intended to run right down stairs to the door, but the phone rang and my daughter was hungry.

I went downstairs to change the laundry when I saw the open door. OMG! THE RABBIT!!! The rabbit was gone. I looked all over the basement praying she was hiding. She wasn't. I looked all around the backyard. Couldn't find her. So I left the door open hoping she'd hop back in like she did the couple times she got out on the kids.

I ran upstairs with the laundry basket when the electric company lady showed up to read the meter. The little 7 lb yipper wouldn't stop barking at her, so I went outside.

That's when I saw it.

Kaitlyn the dog was EATING Patches the rabbit.

I yelled at Kaitlyn to drop the rabbit, but it was too later. She'd already ripped her head off. I chased her down yelling at her to drop it because we don't...eat...family...members! The electric company woman said she thought the rabbit was awful pretty to had been a wild rabbit.

I picked Patches up by the foot. The electric company lady had a plastic bag. I put the bunny in it. I looked for the head for about half an hour. I figure Kaitlyn already ate it. It still hasn't shown up so I guess she did.

I didn't tell the kids Patches became dog food. They just think she ran around. I told them to keep an eye out for little brown bunnies because I was just sure that Patches would find a boyfriend and they'd make lots of pretty little bunnies. I know it's lying, but how do you tell your children that their rabbit is dead because you left the door open and the dog was hungry?!

So now I am not only a killer of mice, but evidently I am a a killer of rabbits as well.

Mice, Mousetraps and my Defective Cat

Ralph the Mouse was a field mouse that took up residence in the boys' bedroom upstairs. He use to sniff my eldest son's toes at night sometimes. Last night I found out about Ralph. Ralph the Mouse is now dead. No more motorcycle rides for Ralph. He met his demise in a wooden mouse trap baited with peanut butter. I took his body out of the trap and flung him into the woods by his tail. Touching dead mice doesn't bother me. I'm sure he'll be eaten by morning. Then I reset the trap just in case Ralph has family here.

I would not have had to been the bad guy who killed Ralph the Mouse if the Defective Cat would catch mice instead of watching them run by. That is why I got a cat, to catch the field mice that try to move in my house. But my cat is defective. She prefers to jump up on my countertop, rip open the bread, and eat the the crust. She likes bread. She is stupid.

And now, I am a mouse killer.