It Ain't Chicken Feed

The snow has come to Hillmomba. It is very fine, and I would describe it as light. The #1 son, on the other hand, proclaims it to be "...snowing really hard! Come look at how heavy it is!" We went to look out the basement door. You could hear it hitting the creek rocks that HH put down as a path to Poolio. It was sticking to the wooden rail on the steps to Poolio's deck. The #1 son climbed up on the deck and up over the porch rail like a monkey, just to check the thermometer on the back porch. "It's 31 degrees! It's going to stick!" He saw the 9:00 news this morning that had changed our area from "trace to a half-inch" to "1-2 inches." I'm thinking that by the 10:00 news tonight, it will be back to "no accumulation." But #1 thinks he's going to have a winter wonderland to play in. Kids. They can be so cruel...yet they are eternal optimists.

HH's quote of the day yesterday, in the context of cajoling The Pony into blowing the snot out of his nose: "You'll smell better if you blow your nose."

HH is miffed at this chickens. They keep scratching the food out of the feeder. Duh. Don't chickens normally peck food off the ground? What's next? Is HH going to send them to Etiquette School to learn which fork to use on their salad? He changed their food to laying mash, but said that they ate the corn better. Now he is giving them a mixture.

HH and the #1 son went to a Blues game yesterday. HH got the tickets from a guy he does business with. They must have been good tickets, because it said $145 on each ticket. It was the section where you get free food and drinks. On top of that, the guy had made HH reservations for two at The Club for lunch. HH told #1 that he would have to be civilized and eat with manners. "This, from a man who holds a bag of chips over his face and shakes the crumbs into his mouth at Harrah's!" said the boy. So sad that Harrah's is his reference for fine dining, huh? According to #1, HH built it up like it was going to be a white-tablecloth restaurant where the waiters walk around with towels over their arms. Instead, the boy reported, "It was a buffet. The waiters were wearing Blues jerseys, and bringing people beer in plastic cups." HH pointed out, "You didn't go hungry. You had three plates of food." And #1 said, "Yes, but you had two, and they were piled up way high, like when he has a bowl of 'soup' that is twice as tall as the bowl, Mom!" Oh, don't worry about them getting their money's worth for their free tickets. They each consumed mass quantities of concession food and drink during the game. Though to be fair, they set out on their trip at 9:30 a.m., and left the game at 4:00.

This will be a busy week. #1 has his first basketball game on Tuesday. It's one of the bigger schools that his team plays. I'm not so sure he'll get into the game at this one, what with him never having played before, and all the other kids being in organized leagues since about 3rd grade. At least he's 6' 1", and can take up space. He has not mentioned one of his little cronies in a while. I asked him if he was still on the team. #1 said, "Yes." I asked if #1 is better than him at basketball. "Mom, anything with a pulse is better than him at basketball. Oh, and he got his hair cut, and now we tell him he looks like a lesbian."

Kids can be so cruel.

The Remedy

My mom called me with a new home remedy when The Pony was sick earlier this week. She said that one of her old lady friends emailed it to her. Which may be a good reason to keep the elderly off the internet. Unlike the simple Irish Spring bar of soap under the covers to prevent leg cramps, this one was a bit more messy. It involved Vicks Vap O Rub applied to the soles of a child's feet at bedtime. Once you wrestle that child into submission and slather its feet with stinky, burny, petroleum jelly, you put socks on the child and tuck him in. According to my mom, it is 100% effective in stopping the cough of a child.

I did not try this vaporopathic cure. I would have given it a shot, but The Pony put his foot down. In fact, he glared at me and said, "I better not wake up with socks on my feet!" Once I came down with the sickness, I asked my mom if she thought I should try it on myself. "Oh, honey, I think it only works on kids. I don't think it's 100% effective on adults. But you can TRY it." Well. If it's not 100% effective, why waste my time and get my hands all gunky by rubbing this Vicks Vap O Rub on my own foot soles? I'll just swipe some of it up on a washcloth and apply it to my neck and chest as usual.

Here's why I think this cure is bogus. If it only works 100% of the time on kids, that's because HELLO the kids are put to bed, and then you go to bed, and since you are asleep, you don't hear the kids cough. Whereas, if you put it on your OWN feet, you wake up when you cough, and you know it doesn't work. You're welcome. Another myth busted by Hillbilly Mom.

Thanksgiving Day, someone brought up the Vicks remedy. My niece said, "Oh yeah. My dad needs to try that. He's got this one toenail that is as thick as his toe. It is hideous. They say that Vicks really works." Obviously, she was in on a different Vicks scam. But she went on to share too much information about that toenail.

"One time, my dad came to my softball game at the Sports Complex. He put his chair over by the concession stand. I had asked him to hold my phone and my keys for me while I was playing. Dad wore flip-flops. I have told him NEVER to wear flip flops because of that toenail. I think he did it just to embarrass me. I looked over, and he had taken off his flip flop and put his foot up on a post. After the game, I found out why. He had taken a picture of that toenail, and had set it as my phone background. That was just nasty."

Not very becoming behavior for my brother-in-law-the-mayor. I don't know if the two incidents are related, but he announced over dessert that he does not plan to run for re-election, and if elected, he will not serve.

Have I ever mentioned that I hate feet?

An Unwelcome Concert

I think it's time for another tune from Hillbilly Mom's new garage band, 'Mommy's Got A Headache'. How about the old Johnny Rivers classic, Rockin' Pneumonia and the Boogie Woogie Flu? Because I swear, if I hadn't gotten a flu shot back on November 5, I would think I had the flu. Not the lay-down-and-die flu. I had that years ago. I use it as a benchmark for all my respiratory illnesses. This is a way milder case.

The Hillbilly boys have been carrying home viruses from school. #1 has had a bad, bad cough that started with chills and a headache. He's getting over everything but the cough. The Pony had a dry cough for a couple of weeks, and was complaining that his throat had started hurting. HH took him to the nurse practitioner on Monday, because you can never get in to see a real doctor unless you've made an appointment months ahead of time when you aren't really sick. She said his lymph glands were swollen, and gave him an antibiotic and some cough medicine because she said he looked kind of streppy, but she didn't think he had strep. Go figure. I guess those nurse practitioners haven't heard of a rapid strep test, or it's against the office policy, because I know it's not a matter of insurance. I don't mean to hammer on the nurse practitioner, because I've had many a good one who paid more attention to my symptoms than the doctor, and they DID see The Pony on the same day we called. I'm just wondering about the overuse of antibiotics. Anyhoo, The Pony really got sick the day after his appointment, which must have been something brewing all along, because he ran a fever overnight, and looked sick as a dog the next morning, but wanted to go to school because they were having a scavenger hunt. I did what any good mom would do, and sent him off to infect the entire school district. His fever was coming and going, which is what a good fever does to fight off infection. And I figured if he really had strep, the doctor--er, nurse practitioner--would have given him a note to stay out of school for 24 hours after the start of antibiotics. That's what they did when he had it a couple years ago.

Now The Pony is on the mend, having a rapid recovery, and I have just come down with some sort of unwelcome illness. Mine started with the aching of all body parts on Wednesday/Thursday, and chills Thursday morning. The kind of chill that does not abate even under the covers, with said covers pulled up over your head. Oh, and there was also a dry cough, a slight bit of nausea, and today I have a headache, and, well, it's not your typical head cold, what with no nasal involvement as yet. So I'm hoping for a rapid recovery myself, hoping it was the strain of flu I got a shot for, and I'm just having a mild case. I suppose that's wishful thinking.

I'll be sure to update you as my illness develops. That's not a threat, it's a promise.

The Boy Who Was Embarrassed

Here's a cheery little Thanksgiving tale, courtesy of my niece. She went to her boyfriend's family farm for dinner, and got to meet some of his relatives for the first time. Here's how she told the story.

One of the uncles showed up. They didn't know he was coming in from Chicago. He brought his two kids. The little boy was about 4 or 5. We were playing outside, and he kept saying, "Watch me! Watch me!" Then he would run out to the road and back. On about the fifth time, he didn't come back. I started to get worried, then I saw him behind a tree. I thought he was trying to climb it. He was on the far side of the tree, so I moved over where I could see him better. He had his pants down, and was squatting to go poop. I hollered, "Hey, I think he needs to go to the bathroom." They took him inside. While we were waiting for him to go, the family said that he doesn't like to use the bathroom. Sometimes he holds it for days. It's like he's embarrassed or something to sit on the toilet, so he goes outside. Sometimes they put a diaper on him. He finally got done, and his poop was so big that it clogged the toilet. They didn't have a plunger, and they were trying to unclog it, and it was a big commotion. When they finally got it cleared, one of the uncles said, "That turd was so big, it looked like a miniature football."

By this time my sister and HH and I were laughing so hard we could barely talk. I wanted to know how he went to the bathroom outside in Chicago? Did they take him to the park for a walk every day? Did they have a fenced yard? Who used the pooper-scooper? My sister said no wonder he held it in, it was such a big production every time he went on the toilet. She was amazed that he was more embarrassed to sit on a toilet behind a closed door than to drop his pants behind a tree.

Then the boyfriend yelled from downstairs, where he was busy beating the pants off the #1 son at Guitar Hero, that the boy was embarrassed to use someone else's toilet--he used his own toilet at home.

Well. Glad we could clear up that little detail.

Three HHs and a Mabel

This evening at supper, HH reported that he had found a snakeskin. OK. Unremarkable. But then HH went on to say that he found the snakeskin in a drawer. Again, unremarkable. I thought he had found one that the older boys might have had as a kid, and kept as a keepsake. Because that's how the Hillbilly family rolls. But then, HH told The Pony he found it in a drawer in the BARn. That means it was a fresh snakeskin. Well, not to the snake, but to the Hillbilly family. HH retired to the living room and put on the Outdoor Channel. Wouldn't you know it, they were talking about snakes. They found a "copper-something" as they put it. HH said, "That's like the skin I found. You've got to catch a snake by the tail." The Pony gave him that look that HH must surely be used to getting from numerous people throughout each day. "Umm...you catch a snake behind the head. That's so it can't bite you." HH didn't miss a beat. "You can catch it behind the head. But if you are good at keeping the head away from you, you catch it by the tail." Is there a Bear Grylls hotline? Because I need it. Bad.

What else did HH do today? He's been off all week, you know. He asked me if he got anything in the mail. Which, umm, I thought he would have picked up at the mailbox. But no, he thought I should do it, and the #1 son had already announced that he would drive the 4-wheeler down and get it. Let's see. HH also pulled the trash dumpster up to the end of the driveway. Which would have been a thoughtful gesture, except that our trash gets picked up on Thursdays, and any time there's a holiday, it is one day later. So HH had taken the dumpster way up to the end of the driveway Wednesday morning, where it was supposed to sit until Friday afternoon, and any time we got a full bag of trash, it would have needed to be hauled to the end of the driveway instead of out to the garage. Luckily the #1 son is an observant little booger, and spied it when we turned into the driveway, and shouted, "Stop! I'm going to take the dumpster back down until Friday morning." It probably helps that #1 is the one who takes out the trash. So he was only thinking about himself.

On the flip side, HH did take some old shelves out of our mini-pantry, and hung them in my office so I have a place for CDs, and The Pony has a place for all his computer games. HH even sorted through them and put them in their cases for Our Little Pony. Then he offered to take The Pony to a movie tonight, and they chose Madagascar 2. The Pony had helped me bake the traditional Hillbilly Thanksgiving Oreo Cake, and somehow one of the eggs squirted all over his gray shirt while I was putting in the ingredients. I gave him a blue striped shirt, which didn't go so well with his camouflage pants, but instructed him to change into the jeans on the back of the couch before going to the movie. HH called for The Pony to get ready. I reminded him about the jeans. HH said, "What's wrong with the pants he's got on?" Which says a lot about HH's keen fashion sense.

I misspoke about Mabel's surgery. It is not until January. Where she was instead was in Chicago. I asked her if she was stalking BObama. Mabel did not give a conclusive answer. Though she did say that this time she did not sit her royal butt upon an ancient artifact like she did on a previous trip to Chicago, at that famous museum place. When I reminisced and asked her the specifics on that adventure, namely, upon what was she sitting, Mabel replied, "Oh, something Egyptian. It was old--B.C." Those may not be the exact words, but you get the drift. Mabel went to some hoity toity aquarium this time, and saw a fish that was checkered, and a fish that looked like an old man. I asked her how that came about, and she told me that's just how he turned out. I think I'm losing something in translation during my morning chats in the doorway with Mabel.

Russia Is Putting Ships In Our Backyard

It's true. I heard it on FOX news. Russia is putting ships in our backyard. I didn't hear the details. I had to go put supper on the table. Where is our backyard? I thought Canada was our backyard. How did Russia get ships into Canada? Not the Great Lakes. I mean up above that line over North Dakota and Montana. That's what I see as our backyard. Not the water between Florida and Cuba, where people ride inner tubes to partake of the benefits of this great country. That is our front yard. Not the West Coast. That's our patio, for BBQing and watching the sunset. Not Alaska. That's our treehouse, up there all by itself, where we go to get away from it all and play. So somebody explain to me how Russia sailed those ships to the Canadian interior. Did those Ice Road Truckers have anything to do with it? Because if they did, I'd say give Russia that loser guy, Drew, who quit the first day, and who couldn't even drive a local truck without pissing people off. Drew might just be our secret weapon. If anybody could sink a ship on dry land, it would be Drew.

This got me thinking. What if Russia put ships in MY backyard, here in Hillmomba? I can see it now. HH would go out on the back porch to take a pee, and see those ships sitting there watching the Mansion. He would come in and pull a pair of unfashionable 80's shorts on over his tighty whities out of respect for a foreign government, and go out to investigate.

"Fellas, you're in my backyard. I don't want any trouble, but you're gonna have to leave. It's my property. I don't know what you're looking for, but I don't have it. You're making my dogs nervous, and with all that barking, my very special chicken won't lay. I KNOW it looks like a rooster--but Basementia Buddy swore that it's a hen. You all need to back off, or I will have to call the Sheriff. He knows me. He lives just out the road here. He had the last guy that tried to shoot me arrested, and it cost him $3000. Yep. $1000 to post bond, and $2000 for a lawyer. That's U.S. money, fellas. Come to think of it, he wasn't the last guy that tried to shoot me. That was one of those young men down the road here, peppering my cabin with their shotgun pellets. They were idiots. They acted like they didn't know that if you shoot a shotgun into the air, the pellets have to come down somewhere. Like on the roof of my cabin. You guys got any shotguns on those boats? Watch where you're pointing them, is all I've gotta say. Hey, if you see any wild pigs, I get first choice of them. I trapped a couple of nice ones in the BARn on Sunday, but my wife made me give them back to that little girl that said they were her pets. They woulda been some good eatin', fellas. I've never been to Russia. I've been to Germany. Do you want a shot of Apfelkorn? It tastes like apples. It'll knock you on your butt. It's best when it's ice cold. I keep it in the freezer. There. Now you guys need to get out of my backyard. This is a private area. I'm surprised you didn't see the sign down by the creek: Property Owners Only. Trespassers Will Be Prosecuted. If you see those Jehovah Witness boys, tell them they don't belong up in here either. Thank the Gummi Mary, we won't see the Mormons. Those bicycles don't go very good on gravel, and I don't think they want to ride five miles out of town. Have you boys seen any of those pirates that are in the news? Why don't you just shoot anybody trying to come over the side of your boat? That makes the most sense in the world to me. If they're not invited and they don't get back when you tell them, they deserve to be shot. You've got a whole shipload of people. How are they gonna take over your boat unless you lay down and let them? You fellas go on now. There's nothing to see here. And you're messing up my backyard. At one time, I thought about mining copper back here. It's mine. Move along."

Sarah Palin is the new HH.

Turkey Potluck

Today was our annual teachers' turkey potluck dinner. If you can call it dinner, what with having 23 minutes to fill our plate and eat. We're spoiled. Really.

Mr. G was Even Steven for the day. He has the misfortune of having lunch duty this week. On the flip side, he has the good fortune of having lunch duty this week. It's a three-day week, by cracky! I felt a bit of sympathy for Mr. G. We all moseyed down to the ParkingSpaceStealer's room to consume mass quantities of rolls and dessert. The ParkingSpaceStealer was absent today. Somebody thought it was a back issue. Her back. The area surrounding her spinal column, not issues from the past. If I was her, first of all, I would not steal anybody's parking space, but that being a given, I would not have showed up today, either. Great Googley Moogley! Who wants people in their classroom for three lunch periods, dirtying dishes and necessitating that your class meet in the library? Not me, that's for sure. She might even have been expected to warm up the food.

I must elaborate for my absent buddy Mabel. Though we have different lunch shifts, we always dish the slop on the whole affair. Talk about back issues--we've had a few at Newmentia. Poor Mabel. I know she was dying for some corn from a bag in the freezer. But alas, none for her this year. I do believe that Mabel is out for some kind of surgery, surgery which I certainly hope she did not wake up during. Her birthday gift still awaits her return. But let's get on with the tale of the feast.

Math Crony brought the turkey again, as usual. Nothing exciting happened. It didn't fall on the floor. PinkSignMaker nominated me to carve it, but I demurred. Mr. G walking in right about then and he was ready, willing, and able to assume that duty. Because he had to grab some food and get back out to the cafeteria for his lunch duty. Normally, someone in charge volunteers to do the duty that day so the teacher can feast in peace. Not so this year. What a bite in the butt for Mr. G...kind of like a black german shepherd biting a pet pot-bellied pig in the butt, just before the pig was rescued by HH and slotted for the sausage factory. Mr. G carved admirably, but there were more obstacles to clear in this steeplechase of culinary delights.

We had no plates. That is kind of crucial to a potluck in which you have only 23 minutes to stuff yourself. We searched high and low, and PinkSignMaker found about 7 styrofoam plates in a cupboard. "That's enough for us!" I declared. We raided the silverware drawer and found less than seven of each utensil, but still, that was enough for us. Time was ticking. We set out everything we could find, let Mr. G go first, and commenced to loading our plates while asking, "What, exactly, is this, and who brought it?" You see, we had the usual sign-up list, but with all the extra busywork we have this year, only a couple of people signed it. Mr. S brought his annual bread product, Hawaiian rolls for the 3rd year in a row, though I ain't complainin', because they are much tastier than a loaf of bread from the day-old bread store. Wouldn't you know it, I didn't get a Hawaiian roll, because my cousin put them in the oven, and I couldn't wait. I took another kind that was already on the table.

Here was the menu: turkey, only one green bean dish this year, hot-wing dip, rolls, two hash-brown potato casseroles (which I was almost afraid to try, Mabel, because I had a flashback to the year we had those two creamed-corn casseroles), dressing, veggie tray with Ranch dip (courtesy of HM and The Devil's Playground), deer sausage, cheese cubes, mini pumpkin pie tart thingies, mini cheesecake thingies, a pumpkin cake, a pumpkin pie, brownies, mini black forest cake tart thingies, and that's all I can remember. Enough is as good as a feast.

Sooo...there we were, filling our plates while my cousin took to carving the turkey. Mr. S tore us off some brown school-issue paper towels for napkins, and we sat down to eat. After a couple bites, Mr. S informed us: "Eleven minutes until the bell." I cleaned my plate with four minutes to spare. It's not like it was that full. I had a roll, sliced turkey white meat, hot-wing dip, a tad of the hash-brown potato casserole, and that was it. That was all there was time for. Mr. S asked for a face check, and I told him there was no food stored away in his beard. I took my dip-stained plate and loaded up a black forest tart, a mini-cheesecake, and what turned out to be a mini-pumpkin-pie tart, though it looked like all crust at the time. I took that back to my room and stuck it in the microwave just as the bell rang, so I could hide it and enjoy it on my plan time. I'm not one of those teachers who takes real food to eat in front of the kids.

And for the record, Mabel, PinkSignMaker did not seem to be the least concerned about any other lunch shifts. Go figure!