I'm molting

not melting,

I'm molting.

Lately I have been collecting mini sized eggs from my hens. Not only that, but only one or two eggs a day (compared to an average of seven awhile back). I actually had to buy white eggs from the store to keep up with my family's breakfast order, which kinda freaked the kids out. "Mom, what's the matter with this egg, it's white?!"

I thought my chickens might be sick, but turns out they need a "reset" time. It's called "molting." It's normal for chickens to stop laying eggs for a bit this time of year. They put all that egg-makin' energy into rejuvenating their feathers and bodies. Less daylight and colder weather tell them it's time.

Maybe it's the time change, the cold weather, the shorter days, but it feels like I'm taking that big deep breath before hunkering down for winter too. Time to wind down from harvest, and step into the snowboots.

Just molting.

rent a daddy

What was the mama goat's favorite t.v. show?....The Nanny

What do you call a goat that's floating on the water?...Billy Bob So right now we are renting a "billy goat" (I use quotes because the word billy is sometimes frowned on in the goat community) We're hoping he will get frisky with our goat girls and in 5 months...voila...kids. One sniff of our rent-a-daddy and you would understand why we rent instead of own. PeeeeUuuuuu!! I gag when I'm out doing chores and the wind comes at me just right. Bucks have a really strong smell that helps send the does into heat. One of the reasons they stink so much is that they pee on their own goatees....the ladies must dig it...yuck again. I was lucky enough to witness it within 5 minutes of our goats introductions.

Last year we did purchase a buck, Tuffy, from a very kind neighbor. We got a deal on him because he was recovering from a dog attack. He was one sad sight, but we were assured he could "do the job." Well, he killed over mid winter, poor guy. "At least he went out well," we thought. Five months later I was expecting kids. Apparently Tuffy did NOT get the job done. Shucks.

...and a few more lame goat jokes for the road:

What do you call a goat that isn't moving...Billy Idle

What do you call a goat that lip-syncs?...Billy Vanilli.

What do you call a goat that is a professional comedian?...Billy the Kid

written by a disgruntled mother

Remember the story of the little red hen? Now that I'm a parent, something is very obvious!...

mama hen: "oh look at all this work that needs to be done for dinner tonight. Who will help me plan dinner?"

children: "not I"..."not I"... "I've got homework"

mama hen: "who will help me set the table?"

children: "not I"..."not I"... "I've got stuff to do"

mama hen: "who will help me peel these potatoes"

children: "not I"..."not I"... "not me either, mom"

When the delicious dinner aroma spreads throughout the house you can guess who starts showing up for the meal. Suddenly all the un-interested, "busy" or otherwise occupied parties are happy to volunteer assistance...as taste testers!

...So back to what is now so obvious to me. This story was written by a disgruntled mother! One who was only trying to teach her children the value of hard work and probably never had the heart to send her moochy slackers to their room when they would not chip in. Perhaps by threatening them with this story that mother did get a little bit of payback while she slaved solo over the hot stove.

Harvest Moon

Last night the moon was so bright it lit up my bedroom. How convenient I thought, because as I looked across the fields I saw the headlights of a dozen tractors. The sun was long past setting, it was around 10 pm, but these guys were still working, also appreciative of the harvest moon.

You see, right now is harvest. Around here harvest is a serious verb. It's crunch time - most of the crops are out of the ground and into the cellars, but the sugar beets are last on the list. What are sugar beets you ask? Well they make sugar...but that's for another blog.

Anyways, it's a rush around here because wet weather is on the way and if the fields get too muddy, the tractors get stuck. Stuck tractors...no more sugar beets...not good! That's why it's so urgent that all the work get finished up. The tractors get diggin' before sun up and aren't finished until after dark. I'm not a real farmer, but I am fascinated with this stuff. Many of my friends are the real deal (i.e. they make their livelihood by it) so I dedicate this post to them and to their lonely families that are anticipating a post-harvest reunion :) I love living in a community that prays for a safe and productive harvest!

FYI, during a "harvest moon" there is less time between sunset and moonrise. Harvest moons were said to help the working farmers bring in their crops. They could continue being productive by moonlight even after the sun had set. thanks wikipedia

calling in sick

Do you ever feel like calling in sick with housework? Sometimes it's so tempting to push it off 'till the next day. When I feel like complaining I try remembering the old days when women could NOT get out of chores and wouldn't dream of pushing anything off until tomorrow because each day was so packed.

Imagine an era without microwaves, dishwashers, washing machines, dryers, vacuums, mixers, or TV aka free babysitters to keep 'em busy so you CAN get work done ... Suddenly our "to-do list" doesn't look too bad, eh?

My mom grew up in the 50's. Her family farmed in a rural area outside Boise. Their lifestyle was pretty common for families of that area, but it was a lot more down to earth than my dad's upbringing in the city during the same time. Sure, new inventions were making housework more convenient, but they were also a luxury that wasn't available for everyone yet. Routines varied with individual families, of course, but for most homes the housework routine was pretty set. A schedule might look something like this...

Monday - all day wash day. My mom remembers washing all the loads of laundry in the washer on their porch. They used the same soapy water for all the loads...eww. After agitating, the soapy clothing was moved to a new rinse bucket with attached wringer-roller (no spin cycle, see the photo above). During nice weather the clothes dried on the line outside, but during the winter they hung them up inside the porch. Tuesday - Ironing day. If I had to devote a whole day to ironing I think I'd wear wrinkled clothes. During my current life stage, I avoid buying any high maintenance material that requires an iron, so the ladies of yesterday must have had a lot more class than me. Following laundry day, all the clothing would need to be ironed. Remember, no fancy steam irons, just pure hard work.

Wednesday - Mend and sew day. My grandmother laughed when I asked her what it meant to "darn a sock." Maybe that is where the saying "oh, darn," came from. Anyways, essentially darning means mending, reweaving the knit, etc. etc. Just ask someone who went through the depression about mending and you'll get their soap-box about how our generation has become so disposable and doesn't know how to make do with anything. True, we're sure lucky. I leave any mending for when my mom visits and con her into doing it for me.

Thursday - Clean house. I wonder if those skilled homemakers knew the trick to getting the house clean all at once, all on the same day. This is an impossible task for me to do with all my little blessings running around.

Friday - Baking day. Without a fancy mixer, I think I'd get carpo-tunnel from making enough bread to feed my family for the week! I always thought it was a joke, but my mom really did grow up eating bread and milk for dinner.

Saturday - Go to town day. I hear stories from my senior neighbors about how the whole town used to be packed on Saturdays. It was the day to visit with everyone while you walked up and down mainstreet doing your shopping. How'd they keep track of all the kids without one stop shopping?

Sunday - Church and big family dinner. Hopefully mom got a nap in because....

...Monday it started all over again!

a frontier girl

I ran across a novel excerpt in a magazine the other day and can't wait to get my hands on this book: Half Broke Horses, by Jeannette Walls. It's the story of Lily Casey Smith, born in a Texas dugout in 1901. The cover photo caught my attention- I'm obsessed with the lives of homesteaders during this time period.

Lily's tales of a wild west childhood include spending the night in a tree with her younger siblings. At ten years of age, she saved them from a flash flood and kept them secure upon the limb of an old cottonwood tree until the water calmed enough the following morning and they were able to search for their parents. On another occasion, Lily broke a fall from their horse with her forearm and split her bone in half. Back in those days, a bone was set at home using a paste concoction whipped up by her father.

Lily and I would have been friends. A little rowdy and hair brained, this cowgirl ended up running a huge ranch with her husband. A true frontier girl.

adios amigo

Last spring, I mentioned our rooster's days were numbered. It got to the point that our kids would not to go outside because they were afraid of being attacked by the mean thing. I tried shackin' him up with the hens again, but he pecked one of their eyes out (now she looks like a pirate hen). I had enough...it was time to turn Mr. Rooster into Sunday dinner.

I remember seeing my grandma butcher a turkey when I was a little girl. I was so grossed out I had a hard time eating any of it. It's funny how we have become so disconnected with our food. I seldom think about the origins of the food I buy at the grocery store. When I buy a carton of eggs, I don't imagine them coming out a chicken's butt...I just eat them! However, when I started collecting eggs from my own chickens it was hard to eat them. Coming out the chicken's butt was the ONLY thing I could think about!

There is nothing thrilling to me about killing an animal so please don't report me to PETA. I expected the chicken to run around after it was butchered, but nothing too exciting happened.

In all, it was a very interesting day. It made me realize how lucky we are to have so much food at such convenience. Count your blessings that you don't have to go chase down a bird in your yard when you have a taste for chicken dinner.

The first few bites were a little strange when we realized WHO we were eating, but in all it was a rewarding feeling be eating something that we raised ourselves. Thanks Mr. Rooster!

FYI, someone told me chef, Gordon Ramsay, is a big fan of raising your own food too - does that mean am I as crazy as he is?!

The witch is in

Time to start the blog back up. Yes, I do still exist. It's been so long, I forgot how to log in! My short term sabbatical from blogging was due to loads of summer work outside. With these tasks winding down, I can putt away in front of the computer, guilt free. In the months ahead maybe I'll be able to share lots of fun things I learned over the summer.

I'm a big fan of painting pumpkins, probably because I'm NOT a fan of mildewy rotten ones! They never seem to make it more than two weeks before looking like a nasty withered up corpse.

midnight rodeo

If you grew up around animals, the following phrase may make you curse out loud...

"THE COWS ARE OUT!!"

However, to a city born slicker like myself, those words get the adrenaline pumping like a fire station's firebell.

Our herd of heifers made their maiden voyage across our front lawn the other night. We had been building corrals and left a gate open. I was half asleep and didn't compute the loud moo-ing I heard rather close to the window. My husband gasped out loud and knew right away what was going on. He whined a little and calmly made his way outside. Of course I beat him out there and was already running around like a giddy school girl.

Seeing a spazoid woman running around with a giant spotlight didn't really calm the cows down, so they stampeded around the house awhile before we herded them back into their pen. The midnight laps around the house were more exciting than a rodeo! I even talked my husband into snagging a straggler with his lariat rope. Wowzers, what an exciting night for one of us anyway.

Hmmmm, it would be terrible if the cows "accidentally" got out again!

Villan Soup

Our cocky rooster pun intended is lucky to be struttin' his stuff.

1. I evicted him from the hen house. He was pecking the hens' heads until they were bald. What a bully!

2. His fearless, aggressive behavior has no boundaries. He now makes his way up onto the deck to peck at the dog and cats.

3. He has become the kids' worst nightmare, literally. The kids don't dare to be outside alone, and they wake up crying in the middle of the night blubbering something about an attacking chicken.




Yep, that's three strikes, but the darn thing is so attractive that I can't commit to making him soup yet! My little girl was in tears the other day because (in her words) "the sweet little chick grew up to be a villain!"

here is the fightin' chicken's surprise attack on our dog

It's only a matter of time...

Everything I need to know I learned from my garden

Warmer weather means fewer posts from yours truly. Thankfully spring is starting to stick around and I've been able to get diggin' in the dirt. Months of snow and wind make me forget how therapeutic gardening can be for me. I haven't felt this great in months! Here are a few things worth repeating from last spring's gardening post...

I think every person should grow SOMETHING, even if its a little pot of seeds in the windowsill. Hard work, determination, patience, appreciation, health, science...all fruits of a garden.

Once a skeptic, I am now a huge fan of square foot gardening. If you want to attempt a garden this year, check out this book.

Some of Mel's methods may sound a bit complicated or tedious to begin with, but TRUST ME it will pay off in the long run. In a nutshell, you build a box or buy a container, fill it with a mixture of soil (weed free), and plant your seeds in groups instead of rows. The big benefit is that you have very few weeds to pull, and nice loose soil to harvest from. Even if you only adapt some of the ideas in this book, it will make your garden experience a happy one.

Every year I learn the most from what I didn't do right. What I'm trying to say is don't let your fear of failing keep you from giving it a go. Plant something this year!

bunny money

ladies and gentlemen....we are now in the bunny business. We never cease to amaze, or entertain, or humor.

If you live in the suburbs, "keeping up with the Joneses" might mean buying a boat or a new SUV. Around these parts, bunnies are the latest craze. Thanks to Californian's eccentric tastes, there is actually a market for rabbit meat (taste's like chicken!). We have a few neighbors that raise rabbits and sell them to the rabbit wagon that rolls through town every month. The rabbit wagon makes various stops on it's way to the butchering plant in California, our town being one of these stops.

One little rule of our budding farm is that any animal must pay for itself and if not, it must be worth paying for (i.e. horses). If these puffy pets can propagate like people say they can, then they might just make us some bunny money!

farm fiction

This is Ben. He's a cow in the movie, Barnyard. Ben has a cow son named Otis, and the two of them are the leaders in the barnyard. They are in charge of keeping all the other farm animals safe from the coyotes. I realize there are obvious fallacies with talking cows, but can you identify something else misleading about Ben and Otis?
----------------------------------------------------------------------

Yes, obvious to most of you, our boy Ben here on the left has the wrong anatomy. Perhaps the movie producers blushed at the thought of animating the correct body parts? But gosh, I feel like all those city kids need an accurate education.

FYI for all you city slickers:
bull - full package male used for breeding and rodeos, no udder
steer - snip snip male used for hamburger, no udder, no package
heifer - female before having babies, no milk, not a prominent udder
cow - female after having babies, milk producer, prominent udder
if you didn't already know this stuff, don't feel bad. I had to learn it too!

real royals to the dishes

I have a complaint...

I think women are programed to hate housework thanks to Cinderella! Think about it, the girl's chores are a form of punishment. When her "happily ever after" comes, she is whisked off to a castle and never has to scrub floors again! Boy, if that isn't misleading....

When your prince swept you off your feet, did he come complete with an army of merry-maids? Me either. The princess of this palace still scrubs toilets, still sweeps floors, still sorts laundry.

One of the concepts I learned in college was something called "Social Marketing." In a nutshell, it's defined as making an unpopular behavior seem cool and accepted (i.e. wearing seatbelts or sunscreen). Well, I'm putting a twist on this concept and calling it "Mommy Marketing."

mommy: "If you are a good girl, maybe you can help me load the dishwasher today!"

child: "Oh wow, can I, can I?!"

okay, so maybe this is just wishful thinking

I'm going to give it a try anyway. When I read Cinderella to my kids, I will insert something like "...and Cinderella married the prince and was so happy to clean up after someone who loved and appreciated her."

...now that's a happy ending!

marley and me

If you were to see a list of my favorite movies, I'm sure you would question my taste - it's pretty random. With that said, I have nothing but praise for my latest fav, Marley and Me.
Reasons this film struck a chord with my life...
1. If Jennifer Aniston lets her dog live indoors with the family, then I can't feel too much like a slob when I do. (we are pretending the movie is real-life here folks) True, I didn't see Jen sweeping the floor 5 times a day (like I should be doing with my dog indoors), but her dog did eat it's fair share of furniture, so we'll call it a wash.

2. Family Values are not quite dead in Hollywood... it's SO refreshing to see a couple in the movies get married before the kids come and decide to have more than one hobby child. No nannies, no daycare, no divorce.

3. How fun would it be to write a column in a newspaper and get paid enough to live a Ralph Lauren lifestyle complete with a barn house and riding boots? I would opt for the Pennsylvania homestead over the pool house and flip-flops in Florida. I should have majored in journalism!!

4. Dogs, dogs, dogs. No one understands why we get so attached (I'm speaking to all you fellow dog lovers). Am I right? Dogs exist to please their owners. If a man were to lock his dog and his wife out of the house for a week, which would be the first to forgive the man when he finally let them back inside?... enough said.

5. Back to Jen (and still pretending the movie is real life). It's nice to see a house that looks lived in: baby bottles sitting on the counter, toys scattered down the hallway, minivan in the driveway. It made me feel less guilty going home to a similar scene after the movie was over.

6. Lovely little parallels. Life is never what we expect it to be - college, marriage, parenting, our job. We think we know what will be best for our future, but life isn't like a "to-do" list that we can check off (trust me, I'm learning this the hard way). The best lessons usually come from the unexpected "growing pains" along the way.

7. It doesn't matter how big a pain your dog has been during his lifetime, how much furniture he has destroyed, how annoying his barking was at 2 am, how much money he has cost you, etc., etc....after that dog is gone he will become perfect in your eyes. A legend that all future pets will be measured against. You will insist that no other dog can or will take his place.

In loving memory of Buck, Schnibdibbly, and Scout the wonder pup: Remember, all dogs go to heaven.

attack bird

Many of you are familiar with "the wierd bird" we have at our home. Our friendship with the bird began last summer when my batch of guinea fowl were delivered by mail. I pumped the little keets full of tlc but sadly only one survived. It's quite fitting that the only survivor has turned out to be quite a fighter. Saying that the bird can take care of itself is a bit of an understatement. The other day I saw an encounter between the bird and our big, bad, german shepherd...

Now I believe all the things I read about these birds attacking and killing snakes! My garden bugs will have no defense against this attack...sweet.

p.s. Wondering what the "we love wierd birds" is doing chalked on our deck? That is the spot the bird likes to sit and gawk at it's own reflection in the glass door. The kids and I were just being silly with the chalk one day.

dairy day

Q: What do you get a crazy woman for her birthday?

A: a day workin' on a dairy!

You all know by now, that I am nuts about animals and all things farmy. Well some very thoughtful friends of mine arranged a sweet birthday gift for me. I got to spend time working on a 5000 cow dairy (babysitting included). Sweet deal, huh? Here are some things I learned:

1. Haylage (the fermented hay fed to the cows) smells yummy...but probably just to me.

2. This dairy has an average of 25 baby calves born each day - how sweet!

3. You don't want to know what the purpose is for a plastic glove that spans the entire length of your arm.

4. As large as this dairy is, these cows are pretty pampered!

We lived in Wisconsin for awhile and it's neat to compare both diary worlds (old-school vs. progressive). In Wisconsin it's very picturesque with tie-stall barns, silos, and small herds. The cows are part of the family. Here where we live now, dairies are huge in comparison. Cows are known by their number, not name. Still, anyone would appreciate how well the cows are cared for and the type of management required to make the dairy run healthy and efficiently.

My favorite part of the day was spending time at the maternity pens. Here are some of the brand new calves.

Sticking up for moms

Tell Me About It by Carolyn Hax
Tucson, Arizona Published: 06.05.2007

My best friend has a child.
Her: Exhausted, busy, no time for self, no time for me, etc.
Me (no kids): Wow. Sorry. What'd you do today?
Her: Park, play group . . .

Dear Carolyn: OK. I've done Internet searches; I've talked to parents. I don't get it. What do stay-at-home moms do all day? Please, no lists of library, grocery store, dry cleaners. . . . I do all those things, too, and I don't do them every day. I guess what I'm asking is: What is a typical day, and why don't moms have time for a call or e-mail?

I work and am away from home nine hours a day (plus a few late work events), and I manage to get it all done. I'm feeling like the kid is an excuse to relax and enjoy — not a bad thing at all — but if so, why won't my friend tell me the truth? Is this a contest ("My life is so much harder than yours")? What's the deal? I've got friends with and without kids, and all us child-free folks get the same story and have the same questions.
— Tacoma, Wash.

Dear Tacoma:
I keep wavering between giving you a straight answer and giving my forehead some keyboard. To claim you want to understand — while in the same breath implying that the only logical conclusions are that your mom friends are either lying or competing with you — is disingenuous indeed.
So, since it's validation you seem to want, the real answer is what you get. In list form. When you have young kids, your typical day is: constant attention, from getting them out of bed, fed, clean, dressed; to keeping them out of harm's way; to answering their coos, cries and questions; to having two arms and carrying one kid, one set of car keys and supplies for even the quickest trips, including the latest-to-be-declared-essential piece of molded plastic gear; to keeping them from unshelving books at the library; to enforcing rest times; to staying one step ahead of them lest they get too hungry, tired or bored, any one of which produces the kind of checkout-line screaming that gets the checkout line shaking its head.
It's needing 45 minutes to do what takes others 15.
It's constant vigilance, constant touch, constant use of your voice, constant relegation of your needs to the second tier.
It's constant scrutiny and second-guessing from family members and friends, well-meaning and otherwise. It's resisting the constant temptation to seek short-term relief at everyone's long-term expense.
It's doing all this while concurrently teaching virtually everything — language, manners, safety, resourcefulness, discipline, curiosity, creativity, empathy. Everything.
It's also a choice, yes. And a joy. But if you spent all day, every day, with this brand of joy — and then when you got your first 10 minutes to yourself, you wanted to be alone with your thoughts instead of calling a good friend — a good friend wouldn't judge you, complain about you to mutual friends or marvel at how much more productively she uses her time.
Either make a sincere effort to understand, or keep your snit to yourself.

ice fishing disaster

My cousin posted her ice fishing pictures and it reminded me of a funny story...


A few years ago my husband went on a work-sponsored trip to northern Minnesota for ice fishing. Ice fishing doesn't sound fun period, but throw "Northern Minnesota" into the mix and it sounds miserable! Because temperatures reach 30 below zero, the group stayed in a little hut on the ice and had a small heater in the hut. To help endure the insane temperatures, his work colleagues got drunk (I'm guessing it wasn't the only reason). Good thing there was a sober Mormon on board to save the day! At first my husband assumed it was the alcohol causing all the puking, but soon he realized the heater was malfunctioning and pumping out carbon monoxide. Long story short, he got some fresh air into the place and they all lived happily ever after. To this day, he claims it was the longest weekend of his life.
...and no he didn't catch any fish! I think the lake was frozen solid.

creative deprivation

Dudley Dursley - the ultimate overindulged child!

We have some friends that shot this idea my way and I wanted to pass it along because I'm a big fan. The following is from a section of Amy Dacyczyn's The Tightwad Gazette where she discusses the concept of

creative deprivation:

As a result of all this stuff and stimulation, kids regard overload as a normal condition. Anything less - a walk in the woods, making cookies, or sitting in a classroom listening to a teacher - is boring. In contrast, using a concept I call "creative deprivation" is, in my view, a healthier way to raise children. The idea behind creative deprivation is that every event should have space around it, so that the event can stand out and be appreciated....Until this century, the space occurred naturally. Entertainment and material goods were hard to come by, so they were appreciated when they came along. A child cherished his few toys, and music was a special event, because it could only be heard when musicians were assembled. The challenge of modern life is that we have to actively create the space....That's why the best parents understand that their kids can have too much of a good thing. They place limitations on the stuff and stimulation. They are tough enough to slow down the flow of goodies. We're working on this idea with Molly already. I try to carve out lots of time during the week for amusing ourselves at home. In terms of material possessions, I like the idea I've heard of limiting Christmas presents to three gifts - three were enough for baby Jesus, after all, and they're not too many that kids get overwhelmed (as one nephew did this year when he lost interest in opening presents after the first half dozen or so).

Alter Ego

My husband and I both have alter egos on occasion. Most of the time we are ourselves, but when we go home to visit our empty nesting parents, we become strangers to each other. Neither of us fell in love with these strangers, so sometimes trips can get a little rough and patience wears thin. These alter egos show themselves so consistently on visits "back home," that we even have names for these ill-mannered, selfish personalities: Brittney and Kevin.

Brittney's visits to Salt Lake go something like this...

She walks in the door, kicks off her shoes, and drops all bags at the door (at least the bags she carried in - mom can help her unload the rest of the car later). She mutters some hellos while heading straight for the fridge for inventory. After she checks the fridge, she checks the secret candy stash (the location has changed since living at home - maybe that's a hint to stay out) and then onto the pantry. She is making mental notes as to what food she'll be sure to sample during her stay, and which "groceries" she will be taking home with her as souvenirs. As soon as Brittney walks through the front door she forgets that she's in charge of her children. In fact, she feels so much like a child again that she sees her kids as competition for mom's attention. As soon as she's rattled off some generic instructions to the free babysitter (thanks mom!) she heads out solo for a shop-a-thon. Brittney phones home every few hours as a gesture, perfectly aware that she has no intentions of heading back home until absolutely necessary. Throughout the trip the world revolves around Brittney. She's louder than usual, and interrupts other's conversation to talk about herself. Brittney has no social manners, but may mention a quick thanks and goodbye as she is stashing her vehicle with goodies and other things she convinced mom she can't live without.

Kevin's visits home are sort of similiar...

His first stop: the fridge! No bags to drop at the door. Why pack in bags when it will only slow his progress to the fridge? Kevin isn't married and doesn't have kids, so like Brittney, he sees the rest of us as competition...mostly for food. Are all mothers a sucker for manipulation? Somehow Kevin can make his mom feel guilty for something from his childhood and before you know it, she is pulling out a turkey and cooking a feast that would usually be produced only for a major holiday. So many things to do in so little time - Kevin is up early working on the farm, up late reminising, making one more stab at leftovers before bed. With a schedule so packed it's hard to fit in a shower, a shave, toothbrushing, or deoderant. Kevin doesn't smell so good after a few days. Kevin forgets he shares a bed on visits back home. He takes up so much of the bed that his wife usually ends up dragging another mattress into the room and sleeping on the floor. It's all good for her though- remember, Kevin doesn't do hygeine.

What is it about visiting home that brings out the self-centered teenager back out of us? That selfish person must still be somewhere inside of us, coaxed out when it finds a familiar setting.

No wonder there is a saying amongst empty nesters that goes something like "good to see the kids come home, even better to see them go."