My boobs were my tools of the trade for almost 20 months.

Once my youngest daughter weaned herself from the Magical Boob Juice, the fun really began!

(And by fun we all know I mean chaos!)

Pull up a chair, sit a while, read a few pages.

Keep and open mind and a joyful heart and you too can get pumped into the world of The Milk Maid.


I Can't Decide...

... Should I enter the week with a negative attitude?

Yeah, you know it sure feels like it's going to be the week from hell. Monday my dog dies, Tuesday my mom's a bitch (oh wait, that's every day)-- Tuesday I have to tell my extremely tender-hearted drama queen 9 year old that yet another animal has crapped out on us. Wednesday- perhaps I'll break a toe or get Avian Flu. Thursday is Jef's blood draw- come on and clap you hands while I have a full scale melt down. Friday- well, I'm expecting a shower of molten lead!
...Should I look for the life lesson in all this? By the way, I must squinch up my face when I say life lesson- I look like a tiny mole going 'liiife lessin' all smooshie-faced.

[Announcer voice]: Your dog may be dead, but it's not your hubby, your kids, or you - so HEY it's all good.

Ok- I do kind of see it that way. I'm trying to keep the humor alive here because if you can't laugh then you'll go insane, right? It could be a lot worse than it already is. I know that! But I like some feeling of normalcy in my life. I don't remember a day in the past... 6 months? Year? Two years? When everything was just "normal". When I wasn't worried about anything other than what grocery store to shop at or how to cut my hair.

Jef and I had a long discussion last night about what truth is. Is the truth something you believe to be true, or something that is proven correct, whether you have validity of that or not. Faith's truth right now is that Buster is just sick. In her world he's still alive. In my world, I know the truth is that he has passed on. So is truth subjective? Is it all relative? I don't know.


Like A Bad Country And Western Song...

I'm to the line where my dog dies. We had to put Buster the weener dog down tonite.

They aren't sure what was wrong with him, but his urine was almost nothing but blood, his blood cells were busting in his veins, and he was circling the drain when we got to the emergency vet clinic. They couldn't promise he'd make it through the night with $1800+ worth of meds and care, so the only humane thing left to do was put him down.

Pardon me while I voice my frustrations: FUCK!

--The Milk Maid said it's just not fair.


Hyphenated Friday Mish-Mash

Ava said "mama". Well, it's more like "mum-mum" but I'm cool with that. Anything is better than being called "cat".

As I sit watching Ava toss freshly washed bottles onto the wood floor (after taste testing and making sure they are empty) I try to remember what the awesome question I asked Jef was the other day via text message. He doesn't remember, and I don't remember, and I've long since erased those old texts to make room for more. This will plague me for days to come.

Who's idea was it to make babies so much faster at grabbing than their parents are at stopping them? No, not the question I was contemplating earlier, but one Ava just put into my head as she yanked half the papers off my computer table. File that one under the same category as why babies eat paper (gleefully), why babies have razors for finger nails, why babies crawl off the edge of beds, and why do babies pinch and kick while nursing. Maybe the last one only applies to my kid.

Ava has decided to wake up on average about 4-6 times a night to grab a boobie-snack and then go back to sleep. Believe it or not, I'm not real hot on this idea. Ava- for goodness sake kid, you're 10 months old. Start sleeping through the nite- there's just not enough caffeine to keep me social on that kind of schedule. You didn't do that as a newborn. What's up dawg?

Oh yeah- 28 years ago today my parents adopted me. They make a big deal out of Me Day. I guess I should be more excited this year, but I'm not. We used to go eat, drink, and be merry. But with Jef's dietary restrictions as they are, and my mother's rectal-cranial inversion, there's nothing we all can eat and no one has much fun anyway. So I shall take the $50 they gave me and go buy shoes or a bra or something. Or put half a tank of gas in my car- whoo!

Just remembered the question I was pondering earlier: Why are there no windows inside the airplane bathrooms? Come on, who's gonna be peaking at 30,000 feet?

--The Milk Maid says you can dance if ya wanna, you can leave your woes behind!


Catching Up-

If you love overpaying for food, being shoved around, no air conditioning, and a bunch of rude-ass people stepping on you, your 9 year old, and your baby... then the GA Aquarium is for you.

I will never go back. There is not enough money or anti-social meds in this world. That is the suckiest suck-hole on the face of the planet. Don't waste your dollars!

Ava liked the fish when she wasn't being trampled. Faith had fun when she wasn't getting pushed out of the way by adults. I didn't have to kill anyone. Dad always has fun.

May I add that perhaps my day didn't start so well... We refinanced the house today (hello wiggle room!) and the loan officer called this morning saying that instead of the $46 we needed to bring to closing, we now needed $1744.28. That was freakout #1. And, of course, no trip would be complete without the start of our pal- Aunt Flo. In my rush to ensure Faith's camera was packed, Ava had diapers and wipes, and everything else was taken care of I forgot to pack any tampons- hence freakout #2. Luckily, I used a super-ultra-maximum-extra-cottonie "tampoon" (Jef's word) this morning in anticipation of my friend's arrival. I had a quarter in my wallet and used that to buy an additional tampon from the feminine hygiene vending machine. Or, well I thought I was buying a tampon. A life raft sized pad tumbled out instead. Whatever works I suppose.

After our adventure at the aquarium we decided to go to the World of Coke Museum. Which by "we" I mean dad. It has air conditioning- lots of it! Plus, all the free soda you could drink awaited us at the end of our tour. They have tons of different Coke products from around the world. If you ever have the opportunity to try Beverly soda from Italy, don't. It tasted like a cross between walnut shells soaked in urine and black pepper. I did like the sour lemon soda from England. Faith's favorite was "the Coke from South America". I told her I'd heard that was some pretty good stuff, but I'd never tried it- it wasn't my thing. Puzzled, she pointed to the machine, rather helpfully and in almost a Vanna White fashion. I was glad she didn't get my alternate meaning.

--The Milk Maid says where be the fishin' poles?


How I Met Jef

I don't think I've blogged more than a paragraph on this before... so here's the How I Met Jef story:

I was a real estate assistant at a local office (when RE meant real estate and had nothing to do with reproduction!). I was in the process of building my house, divorcing my then husband, and having a small affair with a guy in the office whom we shall call D.

L (Jef's ex) started working at the r.e. office and we became friends. About 6 months into our friendship I let her in on the little secret affair I was having. D became our "partner in crime" so to speak. He was always with her, where ever we all went, because she was nice enough to let him tag along so I could hang out with him.

Or so I thought...

You see, L was having an affair with D behind my back. Which, he was no great catch, rest assured. Nothing for women to be fighting over for certain. I was 21 and I was clueless.

In the meantime, Jef knew how L was playing me- getting me all worked up for nothing over D (by this time his interest in me was fading). She kept forcing me into situations with him, to see him, to go places- and she'd tag along. Jef wasn't 21, but he was clueless too as to why L was such a "helpful" person. It all came out in the open one weekend after L had a party at her house while Jef was at a car show.

Jef came home from a weekend away to learn of a VERY wild party- wild to the point that I left because of certain activities. And certain people. Anyway- L was packing her things as Jef came in the house. He confronted her about the party (news traveled fast) and she tried to make HIM look like the bad guy. So after 14 years of marriage, she was gone.

I had no clue she'd left when I called her house to chat. I asked Jef if she was there. He replied no. I said, "What'd she do, run away?"

And there was silence on the other end. Talk about sticking your foot in your mouth. It all started to become very clear. I apologised the best I could to Jef, but for once I was speechless.

I was at a party a few days later at another co-worker's house (a pre-Halloween event of sorts). After downing nearly a whole bottle of Bombay Blue Sapphire Gin I stumbled to her back porch. Everyone was gone except a couple people. I was spending the night at the hostess' house. I guess the time was around 11:30. I make a point not to call anyone past 9:30pm. Because I'm a prude I guess. But anyways... I got it in my mind that I MUST CALL JEF to see how he is. There was no way around it. I had to call. I had the house number on speed dial.

After 2 rings a very sleepy sounding Jef comes on the line. A very sheepish and drunk sounding me asked how he was doing, apologised again for the comment I made the other day, said a few more unintelligible words, and hung up. Little did I know I'd set into motion the greatest event in my life.

All of that was on a Friday night. On Sunday morning I got a call on my cell phone. It was Jef thanking me for checking in on him. We chatted a few minutes and then decided to meet up and go grab dinner later in the week.

It was better to eat together than be lonely we said. That was our motivation. However, as a few weeks went past, I knew I'd marry this sweet, sweet man.

I remember the first time he told me he loved me. We were sitting at the bar of our favorite restaurant having a cocktail and eating some seafood. He kept trying to say something, but he kept sidetracking himself and he was looking all sheepish and silly and cute. I knew what he was trying to say (I hoped I knew!) so I said, "Spit it out JC!"

He did. I told him I loved him too. He told me he was so afraid I'd be offended or put off or just get up and leave. I told him he was a worrywart and I'd been waiting on those words for what seemed like forever.

By late December he'd moved in with me. My house was finally a home! And even my Republican, Baptist parents had no objection to this wonderful man. My dad knew that Faith had finally found a "daddy". My mom didn't worry that my ex would try to hurt me or break in (Jef is like 3 times his size... Heck, I'm 3 times his size!).

We got engaged the day the Superbike races were at Daytona (That's motorcycles and March, FYI). He'd asked my father for his permission to marry me, which was granted (with a no return policy- dad said he'd already raised me once, and he didn't want me back again- thanks dad! Always a funny guy!).

We got married October 5th, 2002.

Which was one year to the day after my tipsy phone call to check in on Jef.


Half Moon

Here's the story behind my semi-moon:

I was best friends with Jef's ex-wife (We'll call her L). After leaving my ex-husband I went to their house for a night of a few drinks and a little escape.

Let me stop right here and say never let Jef pour you a cocktail. His sense of proportion is all screwed up. A screwdriver is (in my drinkable opinion) 3 parts orange juice and 1 part vodka. Jef's ideal screwdriver is vodka with a splash of OJ. You kinda see where this is going, right?

So, part way into the evening we're laughing and talking and L puts on some music. I suddenly decide it is the PRIME opportunity to show everyone my new thong. L was adamant that I buy a thong, we'd talked about thongs in front of Jef, so what the hell- I yank my pants halfway down my butt to reveal my new snake-skin patterned panties. L was all, "Yay! You got thongs!" and Jef was doing the most amazing job at looking, while not looking obvious, while really looking.

We've laughed about it ever since!

--Milk Maid says shake it like a Polaroid picture


Faith Wins Lotto!

My dad has been buying Faith $1 scratch off lotto tickets here and there for the past few weeks. She would grab a coin, scratch that little ticket with visions of money dancing about her head, only to discover there was nothing on the ticket to be won.

As I was leaving the grocery store the other day I poked $5 into the machine, got a FatCat ticket and a couple other $1 tickets for us to enjoy. Faith picked the $2 FatCat and I scratched the other 3. She WON $5 (I got zilch). So, after breaking even we stop at another store (gas station) on the way in (I'm 20 minutes from this particular grocery store, welcome to nowhere!). I got 5 $1 tickets. I scratch 2 off and win absolutely nothing. Faith scratched the other 3 and won $11. She thought she was the stuff- let me tell you. She's still deciding whether or not to invest her money in more tickets or add it to her cash-stash upstairs in her room.

Jef just reminded me of an incident before we got married where I semi-mooned him in my thongs. This is when he was still married to his ex-wife! Which makes it all the more funny now.

I think we may try to go visit the GA Aquarium some time this week... I've never been and it is supposed to be mack-daddy good. Plus, my dad is driving and paying... so how bad can it be?!

--Milk Maid says, "If it's free, it's me!"


All In The Family

Remember my obscenely skinny cousin and her daughter who came to visit not long ago? I got this great email from her today telling all about Laken's "Moment's of Blondness"! I'm glad it's not just my kid saying these things:

Laken: You know the big help wanted sign they have posted in the post office? Well what do you do when you see one of those?
Jodi: Well you go inside and ask for an application.
Laken: What if we are driving down the street and see one of them?
Jodi: Same thing, it means they need people to work for them.
Laken: Not that, I mean they are walking down the street!
Jodi (a little frustrated): Signs don't walk Laken!!
Laken: Not the sign, the person on it.

Are you with me now, do you see what's happening?

Jodi: Laken that is not a Help Wanted Sign, it is a MOST wanted sign!!! And if you see those people on it you dial 911 and stay away from them. They don't want to hire them, they want to arrest them!! And NO the Post Office is not the jail so don't ask that either, they are helping the police out!!

And one more...

The kids were outside and Laken notices the dog is out of water. They come in and she gets a huge cup and fills it with water and goes outside while Luke [Jodi's son who was at camp during their trip down here] is yelling "No! Laken not that way!". I tell him to hush and let her give the dog water however she wishes. She comes back in the house and then it happens...

Luke: You know Laken there is an easier way to do that.
Laken: How?
Luke: You know the dog's water bowl is right beside of the water spigot.
Laken (in her most agitated voice with hands on both hips and shaking her head): Now Luke you know that dog can't reach that water spigot even if he does stand on his hind legs!!!!

I immediately double over laughing, and Luke follows, and Laken stands there going "What? Tell me too!"

--The Milk Maid is a user friendly device


Friday Mish Mash

I can never remember if I put a hyphen in Mish-Mash or not: Mish Mash. I'm going to just keep everyone on their toes with that, lemme tell ya!

Faith was watching cartoons this morning (Jimmy Neutron- maybe?) and one of the characters says, "North Dakota is a myth!". Faith shrieks, "North Dakota isn't a myth, it's a country!".

My family is trying to kill me, but they are being really sneaky about it. Jef, my mom, and my dad all have doc appointments on the same day. Jef's getting his blood draws and goodness knows what else, dad is having another somethingerother done to his kidneys (when the conversations starts 'they take this light and stick it up my...' I just stop listening), and mom is having a tendon cut in her toe so it wont curl under anymore. She was the recipient of a botched foot operation 15 years ago. She's just now getting around to repairing the damage it caused.

So, 3 appointments, one day. What are the odds that my gyno will call back and need me to come in on AUG 2nd for my odd pap smear.

Oh yeah, like, January of 2006 I had a slightly weird pap come back. After getting preggo and everything I kinda forgot about it. I'm addressing the situation now. Dr. Karin said it was no biggie, she thinks. But she'll call. Around the beginning of August. Sheish!

Ava is obsessed with the telephone. She yanks it out of the holder and proceeds to poke at the buttons. She was only making noise, I thought, until my aunt called and asked who just rang her number then hung up on her. I told her it was Ava, and she cracked up. At least she calls my NICE relatives. My aunt Sue is like my nuther muther... she's almost 73, walks 4 miles a day, goes to funerals and memorial services to "see her friends" and "for fun", and can outpace me any day of the week.

Here's a funny (funny weird and funny quirky) story: Sue's two best teacher friends (all 3 are retired) are roommates. S&S rock- totally! They would treat me to shopping and hiking and bike rides as a kid. Anything I wanted they'd grab up and lavish upon me! S&S have been roommates for over 30 years. They've bought 2 or 3 houses together. The last house they bought my aunt, my mom, me and a few other random people all got together and bought them some nice house warming gifts. I was the only person there who understood WHY these two roommates had bought a 1 bedroom house. Is my family just overlooking the obvious relationship these ladies share? Or, is my family really that naive?

And today's trivia question is:
Over 85% of all streakers have what in common?

--The Milk Maid says TGIF!


I Would Have Written Sooner...

But my cooch has been on fire. I have a yeast infection. And I really wondered, shall I blog this? Nothing has been taboo so far...

After last weeks sexcapades (Thurs-Fri-Sat) I started to feel a burning in my loins. Well, maybe not loins, but close by. I thought it was desire! Lo and behold, it was yeast a brewin'. I bought $22 worth of Mon*stat Monday morning. As I sit, naked, perched atop my toilet reading the instructions I wonder to myself WHY does the creme and goose egg (more on the goose egg in a few) that I am about to shove up my toot require a note on the directions that it "may cause itching and burning"?? WTF! I'm trying to prevent itching and burning. I buck up, take the odd-shaped plunger do-hickey and shove a "soft pill" the size of a daggum goose egg up my tutu. I take the small tube of creme, apply to areas as needed, and start a dance that can only be described as the "uhhmegawsh that's burning my thang" dance.

I decided to look for holistic cures, because I am a fan of the natural methods of wellness (and I felt like some big, fat CEO man was laughing at my angst of paying $22 for something that didn't help me!). The top recommendations were: Take yogurt with live cultures, place into a tampon applicator, freeze, and insert. I could only imagine me walking into TCBY and asking the young, pimple-faced boy to "fill this" please as I presented Playtex's finest pink applicator. Ok, so the next suggestion was take a peeled garlic clove... did you just cringe cause I did... and shove it in your minge. Yep. Think about it. You done? You're gonna smell like shrimp scampi.

Knowing that I had a doctor's appointment at the gyno today, I toughed out my situation as best I could. Basically, I've washed and blown dry down there and gone sans undergarments since Tuesday. You'd think I was a card carrying member of the Kojack Commandos just like Britney Spears.

At the doc's office today Dr. Karin promptly speculumed my tender bits and proceeded to describe my yeastie condition as a "classic" yeast infection. And then commanded her two assistants to LOOK at the yeast. All I could think of was K's blog on the Tutu show. I will forevermore keep tickets on my person at all times for just such an occasion.

Oh, you think we're done? No... I must tell you how much a doc's Rx for twat-creme is running these days. $54.55! And my insurance saved me $34.12. I was seriously wondering to myself, "Is my hooch really in that bad of shape? $55 bucks!! I could go to Wal-Mart with that cash!".

I bought the creme. I am glad I did. I feel like inserting a bread making joke here, but I think it would just be too much.

--The Milk Maid is so not into baking.


The "How's Jef?" Blog

(If you've missed it, Jef has impaired renal function... meaning his kidneys aren't working properly, meaning kidney disease. His creatinine levels were 6.7 on his 1st doc visit, and 4.8 later on. Normal is 1.5-2. They will do dialysis at around 10, with kidney transplants after that. Hopefully, we wont get to that any time soon. His bp has been high- as high as 240/190, but is now close to where they want him to be at 125/70. This is probably not something he will ever get rid of, but were working together to keep him as healthy as possible for as long as possible with a low, low sodium diet, low fat, low cholesterol, low protein, very small amounts of red meat diet!)

Thanks to everyone who asked how my Big J is doing... Let's break it down:

Jef hasn't had a creatinine level recheck yet. He goes back August 2nd for more blood tests (and I am due for a nervous breakdown sometime that afternoon, I'm certain- I always fall apart blood draw days).

He recently had a bout with gout. Gout is somethingerother where your joints swell or something- I dunno I kinda just kept thinking about gout being something my 80 year old uncle got and couldn't keep my mind on Jef long enough for the textbook description of it. Jef's ankles and feet swelled up to Polish Sausage proportions, I freaked (noo, not me!) thinking it was because of loss of function in his kidneys. He got some meds* and is better now.

*Ok- these meds they gave him for gout came with a warning from the lady doc (the one I like and can tolerate, usually) to "not take these at work until you know how you will react". Jef was confused, what reaction will I have?... he pondered. The lady doc said they make you poop. A lot. Uncontrollably. Jef now understands what it's like to no longer have a gaul bladder (my g.b. is long gone!).

Jef's waist size before all this: 42
Jef's weight before all this: 238
Jef's waist size now: 34
Jef's weight now: 204
My level of disgust at someone losing weight so darn easily: 10
My proudness meter at my babe doing so great: Off the charts

He had a long conversation with lady doc about "The Biopsy". She said it was just one way to narrow down treatment options (but didn't she also say there were no treatment options except diet management, hummmm!). Yes it was invasive, but she's had people never even know they've had it done. She wouldn't make him have it, they could work around with other methods. So, as of right now, I am still winning the F-CK NO YOU WON'T HAVE A BIOPSY argument. I've heard too many horror stories. Period. Nope. If they can work around it (and pay for their Mercedes another way!!) then no hole poking. Jef thinks I am a total freak about all that, but- well maybe I am. I have one of those gut feelings that screams NOOOO! whenever I think about it. It's a feeling like the night I made my mother put on her seat belt and 5 minutes later we had a car accident that would have killed us if we'd not been wearing those seat belts. Or like the time I told my mother not to drive during that thunderstorm, something bad was in the air, and we almost got sucked into a tornado and crushed by a falling oak tree. Who can argue that logic? Besides YOU Jef.

That's all the news that is news for now... Of course I will update as we learn more! Thanks for checking on my bades everyone!

--The Milk Maid isn't psychic, she just plays one on TV


The Sex of Beer

In the middle of a discussion on our pending home refinance:

J: We will just enjoy life and take what comes.
A: Yeah- we're broke and you're gonna die. Haha- Oops thats not my happy face, lemme find my happy face!
A: Ahhh- yeah, we've always made it and we always will.
J: Yeah!
A: And then you're gonna die and i'll be broke :-
A: Simple as that, no wonder YOU dont worry. You've found a way out, hehe!
A: Brilliant! I need a beer. Donde esta el cerveca? Or is that la cerveca?
A: Si. I've let you drink too much Corona....
J: :-)
And for Tracey (and everyone else too), the Rock Climbing Baby:
Photo Sharing and Video Hosting at Photobucket

Photo Sharing and Video Hosting at Photobucket
Photo Sharing and Video Hosting at Photobucket

--The Milk Maid is 100% Positive that she's a Negative Nelly


Ava and Food

At her 9 month check up Ava's doc told us this: Whatever she will eat, feed her!

Now, before I go into detail I am sure someone has one of these- "??" - over their head looking confused and thinking "what about allergies?". This doctor has 5 children. All of whom were fed eggs and peanut butter and everything else in the world that is now bad for children under 1 year of age. The doc explained that most stage 2 baby food has egg in it (I read the label and it's there) and they also have had exposure to the dreaded nut somewhere along the line through something processed on or near the same equipment. Her advice was to start slow, give her a bite or two of whatever, wait a few days, and go from there.

To skip through our many trials and errors, none of which resulted in the need of an epi-pen, I will tell you what Ava ate for breakfast this morning: Scrambled eggs, chicken, biscuit, gravy, hash browns. Oh and Jef taught her how to use a straw, she she slurped up a sip of diet coke too. She was pissed when I wouldn't let her have coffee... you have to be at least 3 in this house before you get coffee, mom's rule.

Of course Ava still eats baby food. She had 2 big jars of applesauce with cereal last nite. After a 1/4 of a pork chop. And a few mushrooms. She had a few bites of salad the night before that, although tomatoes must be an acquired taste.

Ava has the appetite of a champion weight lifter. Pound for pound, that's probably an understatement. I have never, ever, ever seen a kid (let alone a 9 month old) eat as much and enjoy it as Ava does.

The differences in my children amaze me: Faith was content to sip a bottle and watch TV for hours. Ava has scaled the stairs and learned how to rock climb the fireplace after eating almost as much as Jef eats in a meal these days (they split a plate for dinner, no lie!). Faith would eat breakfast sometimes, a small lunch, and a normal dinner, maybe a snack. Ava has a big breakfast, a mid-morning snack, lunch, dinner, and bedtime snack. Plus she's still nursing a LOT. She must have a hollow leg.

Of course as much as she eats, Ava will also run me in circles burning all those calories! She's like a ball of fire, my little comet, hurdling at me (or away from me) at the speed of sound! It's amazing to watch. And that's usually all I have the energy to do.

--The Milk Maid says cha cha cha!


Friday Mish Mash

Tis Friday the 13th... my lucky day! It just seems to run that way for me- I don't know why, and I don't question it! It's better that way.

I got scolded, but not for one of my usual stunts. This is for something I didn't do (other than laundry, dishes, etc). I didn't report to you my sexual adventure last Sunday on the couch. We had couch sex. It was marvelous. My dear sweet J will be so happy now. He felt it was truly blog-worthy.

And speaking of sex... We did have a little playtime last nite... one of those "lock the doors and run to the bedroom whilst the children sleep" adventures. We actually plotted out a plan of action- music, mood lighting, the works. Wow-the best I can recall that's what sex is like before kids!

I had every intention to come home from my morning errands and work on expanding the ol' specialty promotion biz that I run with dad. But as you can tell, I got sidetracked. I've developed a horrible work ethic as of late. There is so much time that I'm flat out busy with the kiddos, cooking special meals for Jef, doing all the mundane household chores that I am contractually obligated to do as a wife, and then everything else that pops up that "Only I Can Accomplish This Task!", that when it comes to actually being productive in the business I have 1% to give. Sure, I could schedule an hour every day to blahblahblah. It makes me nauseated to think of that kind of regime in my life. Sigh! Maybe I can just train Jim to do it all!

I was driving to the water park Wednesday (in the rain*, duh!) and looked down towards the crap holder (map pocket) in the driver's door and there was Ronny's driver's license. Jef's sis had given it to him as a memento (oh the odd things we do). I picked it up while waiting at a traffic light and looked at it. I almost started crying. It's so weird to see "Uncle Hippy". If he shaved his beard he'd look just like Jef. In fact, when we were cleaning up around his house Jef scared the crap out of one of the neighbor ladies. She said, "I thought you were Ronny!"

It just doesn't get any easier, does it?

*Dad's mantra "We're getting wet anyway!"

I can't leave on that depressing of a note, so here's something slightly amusing I wrote a few years ago during one of my many allergy attacks:

My Ode To Hives, October 2001-

"Burning Desire"

Hives, hives
Makes me itchy.
Scratching, squirmy,
Getting bitchy.
How I hate them,
How they whelp-
Benadryl doesn't even help!
Itchy, scratchy, burning mess-
It'll go away in time... I guess.

--The Milk Maid needs a milk bath


Take Off A Few More Years...

...Of my life that is. Ava decided to scare the crap out of me this morning:

I was taking my rings off beside my night stand in preparation for going to the water park today. I sat Ava on the bed, slid my wedding rings off, held her onesie with my left hand while placing the rings on the table.

The easiest mental image I can give you of how she jumped off my bed (and out of my grasp) is that she looked like a flying squirrel. Flat out, belly flop style flying leap of faith. "I had my hand on her!" I kept saying to myself, as she seamed to float gracefully through the air. And plop! I expected the worst. She'd managed to face plant into a pillow. A perfect 10 point landing. I froze- she's usually pretty tough so I didn't want to scare her into a crying fit.

She sat up and looked at me... and then said, "Hey!".


Then Jim Morrison Said....

I occasionally talk to myself. By occasionally I mean half of my day is spent doing an inner monologue. And just to keep it interesting I have given those voices in my head voices other than mine.

Now before you call the men in little white coats, hear me out!

I am an only child whose parents lived to be condescending to each other. If they spoke to each other, it was not civil, and I preferred not to be caught up in the fallout. So I spent a lot of time in my room all by myself as a kid. I had the menagerie of imaginary friends, those friends developed personalities and well, you get it.

Now as a 28 year old mother of two, I still let those inner voices speak to me. Perhaps this doesn't sound normal (or healthy for that matter), but I am always in control of the voices and they never tell me to gather sub-machine guns, barrels of water, and find the Chosen One. It's a fun little outlet. It's my way of escaping daily life while still being a responsible adult. Some people knit, some people jog. I verbally joust with Jim Morrison (from the band The Doors). It keeps me sharp (he's almost as snarky as I am).

For those of you who already thought I was swimming briskly in the deep end of the crazy pool, I probably didn't help myself any here. But I don't care. We all have quirks and things we do to keep us functioning. It could be worse- I could be a Republican.

--The Milk Maid says break on thru to the other side!


The Sign

I was driving up the road a few hours ago on my usual Monday trip to the garbage dump and to the grocery store when I passed our local produce store. It's very quaint, very small town, but usually very busy. Mr. Kelso's store (as Faith calls it) has a nice big sign at the entrance complete with arrow and blinkie lights that point the way.

Today the sign read:

Gallon Milk $2.99
Apples $1.99/lb.
Lemons 3/$1
Great Melons!

Of course the more I thought about Great Melons the funnier it got. So I drove around town singing Great Melons to the tune of the Hot Pockets jingle. I sent Jef a text telling him about the Great Melons. He replied saying "We must own a sign like this!"

Just for the hell of it (I've been known to do such a thing) I googled "Great Melons". There were 3,700 responses, most of which was not about produce. Who knew?!

--The Milk Maid's melon patch is in a secret location near Peru


Friday Mish-Mash, Like Clockwork

The blog-mobile has been slow to crank this week. I've had lots to say, rest assured! I just haven't been good at getting it all in order long enough to compile it here. Where do I start?

4th of July: Finished the swing set. Any object that requires "2 moderately skilled men over 3 days to finish" is much to large a project for my father to do by himself. But you can't tell him that, oh no. HD doesn't listen. Hence my reason for helping. That and I love a good project. I need to occasionally whack things with a sledge hammer and use an impact wrench to keep my mind flowing free and clear.

Later that afternoon, Jef's dad came to visit and we did the cookout thing. I allowed Jef one hot dog (do you KNOW how much sodium is in a hot dog? Don't look, it takes all the fun out of it!) and made jalapeno turkey burgers and real hamburgers and grilled them up. Paige also showed up. Paige is Jef's 21 year old who usually shows up if there is food or money involved. She leaves for Argentina Monday.

The Paige Rant: 4 years ago Paige went to a Bible College in Buenos Aires for a few years, brought home a guy pal (aka Assface) who's parents are missionaries, he and Paige moved in with us for 3 months, we kicked them out when we found the nice, upstanding young Christian man looking at PORN on my then 7 year olds computer, Paige dumps Assface, and has now decided to go back to Argentina to teach for 6 months. She is paying to go teach. Did you hear that? She is PAYING to go teach. WTF? Whatever makes you happy, dear.

Moving on... I must make a confession. I have yet to make it to karate. The 1st time I wanted to go Jef got off work early, and I kinda forgot about going. Last week I was exhausted. Today well no promises, but maybe. I know I would feel better and blah blah, but I am in need of motivation (perhaps I will look at myself naked in the mirror for a little while!).

Faith found $1.50 in the payphone outside of Wally World yesterday. Then the little goob won a huge Superman from one of those claw games with that money. Too bad she isn't old enough to purchase lotto tickets!

A few pictures:
Photo Sharing and Video Hosting at Photobucket My dad, aka "HD"

Photo Sharing and Video Hosting at Photobucket Photo Sharing and Video Hosting at Photobucket
Happy, and not so happy Ava

Photo Sharing and Video Hosting at Photobucket
Ava and her "dada"
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Big J, screwing around!


4th Of July and Other Ramblings

Happy 4th Gang! Wow... this time last year I was pregnant and digging a hole in the sand for my belly to fit into so I could get sun on my backside on Daytona Beach. Jef, Faith, and I watched the space shuttle launch from the side of the road just south of Titusville. Life was good!

Now, I'm a freakin' construction foreman for my father and the swing set.

If you stand there for twenty minutes preaching about reading the directions and how when you do read them all will go smoothly... don't you think you should then actually READ the directions?? What the heck, dad! Thank god I was there, or the damn thing would be condemned. Here's a pic of the behemoth almost done:
Photo Sharing and Video Hosting at Photobucket
Jef (now he's the "one with the hat") & HD (aka Dad) assembling the swing set.

And, for B&K, here's the link to the hamhock incident. Not quite as funny as your last posting, but a must read.

Ava has a new nickname: Scooby-Boobie-Doo. It's all about the boobie-snacks for this kid. She has learned to lift my shirt up and self-serve at the dairy bar. She has also become a very, very rough nurser (well, more than she was to begin with). I constantly have bruises and claw marks on my boobs, chest, and stomach (and arms and legs and...). She also bounces like she's on a pogo stick while fully latched onto me! I cannot explain the sensation of this any better than running a marathon without a sports bra.

My mother after watching all of Ava's aforementioned antics said, "Well I guess you are about ready to wean her and give her formula from now on!"

I told her in my usual monotone style, "Not a chance in hell mother! I'm in this for the long haul!"

My goodness, I've invested nearly 10 months into breastfeeding. I've endured blood blistered purple nurples, leaky boobs, the arcane nursing bra, porn star sized boobs, and cluster feedings for days at a time. Why would I quit now because of a little bruising and a few scratches?

--The Milk Maid says I'm much to dainty for construction. No- really!


Noah Followed The Instructions...

...My dad doesn't. That is why it has taken weeks to build Faith's new swing set. That is why I am missing in action today gang!

I will update you on all the gobbeldy-goop swing set hoo-haa bonanza you can take as soon as I can make this crazy old man take a break!



Aradia The Ninja

This is me and all my cat-like Ninja glory!

(You will never get this song out of your head!!!)

--The Milk-Maid says flip out (and props to!