The Slaughter House

Consider this a warning to the squeamish: this post contains images involved with processing meat.

Hunting season always brings the fear of, "What if...he really does shoot a deer?"

Unfortunately, Josh brought home two deer this season! So our garage once again turned into a slaughter house. Josh worked a couple of seasons processing deer and has slowly accumulated the tools deemed necessary to accomplish this task at home. For the two or three husbands that were forced into reading this post, now is the time to be jealous, very jealous. This year he got to pull out the over-powered motor to hook up to the way-too-big-grinder: power tools to process venison. A man will do anything to increase speed.

But let me tell you, I was beyond impressed. We accomplished in one night what has previously taken us an entire week. Josh was able to grind over 90lbs of venison in less than an hour while I struggled to keep up with wrapping and labeling. The sounds of the power tools, the hum of the bullet-heater as it increased the temperature in the garage to a comfortable 70 degrees, the whine of the motor as it spun the over-sized fly wheel on the way-too-big grinder, all helped to drown out the sucking noise as the venison entered the grinding shaft. Josh still will not confess the true per-pound-cost of the venison that fills our freezer, which should include the hotel, shooting range, and power tools, etc., but I am non-the-less pleased at the opportunity for us to bond, and I am certain James Dobson would agree: A couple who process deer together will stay together.

Barely an A

The other night I got the privilege of having only one kiddo, so I took advantage of the opportunity to go bra shopping. First of all, let me just say that I am in no way envious of any sales associate who works in the lingerie department. The fitting room was littered with bras and empty hangers before I even began my experience. And after I was done the room was significantly trashed. Anyway, did you know there is a manufacturer that offers a Nearly Size, like "Nearly a B"? How optimistic of them! However, what I need, at this point, is "Barely an A" that appears to be somewhat more than nothing at all. LOL.

Blogging can be downright painful

It even makes me cry, and crying, in my world, is completely unacceptable. I hate the sting of tears as they are being produced and the way they well up on the bottom of my eyelids, although sometimes at this point, I am able to halt the production before they spill out and run down my cheeks. But other times I am not. It is at these moments I feel helpless, out of control, and downright relieved that this release of true emotion can be so comforting.

Crying, whether from joy or sadness, is not one of my specialties. It ruins my mascara.

Why tell you all this? Well, the other night it all came crashing down on me when I sat down to reflect on and blog about the overwhelming sense of frustration I was feeling. I couldn't put my finger on why, so I allowed the psychologist in me to ask a few simple questions like: When did you first discover this sense of frustration? Who are you thinking about lately? Why do you think they are on your mind? And then it hit me like a physical punch to the gut: my sister is actually being deployed. The reality. The possibilities.

And all I could think about was how stupid I was to argue with her. Then I realized if my emotions were this far out of whack, I must truly love her. Just for the record, I always have loved her, the problem is the only way I know to show this love is to "question" her. Why did you do it that way? How come you didn't try this? Why on earth are you going to do that? When will you learn to do it my way? Part of the reason for the questioning is that I honestly want to know. Most of the reason for the questioning is not knowing how to tell her I love her AND the way she does things. (Stupid tears make it hard to see what I am typing).

So now I have reduced myself to using my blog as a way to tell my sister that I do indeed love her, I will miss her and I am so proud of her. These are the tears of joy, appreciation and downright respect for the one I will continue to question, as my way to show her my love, simply because I look up to her and have admired her for so long.

To this sister of mine…I love you…please be safe. And why do you have to be so stinking stubborn?

Locks of Love

How much time could a mom use, if a mom had all the time to use it?

I do not fit into the stereotype of woman that enjoys a two-hour bath. I even regard showering as a mere necessity for practicing proper hygiene. It is on a very rare occasion that I will take a "long" shower. On one such occasion, prior to jumping into the shower, I selected a pound of meat to thaw in the microwave at 10% power for 30 minutes. I grabbed the baby, a few toys and headed into the bathroom, turned on the shower to warm while I selected clothing to put on afterward. I got into the shower and literally took as much time as I wanted to wash, rinse, condition, and rinse my hair; I even scrubbed with some of that fancy sea salt oil. Seriously I stood in the shower for a decade. I even decided to shave my legs. All smooth and clean I got out, smothered myself in smelly lotion, got dressed, read a board book to the baby, and slathered in some hair product. Then I walked into the kitchen only to hear the microwave still working away at the pound of meat. There was seven minutes left.