Lazy W Marie

Carpeing all the diems in semi-rural Oklahoma...xoxo

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Chicken Lover Praises Shredded Paper

   Several weeks ago my personal assistant Handsome agreed to bring me some shredded paper from his office.  I requested it on a whim during one of those Hot Tub Summits, thinking it would spread nicely around plants in need of mulch, etc.  I had been experiencing trouble with weedy straw and needed a fresh approach.
   Two unexpected things happened:  First of all, Handsome brought me not just the one bag I mentioned, but four, all crammed in the hatchback of his two door show car.  That was just the first day.  Then he brought me five another day.  Then a week or so later he drove our pickup to the City in order to surprise me with another seven bags. 
   “That is a lot of shredded paper, Sir.”
   “Yes, ma’am.”
   That is just how he rolls.
   The second unexpected event was our gradual discovery of exactly how far one bag of Shred can go.  Ummm, FAR is the precise answer.  And it is extremely versatile around the farm too, making it my second favorite supply to keep on hand now, next to heavy cotton drop cloths.  More on that some other time.  Right now I am pretty jazzed up about Shred.
   I could rattle on for pages about its gardening applications, but your imagination can serve you just fine there.  It works, it is cool and different and environmentally friendly, enough said.  Instead, let me tell you about how good Shred is for chickens…
This Tomato with one of his rooster cohorts.
They are so patriotic.

   Yesterday evening I spent a few hours doing clean-up chores in the front paddocks of our place, including sprucing up the chicken yard, pond, and coop.  Cleaning the chicken coop used to be one of my least favorite chores, but now with Shred in my arsenal it is an enjoyable, rewarding task again.  Incredible!!  I feel like I am living a rural infomercial.
   If you keep chickens you MUST try filling their boxes with Shred instead of hay or straw.  Check it:
  • The edges of the paper strips are roughly textured, so it all sticks to itself really well.  It is very grabby.  This allows the soiled Shred to be lifted out in large, unmessy, almost weightless clumps.  I just hooked it with the tine of a small garden fork and Voila!  Clean.  The paper absorbs all of the droppings and even broken yolks, so you have virtually no extra clean up to do before refilling the boxes with more Shred.  AWE-some. 
  • The Shred definitely seems to attract and retain fewer bugs, too.  Even in this crazy heat!  HUGE bonus.
  • The glaring white of Shred is visually cooling in the concrete hen house.  I realize this may benefit only me and not the chickens, but I could have SWORN I heard Red talking to Lucy Loo about the new decor and how sexy it makes her feel.  And even if it only SORT OF feels cooler in there on a 108 degree afternoon, then I am a believer.
  • While handling the mountains of gifted Shred, I noticed that a handful could expand into twice or thrice the volume it appeared to possess.  This makes it not only economical (on top of being free) but also REALLY fun.  It is like playing with dry snow in the middle of an Oklahoma heat wave-slash-drought.
  • The dirty Shred is 100% biodegradable of course and so can still be composted right along with your kitchen scraps, other dry manures, etc.  In fact, it is arguably BETTER for your compost pile becuase it contains no weeds.  Especially if you have clay you’d like to bust up, I think the paper would be a good start.
  • Do you have allergies?  I bet you’re less allergic to paper than you are to hay.
   So there you have it, six solid reasons to use Shred in your chicken coop rather than straw or hay.  Chances are you know someone with access to excessive amounts of this office byproduct.  Maybe you have a home shredding machine and a kid laying around with nothing to do; you can keep your kid busy, destroy sensitive financial documents, and keep your flock clean and healthy all in one quick project.
   If you try this, please let me know what you think.  I think it’s jazzy.

Naked at the Dentist

What was I thinking when I scheduled a dentist appointment just a couple of days after vacation and quite early in the morning?  There is no excuse for it.  I should know myself and my tendencies better than this by now.  This combination of circumstances always leads to personal disaster.

I did at least remember the appointment, thanks in part to a friendly office call ahead of time, but that is about where the good news stops.

A wonderfully romantic evening the night before led to Handsome and me crashing downstairs then sleeping a bit late, so there you have strike one.  By the time I had scrambled to send him off with food and smooches for his day of toil at the office, I was already way behind my self imposed schedule.

The day before, I had planned to rise before dawn to do all of my normal outside chores PLUS about seven other good, worthwhile things and at least one load of laundry.  Then I wanted to drink some hot, perfect coffee while blogging, maybe grab a quick workout, and take a shower.
Not just any shower, the full blown, head-to-toe kind.  Some people call this the Hollywood shower; I call it remodeling.  It takes longer than ninety seconds.

What actually happened is this:  I worriedly kissed my good lookin’ guy in the face then dashed around drinking only half a mug of now lukewarm coffee.  I did NOT start a load of laundry but instead silently cursed myself, knowing that I would be returning home too late to run these electricity-consuming monsters before Peak Time, which that day started at 2 p.m.

I threw on Handsome’s cast off gray t-shirt from last night, stabbed my feet into some mismatched flip flops, and bolted outside to do the Feed & Water circuit as quickly as humanly possible.

The gray t-shirt was just long enough.  Just.  But we live in the country and passersby are usually moving at a pretty good clip, so I take liberty now and then in the interest of either time or laziness.

   Have you ever seen an expression of true bewilderment on a buffalo’s face because someone is trying to run fast who doesn’t have good running form?  In flip flops, not boots?  Or have you ever sprinted through a flock of already nervous chickens or fed horses with a long, skinny line of grain rather than neat and tidy, affectionate little piles?  Uncoordinated speed and extreme panic are effective paralyzers for large animals and definite scatterers for small ones.
   So my adrenaline-based chores routine ended up substituting (poorly) for a cardio session.   And thanks to the ongoing heat wave in Oklahoma, doing this even as early as 7:30 a.m. led to copious amounts of salty, pouring sweat.  I was ripe.  This necessitated a shower, but if you are paying attention you may have already predicted that I did not get the remodel that day.  Strike two.

Here is what happened next.

   I flew back through the house, terrifying poor Pacino, and again cursed myself for wasting good coffee (now burning in the carafe) and not starting the automatic bread machine, laundry, Scentsy, you name it.  If it was automatic, electronic, and time consuming, I hated myself for not using it that morning.
   I landed in our upstairs bedroom and glanced in horror at the clock.  And then I glanced in even greater horror at the mirror.  With seven and a half minutes to go before time to leave the farm and make it to the dentist on time (not even early), I had some important decisions to make.
   Let’s just say I left eighteen minutes later, and most of that time was spent sanitizing my mouth as if the future of the human race depending on it.  Strike three.  Out!  I maybe should have rescheduled at this point.
   Somehow, without speeding on the side roads and without having a nervous breakdown, I made it to the dentist’s office only four minutes past my appointment time.  Fortunately, the folks there are so chill and so great that it was not an issue.  In fact the dentist is usually up to twenty minutes late himself, so it was zero problemo mon.  He has longish hair with french braids and feather extensions.  Yeah, I know.
   You might think this is the happy end of my story.  Except that once I was seated in that weird vinyl chair-bed, all the evidence of my chaotic life started to unravel and betray me.
   I was wearing denim Capri pants, cuffed mid-shin.  This makes the bottom halves of my lower legs visible, and I hadn’t shaved since the night before last, meaning about 40 hours ago.  They say that a good suntan covers a multitude of sins, but crossing my ankles together, attempting ladylike behavior when none could be had, felt like I was attaching myself to myself using Velcro, and I felt a little sick to my stomach.
   Then, while I sat-slash-lay there waiting for someone to attend to my unfortunate mouth, I caught a glimpse of my feet.  Ten days ago I had made them presentable for vacation.  Then we went on said vacation which consisted of four days of walking in flip flops at the beach, swimming in salt water, being nibbled by borderline dangerous fish, and finally walking approximately a thousand miles in New Orleans.  My feet were embarrassed of themselves.
   As I stared at them I had the sensation of the wicked witch when Dorothy’s house landed on her and her striped-stocking feet shriveled and curled up and away from view.
   Then my empty stomach started growling, LOUDLY.  Nice.
   Silently, I scripted excuses and apologies for my overall appearance, as if anyone would actually say anything aloud.  As if anyone in the world noticed or cared but me.  And of course the dental assistants always look perfect and gorgeous.  Must be nice to wear closed toe shoes and take care of yourself and eat a reasonable breakfast and not run late!  Just for extra fun, that day some visiting students were there, including a guy who made me feel even more awkward, if that’s possible.  I think he was actually, umm, not really into girls, but for difficult to explain reasons this made me cringe even more.  I felt soooooo juuuuuuudged.

It got so, so much worse.

   After about thirty more minutes of waiting, during which time I made some delicious progress on my Stieg Larsson book, the dentist appeared behind me.  My chaise-lounge type chair was facing away from the open hallway, so I only saw him peripherally.
   He sat on one side of me while the gorgeous assistant stood on the other.  Someone switched on an exam light that seemed unnecessarily bright and aggressive.  I have been to the dentist millions of times in my life, but this was the first visit when I felt like I had been abducted by aliens and placed under the scrutiny of  a lamp with the power of the sun.  It was just plain rude.  My feelings were hurt.
   The upside to the next part of this sad tale is that suddenly my stubbly shins and unpainted, unrefined feet were the last thing on any one’s mind.  Then, and for the next two hours, all that really existed was the lower half of my face.  And even after they numbed my gums and filled my blood with Nitrous oxide, my thoughts were as crisp and paranoid as ever.  This is the feeling of being naked.
   So I laid as still as possible, worried as much about my sunburned bottom lip, the zit on my upper lip, the conspicuous absence of makeup, and other unwaxed, unmentionable things, as I was about the drill whirring dangerously close to my right ear.  Oh, and my stomach was still growling.
   The only thing that made me feel better was hearing the dentist say in his surfer speech to his in-training assistant, “See?  This is how gums are supposed to heal.  This is a best-case scenario.”
   At least I did one thing right that morning.  I may have slept late, skipped both exercise and nourishment, and done almost nothing to groom myself, but by-golly I know how to heal my own gums!  And so for the rest of the day I floated around running errands in town, wildly unkempt but with the confidence that can only come from a healthy mouth.
As I walked around town, basking in the small victory of my well-healing gums, I started thinking about how much our oral health connects to the rest of our body—especially the heart. Gum disease and inflammation don’t just stop at the mouth; they can contribute to serious cardiovascular issues if left unchecked. A healthy smile isn’t just about looking good—it’s about protecting the body from deeper, more dangerous health risks. Turns out, flossing might be doing more for me than I ever realized.
That’s why finding the right dental expert matters, especially one who understands the connection between oral health and heart health. With advanced care options, a practice like smiles restored doesn’t just focus on fixing teeth—it takes a whole-body approach, ensuring that patients not only leave with a confident smile but also a healthier heart. So, while I may not have mastered the art of early mornings or personal grooming, at least I’m making strides in keeping my mouth—and by extension, my heart—on the right track.
   I forgot to tell you that before leaving the dentist’s office, I scheduled my next surgical appointment.  For a Monday.  First thing in the morning.
It turns out, dental specialists are a bit like detectives in lab coats—constantly on the lookout for the subtle signs that something bigger might be brewing beneath the surface. Whether it’s gum inflammation that could hint at cardiovascular concerns or a jaw alignment issue causing chronic headaches, these experts are trained to dig deeper than just cavities and cleanings. When you visit a practice that values this kind of precision and foresight, you’re not just getting a filling—you’re getting a form of preventive medicine with surprisingly far-reaching effects.
Now, this isn’t to say that every dental visit has to feel like a medical episode of House, but when life throws you a curveball—say, a sudden cracked tooth or unbearable molar misery—you want to know help is around the corner. That’s where services such as Austin emergency dental come in clutch.
They’re designed for those “Oh no, not today” moments, offering quick relief while still keeping the bigger picture of your health in mind. Because while your smile might be the first thing people notice, it’s the care behind it that really counts.

They are Definitely Growing Up

   With each of my two children, both girls, I have experienced dozens of corner-turning moments, lots of times when we were certainly crossing thresholds that held bittersweet significance.  And as crucial as each moment felt while we were in it, each of them in fact passed and moved us onward toward another bigger milestone, another dose of pain and pleasure. 
   Some occurred simultaneously for both girls; others shine in my memory just for one sister or the other.  And I am well aware that as grown as they seem today at 15 and 13, still more growth is in store and more separations and reunions loom in the future.  Still many more thousands of miles are left in their life journeys. 


  That is perhaps the strongest evidence that growth has happened:  I can now better separate my need to be close to them from their need just to live their lives as separate, unique human beings.
Or dinosaurs.
 
  Infancy held a dozen revelations every hour.  I loved becoming acquainted with their tiny, beautiful faces, that sweet baby fragrance, their miraculous sounds and overall delicacy.  Learning how to soothe them, following the swell of breast milk, and drifting into the bizarre sleep patterns of those first weeks of life were joyful if mysterious times. 
   Returning to work after six weeks of maternity leave, though, that really got my attention.  I had certainly never hurt so badly before and thought I would never hurt so badly again. 
LOLOLOLOL!!!!!
Amateur.
   I cried hot, vicious tears on my drive from daycare to office, and not just that first day.  It happened on lots of morning drives.  And again when Preschool and Kindergarten started.  Oh, and Middle School.  Oh, and even present day, every single time I drop them off after spending an amazing day together.
   A gentle note to new parents: 
Even if you think today has brought you the hardest lesson,
the deepest pain, the sorest disappointment, etc,
STEEL YOURSELF. 
It gets worse. 

Today is AWESOME
compared to what tomorrow might be.
Enjoy it for all it’s worth.

On the other hand,
it also gets much better in surprising ways.
Rejoice in every detail.
It is all part of an amazing plan,
and you will be okay with plenty of love.
  
    Seeing each of the girls walk independently for the first time, both toward me and away from me, those moments convinced me that life was speeding by too fast.  I had no idea that in about five or six minutes I would be enrolling my oldest in summertime Driver’s Ed.
   Realizing they no longer needed me to wash their hair at bath time, that stung a little.  It took a long time for me to appreciate the additional free time in the evenings, but I have to admit it is wonderful to have taught them little things like that, to know they care about themselves as young ladies and can take care of themselves.  Now I look forward to maybe washing a grandchild’s hair one day. 

One of my all time favorite activities for kids:
Letting them soap and shampoo themselves in the sunshine
after a long day of playing outside.
Just rinse with the garden hose, find some clean dry pajamas,
and go soak up some air conditioning and yummy treats.
Your neighbors will hear the delightful giggles,
and at bedtime you will be afforded some extra cuddling.

   When I noticed that conversations about boys had begun to electrically charge the air, I saw my chickens differently. 

   When my youngest tried on swimsuits one spring and I felt that salty pang of protectiveness, “Don’t anybody look at her!!!” I knew things were changing again.
 

   Am I the only dorky mom who felt nostalgic when her kids perfected cursive?  When this happened in our home, I was in shock.  Like everything else, it seemed like only yesterday that we were practicing their crayon-grinding ABC’s.

    I knew I was losing my place of authority and guidance in their life when they started telling me about their plans instead of asking me what would be alright, what the family had going on.  And the tone of voice that comes with that shift in power is something a mother cannot forget or ignore.  I am so happy to have lots of video recordings of more innocent times to remind me that there were many years rich with laughter and trust and joy that preceded this darkness.
And then, of course, one day they just up and got tattoos.
Look at her tough expression.  Rebel.  xoxoxo


   So I cannot reduce my feelings and memories into a single moment when I realized the girls were growing up.  They have been growing up ever since they were born.  Difficult circumstances have brought certain things along more rapidly than I would like, but I suppose there would never have come a day when I would be ready to send them out of the nest anyway.

Lorikeets at the Oklahoma City Zoo
Autumn 2003

   Time is fluid but strong, an ever moving river, very much beyond our control and sometimes even our understanding.  Our main job is to love without limits as constantly and as thoroughly as we can.  This goes a long way toward easing the sting of lost time.  Realizing that growing up, moving on, and being happy is exactly what children are supposed to do is a deep, meaningful comfort to parents who hate the echo of an empty nest.
   Count your blessings.  Relish the details of today.  Enjoy your memories and trust that you have thousands more happy memories yet to be made.
Above all, believe in the power of love.

Red Writing Hood          Mama’s Losin’ It

No Lifeguard on Duty

   To cap off our tenth anniversary celebrations, Handsome and I are spending the week soaking up some bright skies, saltwater, and a glorious absence of deadlines.  Worthwhile stories abound and a few series finales are in the wings, so once I get back to the keyboard it will be in overdrive!

Taken in Mexico while honeymooning, July 2001
In the mean time, I have some fun to have.  
xoxoxo
  

Romeo and Juliet Revealed

  Exciting Update!!!
Since the last CS installment, I have received an enthusiastic green light
from Romeo & Juliet to share their actual names and faces.
For some reason they still would not give me their Social Security Numbers,
but next time they visit I’ll be sure and collect fingerprints.
For now, I am very pleased to introduce to our beloved friends and readers…
Drum roll please…
Josh and Megan!
These are the happy faces we saw that first tense evening.
These are the smiles that have graced our home twice now.
These are the people whose easy friendship we hope to retain for many years.
Thank you for encouraging me to blog
and for letting us share this story, Josh & Megan! 
We think you’re the Bee’s Knees.
******************************
   Where we left off, the evening had drawn to a satisfying close.  I expected to barely sleep that night, despite significant physical exhaustion.  Just a few hours prior I was worried about imminent death or at least failing as hostess to two perfect strangers.  But now we had struck an easy rapport with these fellow planet explorers and had peeled ourselves away with some difficulty so everyone could get a good night’s sleep. 
   Handsome and I found our way into bed, stretching and wringing the last bit of energy out of our joints then moaning gratefully into the smooth cotton sheets and pillowcases.  I listened as the farm finished quieting down, counted some of my very favorite blessings, and hoped that Romeo and Juliet were finding their flip out couch comfy enough.
  
  We were smooching in the dark, long and soft, when I heard it, the second most terrible sound I could have heard at that moment:  Pacino.
   He was belting out several long, panicky, not at all melodious alarms in the living room, clearly confused by and opposed to the fact that our otherwise delightful visitors were spending the night.  In HIS downstairs territory, no less.  It was loud.

   It was very loud.  And off key.

   I was only slightly surprised by his change in mood.  Pacino is, well, about as flaky as a croissant.  And he has little tolerance for things not going his way.  It just so happens that “his way” changed the moment Momma & Daddy turned in for the night, leaving him alone with Romeo & Juliet. 
In retrospect, maybe I shouldn’t have shared
with the bird all of my violent knife concerns.
   Anyway, we both laid there in bed, frozen in the moment, knowing for ourselves that it would pass quickly but wondering what type of reaction Pacino’s sudden noisy onslaught was garnering from Romeo and Juliet.  Yes, we had sort of warned them he might do this, but so far the macaw had behaved himself.  You might even say he had a little crush on Juliet, and she was super sweet to him as well.  They had just danced the night away.
   Would this noisy fit enrage our guests?  Frighten them?  Hurt their feelings?  Cause them to flee and seek another empty couch for surfing?  Anything was possible. 
   Handsome and I stared at each other in the dark, silently agreeing to wait it out and afford Romeo and Juliet some privacy to deal with it in their own way.  About ninety seconds later, the banshee composed himself for the second time that night.  The farm was again blanketed in heavy silence, and somehow we drifted off to sleep…