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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


You smell a little like barf.

I lovingly dedicate this post to my sister, Rechelle, who can’t stand to talk about anything that involves excretions from the human body.

Did you know she had one of her ‘episodes’ at my house on Christmas day when her husband accidentally grabbed her arm hurting a cut she had on her wrist from dropping a glass bowl? I thought she was going to faint fifty different times, but instead she just did a lot of high pitched wailing and low pitched moaning and by no means would let any of us, including the doctor, look at her cut.

Oh, wait! I forgot, before I get into my bodily fluids post, I have to tell you how guilty I feel for NOT sending out Christmas cards this year. I thought putting up that little poll on my side bar would reassure me that there are TONS of people that don’t send out cards, but NOOOOOOO you all had to tell me that YES you are sending out cards and now I feel like a big looohooohooozer!


Do you think it’s sorta funny that I just assume you all know what a chicken tractor is? Here’s the low down, it’s a portable cage that you put on your lawn so the chickens can free range on the grass and bugs in a confined area. Here’s a bunch of different designs, I like the A-framed shape the best.

Now, lets talk about barf.

Sunday night my belly started feeling a little icky. I said to Clay right before we shut off the lights, “Wow, we haven’t had anybody puking all winter.” Clay in his wise tone said, “Winter ain’t over yet” and with his next breath he was snoring, leaving me to toss and turn.

Clay falls asleep incredibly fast and he’s very hard to wake up, unless a child falls out of a bed, then he flies out of bed ready to rescue the hurt child. I don’t know what it is about the thud of a little body on the floor that springs him out of bed, but calling his name from the bathroom between hurls of vomit….forgetaboutit. I know this, because I’ve experienced it MORE THAN ONCE during our marriage.

At some point in the middle of the night I felt the urgency to get my rear to the bathroom and Lord in Heaven there was a lot of ‘stuff’ coming out of both ends of me. After the fountains of puke and poop ceased to spring forth their uh, er, liquids, I felt right as rain. In fact, I bobbed downstairs and let the dog out, took a slug of milk (because I couldn’t find any Tums to get the battery acid taste out of my mouth) and I went back to bed happy and relieved that whole business was done.

That’s when Clay woke up and asked if I was okay. And I thought I was, so I answered, “Yes. I feel much better, so much better.” And we both went back to sleep.

Then the second episode hit me. It must have been pretty close to Clay’s alarm going off because this time he was awake. I will spare you the details. You’re welcome. I just want you to know it’s very nice to have someone put a cool towel on your head and clean up after your sick self and not say a word about how gross you are.

In sickness and in health, thanks sweetheart.

Anyway, I spent all day sprawled in my bed wondering when my stomach might like to right itself and my sweet Clay stayed home to watch our two littles. At one point Clay came into our room and said, “Hon, can I draw you a bath or would you like to take a shower? Cuz, uh, it smells a little like barf in here.”

Wait, a minute. I take back that part about not saying how gross you are. Oh, and I forgot that after I was done puking he said something like, Gah, you look terrible, your face is totally white!” I saw myself in the mirror and it was pretty scary, I even had raccoon eye from my mascara being smeared…but only on one eye which made me look like the evil raccoon eyed pale face lady. Lovely.

I didn’t want to stink up the whole house so I went to the bathroom, took one look at the shower and went right back to bed because at that moment I didn’t have enough energy to get my clothes off much less stand for more than a minute. Barf smell, shmarf smell is what I say.

Later in the evening I was feeling better and decided I needed to get myself washed. Clay came into the bathroom, I looked at him and sheepishly asked, Gah, it stinks in here. Is it the bathroom………..or me?” You know you have a relationship built on trust and honesty when your spouse replies, “It’s you. You smell a little like barf” and then he said, “That would be a great title for a blog post!”

Just what I was thinkin‘.

Gosh, I love that man.

ps. #2 on my 2009 list. Done. Although after I start thinking food is not my enemy I will rectify that loss.

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