Mini-Me...Work Boot edition

It's a well-known fact...I have small feet and hands. It's hereditary; my mother is one of the only people (sans those under the age of 15, of course) who has smaller hands than I do. The rub? I'm just shy of 5'10". My extremities don't match the rest of me.

Now this is not a big deal, just something my family usually makes fun of. And it is funny. I have the smallest feet in the family, and when I was little I couldn't wear salt-water sandals on our trip down the Pacific Coast; they were too wide and my little feet just fell right out of them. I had "special" sandals that didn't feel all that special. They were brown; my sisters' were pink.

Current day result...The Farmer's pinkie is bigger than my thumb.

*****

One of the first "gifts" The Farmer gave me was a pair of work gloves. Size small.

He's very romantic.

His most recent gift for me was my own pair of work boots. I know, girls, you are all swooning! But in reality it really is a big deal, this gift o' rubber boots. It means I don't have to borrow his sister's. I have my OWN PAIR. I belong.

Of course, the cynics could also be thinking...sucker!

I'll choose the first. It's a sweet...if not advantageous for The Farmer...gift.

I ordered my boots from Big George, who is a travelling salesman. Yes, they still exist. He shows up on the farm with his trailer full of items for The Farmer. I'll admit, there's not much in there for me. Except boots, of course.

The Farmer had given Big George the heads up that I needed a miniature version of work boots, as he doesn't normally carry a size 5 men's. He still didn't have my size, but I tried on two different pairs to see what I wanted.

The final purchase?

A mini-me version of The Farmer's boots.

Famer Quote #98: Salad Tongs

Farmer: "We have salad tongs?!? You've been holding out on me."

Brunette: "Uh. Sorry. I didn't know you liked salad tongs so much."

Farmer: "They are a TOOL."

Thinning The Herd

The Farmer is really really really excited about this post. He's been waiting for this post for months. He's been planning. He's been scheming. He's been dreaming.

Because what guy is not excited about bagging something from a hunt. OK, perhaps not all guys are excited about killing a large animal or fish and taking a picture with it. But around here...it's a big deal.

In truth, the most The Farmer hunts are nutria. And the occasional sparrow.

But fishing on the Columbia River a mere 75 yards from our front door? Nah. Not so much.

And shooting one of the many deer* who use our yard as a lunchtime diner? Yeah...he has better things to do. So the fish and the deer are safe from The Farmer.

But the cable dishes that grace our roof? Those didn't have a chance.

In truth, these are just half of what we had atop our gables. Yes, we had two more of these things on the Jungle House. The process of installation apparently involves leaving the old dish up on the roof to add to the decor of the home. When we moved in we had six (counting the one we added that actually works)...count 'em six...dishes or dish brackets on the Jungle House. This is in addition to the large 50 foot radio antenna that still is in the backyard. The Farmer wants to see if it works. OK...whatever floats his boat. He doesn't know it isn't really staying long...I'm just letting him think so for the moment.

This weekend the final three dishes were removed by The Farmer. He had a blast. He crawled all over the roof, chasing cable and hunting dishes. And he got to throw them off the roof into the bushes.

A man's dream.

Of course he did all this while I was unaware of the situation. So no photos. So sorry.

In addition to the dishes above, he pulled hundreds of yards of cable. Because one dish was on the east side of the house, but served the apartment on the west side. And another had cable strewn across the roof to serve another cable box on the opposite side. We might start our own cable company from the amount of cable we pulled from the roof.

While I didn't see the hunt in progress, I did discover the results: A hole in my paint job.

Yes, The Farmer just pulled when we came to the end of a cable line that disappeared into the house. And at one point wondered what the noise was that came through the outer walls of the house.That would be the cable outlet, loose from painting, flying across the room as he yanked out the able it was attached to. Oops. But nothing a little spackle and re-painting won't fix.

So now...we are a one-dish household. Yay!

And The Farmer got to take the photo he was dreaming about. Scheming about. So excited to take.

Here are his prizes. He bagged his hunt.

I just need to be sure this is not our Christmas card photo.

*The Farmer would like to clarify the white-tailed deer that do hang out in our neighborhood are protected by federal law. We do not really hunt them. While I explained to him that this is what I said in the post, he wants me to clarify. So...

No actual deer hunting was conducted in the writing of this post. Or at any other time as well.

Who Knew Pergo Was A Dog?

The floors have arrived! And with them, a dog.

This is the only dog that will ever be in our house. Because here on The Farm, animals are meant to live outside. This is a hard and fast rule. Non-negotiable. This is fine by me, especially because I'm afraid of dogs. Yep. I admit it.

I'm afraid of them.

But this dog Pergo...I think I'll like having him in my house!

We ordered 96 boxes. And those 96 boxes have been hanging out in the house for the past week because they had to get acclimated to the house.

Sorta like when you had to leave the goldfish you won at the fair in the plastic bag when you placed it in the bowl. Hopefully they last longer than those fish ever did.

Oh, and look! Another pile o' Pergo!

96 boxes is a lot of fake wood.

I snuck a peek.

And yesterday...the floors came out of the boxes and emerged on our floors!



Master Bedroom with Applewood floors

These are much better than what was here before...

And look...my jacuzzi has a new home. In my office.

Best. Office. Ever.

(Don't tell HR)

Coloring Inside The Lines

I admit it...I'm a rule follower.

I use the crosswalk.

I read directions.

My books are in alphabetical order.

So are my spices.

I color inside the lines.

This last confession is important as I began painting. Because when you paint you have to stay within the lines. You make lines. You tape lines. You follow lines. You obsess over lines. Lines are everywhere.

While ugly on one hand, there's an interesting pattern that emerges on the other. Things start to fill in. Walls take shape. Corners are defined.

And when you get to a corner or above a door frame and you have to use the brush to fill in the space, you can't help but remember those drawing programs on your computer when you get to use the little paint brush - as opposed to the pencil - to sweep color across your screen.

And, of course, you hope the color that begins to appear on your walls is the one you imagined after comparing 526 different paint swatches. Heavy Cream or Cake Batter? And I don't mean to lick the bowl.

Edging, I'll admit, loses it's luster after about the third corner. And when you are painting multiple rooms the same color, edging gets, well, old.

Really old.

You just want to get to the roller. The magical paint can on the computer screen that will just blanket the wall in one fell swoop. You want to see it all, not just the 5x5 square you created around the light socket.

And, in this case, your mother is dying to see the end result. Because she happened to visit the day before you started to put color on the walls. I promise it wasn't a way to torture her...it was just bad timing. The torture was bonus.

So mamacita...these are for you:

Master Bedroom in Lyndenhurst Spring Eve

Master Bedroom

Guest Bath in Forest Trail

Master Bath in Martinique Dawn

And then finally...the lines appear again. As you cross your fingers and pull away the blue tape...hoping above all else the lines beneath the tape resemble something of a straight line.

Because I am a rule follower. You are supposed to color inside the lines.

We Are Heading In The Right Direction

We are on 22 gallons of paint. This was gallon 15.

Yay! Color!

Lyndenhurst Spring Eve, to be precise.

Don't you just love the names they choose for paint colors?

Spring Reflection.

Prairie Dance.

Tranquil Bay.

Cake Batter.

Berry Brandy.

Spiced Vinegar.

Jungle Thicket.

Candied Lime.

Possibility.

Tornado Watch.

Homestead Resort Spa Aqua.

OK, that last one is sort of a mouthful. Someone could have done better.

And in case you were wondering, The Jungle House will be painted in Adobe White, Garden of Paradise, Martinique Dawn, Lyndenhurst Spring Eve, Forest Trail, Belle Grove Buff, and Woodlawn Valley Haze.

The Farmer's head is spinning. He thought we could have stopped at white. Yeah...no...

But before we can get to Garden of Paradise and Belle Grove Buff, you have to primer.

And primer. And primer. And more primer.

And you remember that popcorn ceiling we removed? Well...taking down the ceiling means you have to primer the ceiling before they can re-texture it. I think we used six gallons.

Just on the ceiling. For primer.

Don't worry...we didn't add back the popcorn. We just had to texture it a bit.

But even before before we got to the smorgasbord of paint cans, we had to deal with the drywall. And drywall...it's messy. Really messy.

But it looks really nice too! (Sorta...you have to ignore the mess all around it.)

And they really messed up the kitchen.

Thank goodness we've moved along to Lyndenhurst Spring Eve.

We are heading in the right direction.

Treasure Hunt

On Sunday I went to San Francisco. For 12 hours. Less, actually, as my flight to SFO was scheduled for 8:10 am, and my flight home was at 8:10 pm. And to add to the insult of so few hours in the Bay Area, my morning flight was late by an hour. Gotta love SFO.

When I returned home at 11:00 pm, I saw this.

And entering the garage (aka my current front entrance), I found this:

And another:

I'm not sure what this one is doing, because it is by the Penthouse door:

In reality, this one had the prize...

...behind the door...

My patio set! It's out of the box! It's (almost) put together!

(I love the Farmer...)

And yes, we ate dinner on it...in the garage changing room...Monday night.

Because we could.



Portable Sanitation Association International

Early on I informed The Farmer that I did not like Yard Art. You know, the gnomes, the pink flamingos, the weird metallic balls that I think are calling aliens, the wooden cutout of grandma's backside...

They are all off limits.

As well as campaign signs, as we would be confusing folks as to why we were voting for both candidates. Yes, The Farmer and I typically cancel each other's vote. But more on that later.

The Farmer listens well...it's one of his best attributes. On a side note, this is also a dangerous attribute, as he FORGETS NOTHING. It's going to haunt me more than once, I think.

But in this case of yard art, The Farmer didn't listen too well. Or at least he ignored my wishes, because before we even went away that one weekend (you know, THAT weekend) I had a very large yard art item in my front yard.

In fairness to The Farmer, I think there was some policy that required this lawn adornment, but still...

It makes a great first impression.

But, as The Farmer found out yesterday, it's also quite convenient. Because yesterday The Farmer decided at least one Aegerter needed to use the facilities while it was in our yard.

AKA...I wouldn't let him in the house as he was wearing his barn clothes.

The Farmer reported that our port-a-potty is quite clean, which is good to hear. And he came away with a fun fact o' the day:

Did you know there was a Portable Sanitation Association International? Not I.

Perhaps this means The Farmer will stop making fun of my PNACAC T-Shirt.

Buckin' Hay (+ Bonus: A**less Chaps)

Two nights ago the back silage field looked like this:

The Farmer had filled the silo and decided to turn the rest into hay. So he cut...and he cut...and he cut. This little field that "usually doesn't produce much" was thick and deep with grass. 475 bales worth.

The Farmer wasn't quite ready for haying season just yet. Yes, some of the machinery was up and running, but not the hay wagon. The Farmer didn't want to test fate and so he and the Neighbor Kid (who's not really a kid as he's 20-ish, but neighbor man sounds wierd) bucked some hay.

I drove the truck.

But first The Farmer had to put on his a**less chaps.

I like a**less chaps.

And I can't believe my life now includes them. 

I think The Farmer is annoyed I'm taking his picture here. But really? I had to get the chaps!

The boys are going to get a good workout on this one...

Yes, I was driving and taking photos.

But I was only going about 1 mile an hour, if that. And I was wearing my seatbelt.

I think.

And even when you pick up all the bales, there is more to do tomorrow.



Stian (The Neighbor Kid)



At the end The Farmer and Stian then had to tie things up. The puffy white clouds don't aid in the process, but they make everyone feel better.

At this point The Farmer said, "You'll want to get a picture of this." This is code for "I'm going to do something really cool and manly here."

It was.

Of course afterwards The Farmer wanted to know "if I got it".

"Almost."

"Oh, I thought you would have taken a movie."

"Uh. I would have, but it all happened in about 3.4 seconds and you didn't tell me what you were doing."

Next time I'll be better at reading his mind.

This all took about 45 minutes.

Those boys are good! (and stinky)

While the trailer and the truck were loaded down with hay, we still left about 70 bales on the ground. So The Farmer and Stian moved bales into nice neat rows.

For tomorrow.