I’ll never understood why city folk think that living out in the boonies is boring. After all, where else can you chase after a chicken barefoot through the front yard (with a diaper-only baby on your hip) just to capture a picture of a mouse hanging from the yard-bird’s beak? Yep, that’s right. A mouse.

I have seen many strange things while living out in the country, but this was by far one of the freakiest. (Turns out this is pretty common, but we’re relatively new to raising chickens. You can see a video of such activity here.) My husband told me he’d seen it a few days ago, but I didn’t quite believe him. He’s not prone to making things up, but I have to see things to believe sometimes. (I’m sure he …

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You’re accepted. Completely, lovingly accepted.

To be honest, I don’t want to tell this story. I’d rather forget it ever happened, keep it hidden with the other skeletons in my closet of shame. But, there are some stories that just have to be told. I hope the beauty and deeper meaning in this message surpasses my ugly deed. I hope.

January 2010: A blizzard was descending upon Wichita, and I was anxious to leave my office to make the 45 minute drive home. I sat white-knuckled in the seat of my Honda, eyes carefully trained on the road ahead, careful to avoid and slick spots or crazy drivers (truth be told, I drive like a grandma, and inclement weather brings on a high level of paranoia). I made it to the opposite side of town, and …

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Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the fairest…oh who cares?

By society’s standards, I am not a stunning, beautiful woman. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think I’m hideous. I can relate to this line from one of Gretchen Wilson’s honky-tonk tunes: “I may not be a ten, but the boys say I clean up good.” Give me a shower, some makeup and a flattering dress and I’m not too shabby.

No, I’m not fishing for compliments or affirmations of my appearance. Rather, this is a celebration of my imperfections. There are things on my body that are large when they’re supposed to be small (pores, nose, feet). And there are things on my body that are small when they’re supposed to be large (use your imagination).

But you know what? I’m glad. So glad that I …

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Yes, these two are actually a full-time job.

These are actual things that people have asked me since I decided to stay home with my girls a little less than two months ago. I’m getting a little tired of pushing my right eye back into my head (it pops out a little when I get angry), so I decided to provide some “education” to those who may come into contact with  a SAHM, WAHM, SAHD, WAHD, or whatever term you prefer.

Please, please, please don’t ask me:

1. How are you enjoying your retirement?
My response: “How are you enjoying your ignorance?”

Retirement? Are you kidding? Staying home with your kids is really no different than having a full-time job outside of the home. And why is it that if you have the title “daycare provider,” people understand what you …

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Who could deny this face? And don’t judge our nutrition choices. You know you are.

There are few things that give me the “oogies” more than cutting cardboard. And by “oogies,” I mean that nails-on-chalkboard shiver that shoots up your spine and causes your head and shoulders to shudder with disgust. (The sound of someone hocking a loogie and/or vomiting are equally offensive to me. In fact, I nearly couldn’t type that without becoming ill. Excuse me…I’ll be right back.)

When my daughter approached me with an empty oversized cereal box the other day, and asked me to “cut a hole in it so she could pretend she was on television,” I immediately grabbed a knife and started hacking away. After all, it was an awesome idea, and the fact that she said “television” instead of …

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