There's No Title Because This is Basically Rambling Bullshit. That's it, Rambling Bullshit.

Well, I'm sure you've all been missing me the past few days. With that last of our many Christmas celebrations finally over the last Saturday, we've been strung out on holiday cheer and I just haven't known what to and what not to blog about. So, rather than post a long, never-ending narrative about one of them, I thought I'd just hit the high and low points, which will no doubt lead to a long, never-ending post, but at least you'll get to switch subjects to avoid spontaneous sleep.

1.) Our dog Whiskey died this Saturday. Apparently in the midnight hours, he snuck into town to visit some randy lass we were unaware of. On his way back home, he was struck by a semi and my husband and mother-in-law found him the following morning.
Named after the Willie Nelson classic Whiskey River, Rowdy and I got the border collie pup when our relationship was just as new and fresh as his baby's breath. I was amazed to watch him grow, the way the herding instinct just seemed to rise out of his DNA and, over the past few years, his work had become as important as an extra cowboy's. Sure, it was rough at first. He'd push cattle when he wasn't suppose to and then turn right around and not push when the time was right. But, in just a few short years, that thing inside him took over.
Whiskey had a meek and sweet spirit. He would let me pet him as long as I liked, unless of course Rowdy fired up a four wheeler and then he was off to work. He never called in sick or missed a day. He was a great hand.
Although I always loved Whiskey, I think my real bond with him came after our children were born. They'd tug his ears or yank his tail and, in return, he would drown them with slobbering kisses from his wet tongue. As my boys got older and would periodically be around cattle, we noticed this was perhaps the only time Whiskey didn't dart after his herd. Instead, he kept a steady eye on the livestock and the boys, careful to always be directly in between them and each calf. He was a good dog.
This morning was bittersweet. As Rowdy got dressed to go out and start his day, our youngest yelled out the door for his faithful old friend, "Whick-key, Whick-key, where you?"
Tears were in both our eyes, as we knew his calls wouldn't be answered.

Okay, now onto more sunshiny tales, the ones you come here for.

2.) In spite of our loud and steady pleas each year for each set of grandparents to limit the toys under their trees and candy in stockings, all four pairs (both our parents are divorced) steamed full force ahead with the stockpiles of trains and trucks and enough sugar to keep a bakery in supply for a full year. Rowdy and I dumped each stocking into a big, black bag, hoping to smuggle that shit out of the house before the boys had it strung from top to bottom.
The plan, my friends, was unsuccessful. After I tucked everyone into bed last night, I put the bag up high on the kitchen counter and went off to bed myself.
Then, at 3:30 in the morning, a small boy shook me out of my warm bed and he commanded me to, "Wake Up! Hurry!" I wasn't sure what Rolan was waking me for, but I knew it couldn't be good. He grabbed my hand and pulled me to his room, where his big brother was fast asleep with the giant bag o' goodies resting next to him. Apparently Rolan was just so proud that he realized in the middle of the damn night that the candy, totally unguarded, was there that he had to wake me to show his spoils. I tried to explain to him that this would be like calling the bank BEFORE you robbed it, took the candy and left him whining in his bed.
And, just to make all the awakening better, my mother-in-law was at the front of our room at 5 am, asking Rowdy questions about the business. Overall, AWESOME! **Que Dry Sarcasm** I'm not at all bitchy today.

3.) As Ridge crawled into my lap this afternoon, he pointed to my groin and quizzed, "Is that where your balls are, Momma?"
I began explaining the whole boy-girl thing and, interrupting me with a choir of giggles, he wisely said, "Oh, you have girl parts. I don't like girl parts. They have poop and oil."
I sort of understood the poop since it is in the same general area and he is, after all, 4 and, when you are 4, poop is a pretty big part of your life. But, the oil I didn't get. It's not like I'm frying chicken in my "girl parts."
Also, I have trained him to chant on demand that his momma is his NUMBER ONE girl and I plan on soon having him brain washed into declaring that no woman will care for him like me. Just kidding. Kinda. I realize this might be pretty costly in therapy charges down the road, so I am trying to reign it in. Trying is the key word.

4.) Can you say Senator Franken? Now, if you've been reading this blog long or if you've gone through my archives, you know I bleed blue (although I can't say I'm super stoked about Obama's stacking conservatives in his Cabinet. But, at least they are really, really smart conservatives, right?).
All the Bleeding Heart Liberal characteristics (**Que More Sarcarsm** which is really popular here in Oklahoma) aside, I didn't even think my friend Al could pull this shit off and I donated to his campaign and have bought every book he's ever written. Hell, I even highlighted through those bastards.
Even though a Minnesota board certified Al the winner over Norm Coleman today, the incumbent Coleman will no doubt take further legal steps to prevent it and, in spite of little room for change, I hope he does. We Americans are impatient. We want to know the winners of our elections as though they are football games. This may have been a pains taken, almost parody of a recount as though it were actually a brilliant Saturday Night Live skit written in Al's past life on the show, but we will have no doubt in the winner. 2.9 million people voted and this baby was decided by 225 votes. Remember that the next time you want to stay home from the polls, thinking your vote doesn't matter.

5.)Mollie's daughter Hannah, who is homeschooled not for religious reasons but because her mother wholly and fully believes she is almost as genius as Stephen Hawking (and she is), somehow stumbled upon those videos from that mascara-drinched Britney fan, yelling at US, all of US, to leave Britney alone. Now, this is particularly hilarious since Hannah didn't know who the hell he was talking about when she found it.
She said, "I don't know who this Britney person is, but I hope they leave her alone so that guy will shut up."
Now Mollie and I want to force Hannah into making our own mascara-drenched video. And the therapy bill just keeps going up.