The Cow Whisperer

It’s never a good thing when the phone rings at 7:30 in the morning and you learn that your cows are out.

Your routine gets tossed to the side as you scramble into clothes, go to the bathroom (just in case), grab your coat and head out the door in the rain.

I was very thankful Nate was home to help as we drove down the gravel looking for the renegade critters. We quickly spotted them in the neighbor’s hay field and Nate hopped out to chase them home while I sat in the heated van thinking how well that had turned out for me!

My warm, dry wait quickly changed when a neighbor pulled up to tell me that there was another group heading down the gravel to the east.

I looked around for help, but saw only myself, so I headed out to round them up solo.

You may remember that several of my attempts to chase cows by myself have not ended well. But this time would be different. At least that’s what I told myself as I rounded the corner and saw the four varmints running down the road. I drove ahead of them, stopped the van and prepared for battle.

The goal was to get them turned up the dirt road that would lead straight to the pasture. Sounds easy right? Not. Those cows went every other way possible. I was almost in a panic when a young cowboy in a pick-up truck pulled up.

“Them your cows?”

I thought to myself. “Of course they’re my cows! Why else would I be standing on the side of the road in the rain wearing mismatched clothes and soaked to the skin at 7:30 in the morning?! ”

But I answered with a simple, “Yes!”

He replied, “Need some help?”

Help?! Oh glory yes! Yes, indeed!

He went from smart aleck to super hero with those three simple words.

Then he got out of his truck, stood at the end of the dirt road and pointed while making a strange sound like maybe a “yuuu-up”

And believe it or not, those renegade cows turned right into the road and trotted down as docile as anything!

A perfect stranger and they did whatever he wanted!

Was it the cowboy boots?

Maybe the “yuu-up”?

Or is it that they just don’t like me?

Whatever the reason, I was thankful!

Even more so when that Super hero walked the entire mile to the pasture with me in the rain! When they took off for the tree line instead of heading to the gate he simply said, “Bet that’s where they got out. Funny, they can usually find it right back.”

Maybe for you Mr. Cowboy, but if it was just me, we’d still be running in circles around the neighbor’s muddy field.

Sure enough, all four ran up to a spot in the fence and squeezed back through.

Then they headed back to the rest of the herd, but not before taking one more look back at me and the Cowboy.

And I’m pretty sure they winked.

Varmint cows.

Bubble Head

It’s always a good idea to use your head while cleaning.

Not that I do. Actually – I spend a great deal of time daydreaming and planning and talking and singing and don’t always pay attention to what I’m doing.

Like on Saturday.

I was almost done cleaning the bathroom when I saw a spot on the mirror. I had a towel in my hand so I just reached over to wipe it off.

And when I reached over to wipe it off, the other end of the towel just happened to brush the top of the sink and knock over my ceramic soap dispenser.

Which just happened to crash to the tile floor and break.

Which spilled hand soap everywhere.

I had just filled it.

Oops.

Did I start thinking then? No. Of course not. I immediately took the large super fluffy bath towel in my hand and started to mop up the soap.

It wasn’t until I put the towel in the sink to rinse it that I realized my mistake. An entire soap dispenser full of soap makes a lot of bubbles.

A LOT of bubbles.

So many bubbles it took me 45 minutes of rinsing and squeezing to finally feel safe enough to put it in the washing machine. (That Brady Bunch episode when Bobby puts all the soap in washing machine and the bubbles flooded the room made a huge impression!)

The funny thing is – this is not the first time I’ve broken a ceramic soap dispenser. I replaced our plastic ones with ceramic a few years ago thinking the kids were old enough now to not break them.

They are – but I’m not. I’ve broken every single one.

And all while cleaning.

The score stands- kids: 0, mom: 9.

Jan’s comment? “Plastic works well. ”

And so it does. Which is a good thing – because sometimes this momma is a bubble head!

In Which I Embarrass Myself – Again

We were gathered in my parent’s kitchen the day after Thanksgiving.

There were at least four conversations going on around us when my brother-in-law said to me, “I read your blog about the bladder.”

I look up quizzically, “A blog about the bladder?”

Then one of my sisters chimed in, “Oh yeah – you remember – the time we four sisters drove to Minnesota for Uncle Dale’s funeral.”

Then all of my sisters started adding to the story for the benefit of everyone standing in the kitchen.

“Teresa was driving and you had to go to the bathroom and there was no place to stop till we got to Faribault.”

“But there was road construction and all the exits to Fairbault were closed.”

(Seriously – is that even legal to c lose every exit to a city?!”)

“You were so desperate you begged her to stop at the port-a-potty in the median but she wouldn’t.”

“So you had to wait all the way to Owatonna and were so miserable!”

“And Sandy – enjoying your misery way too much starting singing songs about water!”

“There shall be showers of blessing…”

“Some through the waters, some through the flood….”

“Even Winnie the Pooh’s – And the rain, rain came down down down a mighty rushing river…”

(Each new song brought a new round of laughter from my sisters. So cruel!)

“And when we finally got to Owatonna, you ran all the way through McDonald’s to find the ladies room!”

At this point the entire kitchen is laughing.

“But wait” I said, “I never wrote a blog post about that event. I would never put that on my blog – it’s much too embarrassing.”

My brother-in-law stops laughing just long enough to say, “I didn’t say bladder – I said ladder, you know the blog post about the attic stairs.”

Oops.

Hello My Name Is…

I am terrible with names.

Sometimes I can’t even remember my own children’s names – and I’m the one who named them.

Once my niece brought her roommate Danni to a family gathering. Such a cute name – but do you think I could remember it?

No way.

Every time I saw this gal I called her something else. Billie, Bobbie, George. It started as an honest mistake – but quickly turned into a joke.

She still remembers me and asks my niece about her crazy (but fun!) Aunt Melinda.

A few weekends ago at my nephew’s wedding I had a nice conversation with a young man that I knew I knew- but I could not remember his name.

Finally – two days later it came to me.

But the most embarrassing moments happen when I don’t even recognize their face.

Last fall at a benefit for a good friend battling cancer – I was stopped at the door by a familiar face. She hugged me and we had the most interesting conversation – mostly because I had no idea who she was.

I picked up enough clues from our one-sided talk to figure out that we knew each other from college. But it wasn’t till later that night that I remembered who she was and how she would know this mutual friend.

Embarrassing.

A similar incident happened at a thrift store recently. She looked familiar. She sounded familiar. She obviously knew me well enough to carry on a conversation over the rack of ladies long-sleeved shirts.

But I was clueless.

Do you have any idea how difficult it is to carry on an intelligent conversation while you are frantically trying to figure out who it is that you are talking to?

I really need to find a way out of these muddles.

Is there a polite way to say, “I’m sure you are very important to me but I can’t remember you?” without offending someone?

Maybe there’s some food I can eat to improve brain function. Aren’t carrots good for that? No – wait a minute – carrots are good for your eyes.

I guess I’m just doomed to embarrass myself.

So if we happen to run into each other and I don’t call you by name or if I look a little confused, help a gal out and introduce yourself.

“Hello, my name is…”

I thank you in advance.

Please Don’t Let My Dad Read This One

Okay guys.

This is kind of embarrassing.

Remember how excited I was when I finally got a flower bed planted?

I had used a lot of dirt from a composting tree stump to help fill it in. Then I sprinkled in about 30 different packets of flower seeds that I found in my seed bucket.

I was so excited to see a few little seedlings started.

But to be honest – I didn’t spend a lot of time studying them – after all – we had a family camp-out, a wedding, Grandpa’s funeral, and the county fair. It was a little busy.

But I would admire the little plants every time I whizzed past. Which was often – since the bed is right beside the door.

Then – I noticed one kind of plant that was getting bigger and bigger. So big it was taking over the bed. I thought the leaves looked familiar – but I couldn’t place them.

Finally – I stopped on my way out to get the mail to study this amazing soon-to-be flower.

Oh dear.

I couldn’t believe it.

This Iowa country gal was growing a bed of button weeds. Otherwise known as velvet leaf.

Not just growing them – I was watering them and protecting them.

How embarrassing.

After all – I spent entire summers when I was a teenager cutting these nasty weeds out of bean fields.

I know how invasive they can be.

I wonder what the farmers thought as they drove in the yard. “Does she know that plant is actually a weed? Is she crazy?”

Well, not quite crazy, yet. Just really busy and more than a little distracted.

But don’t worry – I’ve got them pulled and even found some perennials on sale to fill in the flower bed.

So let’s just keep this embarrassing little slip up to ourselves – okay?!

I’m just glad that my dad doesn’t read my blog posts. 😉