The Living Without Series

This is a series of posts that I wrote back in 2006 on living with less stuff. Check them out: liv011Living #2liv031liv04

Coal Creek Farm on Facebook

The Chicken Doctor


The Architect


I have a four year old.

I say yes, he says NO!
I say stop and off he goes!

I turn left and he goes right.

I want peace.
He’s ready to fight!

He’s four years old.

He’s Levi!

I Hate Football

I have a husband snoring in bed next to me, a cat curled up on my chest and yet, here I am half awake or half asleep, blogging.

I went to the last footba…er, I mean, standing game today. I drove over an hour toting my two littles with me, sat in the cold with three blankets wrapped around me to watch my son stiffly try to move his cold body onto the field in the last moments of the 4th quarter of a game that they were losing so badly there was no hope they could ever win.

It’s official, I HATE FOOTBALL!!! Would I hate it less if my son played more? Maybe. But, the fact that I can’t pick him out of the huddle on the field or the mass of bodies clumped after a play, makes me think…. I would still hate it. It is the stupidest sport my children have ever been involved with, and they’ve been in a lot of stinkin‘ sports.

Never, have I questioned the integrity of a sport so much as football. It has been poured down my throat like thick syrup this year how much football will aid my son in becoming a better man, make him work harder, be stronger, treat others with more respect….excuse me while I gag for a moment. How? How does football do those things? How does any sport do those things? Heck, if that’s true then I’m glad Clay didn’t play football! I know how much you all love him already, it would be disgusting how wonderful he’d be if he had only PLAYED FOOTBALL! And let’s face it, I would never have lived up to the standards that a man who’s played football would require, what woman could?

Ooooh, I think I’m having a bit of a tirade here. Here’s the deal, these boys are in 6th, 7th, and 8th grade. They barley know how to get dressed by themselves and I guarantee most of them are still missing their aim at the toilet. How the heck are they going to learn how to play if they stand on the sidelines freezing their little Lycra covered butts off? Oh, wait, is that part of making them better men? Teaching them patience maybe? I know it taught me a lot of patience, but I’m definitely not a better woman and I have a blog where I can complain, so there.

It shouldn’t be about winning or creaming a team at this level. It should be about putting the good players in with the bad so they can all learn and teach each other (because that would be an excellent lesson in patience and encouraging one another…Right?) and get some experience. Am I off my rocker here? Does this sound ridiculous? I don’t know a lick about football, but that little bit seems obvious to me. I’ve seen coaches take their best players out and stick in a kid that can barely catch, run or hit in soccer, basketball, baseball and volleyball, sometimes my kid is the one being taken out and sometimes they are the one being put in, I’m okay either way, because I want to see the whole team get some playing time and improve. Why is football so different?

By the time these boys are in high school they will figure out if they should continue playing football or be in the band or stick with the one sport that they have some skill. I have no problem with coaches playing their top players in high school, those kids might be trying to get a sports scholarship. But, in junior high, every kid out their should get some significant time on the field. Right? What am I missing?

I hate football. I have three sons. Football will not be leaving my life anytime soon. I hate football. But, I do love my sons and if they want to play that dad-blasted-stupid game I will be supportive. I will say, “I’m so glad you’re getting involved in the STUPIDEST sport created by the ego’s of overgrown boys, really son, I’m just thrilled that you want to go out there and learn to hit people, roll in the mud and crouch down like an animal, because those are all the things I’ve been trying to instill in you….you know, to make you a better man.”

Iron from the Maple Leaf Festival

This huge mass of metal is why I wanted to get to The Maple Leaf festival early this year. I have a thing for metal. I want to learn how to weld someday so I can, you know, weld something.

Clay and I share this passion, we both want to weld. Oh baby, It’s what keeps the home fires burnin’, our passion to weld metal.

Last year, I bought four metal pieces for our yard, two ‘pope hats’ that live in my urns and two trellises. This is one of the trellises.

This is one of the pope hats, that’s what Clay calls them.

This year I was looking for something for our porch. I got the last two window boxes. Guess how much I paid for them? $24 American Dollars!!! I know! All the iron pieces were either 10.99 or 20.99. How can you go wrong with those prices? I just wish I could have bought more and more and more! But, we’re on a budget, ya know? And these were the last two, which helped my temptation.

Clay hung them up after I said, “Get those hung, NOW!” And he said, “Yes, Mastah, yessss Mastah, anything you say Mastah.”
And then I told him to be quiet because I needed to tell him all about how I’m going to decorate those boxes. In the spring I’ll plant lots of draping flowers and in the winter I’ll put evergreens and pine cones and white lights……and….

He was riveted by my creativity, my genius ideas, the images I was painting were more than he could bear. And then he said, “Could you come back to Planet Earth and hold this darn thing, so I can go watch football?”

He also yelled at me several times for abandoning him while I was supposed to be holding something or other, but I was cold, bored and had more important things to do.Like, gather the goodies for the planters. Tell me this isn’t the cutest darn thing ever in the history of fall decorations.

It’s a smorgasbord of fall delights.
And look at this one. I call it Green on Green on Blue-hoody-hoo.