Some Things Are Just Best Not Talked About

The thought of going a full day without a cup of love from the local Starbucks is a thought that I don’t even like to consider having.

And I’m not sure if anyone has noticed it or not, but apparently our country is in a bit of a recession. Ultimately this means that Hubs and I have really tried to slow down on our trips through the little drive-thru, where everybody knows our names.
It’s like “Cheers,” just with caffeinated beverages substituted for the malted and fermented ones. And I can’t speak for anyone else, but after spending sixty full minutes trying to drag the boy through his morning routine (you know, shower, dress, eat the cereal, brush the teeth, get in the Suburban, let Mama have a minute to beat her own head against a brick wall, as she honestly believes she gave birth to a sloth), it’s nice to push him out the Suburban door at the neighborhood elementary school, hug him good-bye, and head to the java bean shack, where we know we’ll be greeted by name.
And handed a cup.
It’s why we choose to live in the city. Because if our little house resided on a dirt road some umpteen odd miles outside of the city limits, getting to Starbucks on a regular basis would be a little difficult. Especially in the winter, when the roads become treacherous with ice and snow.
And that is exactly how my dear friend, Bridget, chooses to live her life.
On a ranch. In the middle of nowhere. A full twenty-five miles from Starbucks. And really, she seems quite happy with the arrangement, although I secretly know that she’s even happier when she comes into town and meets me at Starbucks.
Bridget’s medium-sized boy is one of our boy’s most-best-est friends.
Kind of cute, aren’t they?

The boy loves hanging out at the ranch with Ben, because there is just! so! much! to! do! They feed the cows, and the boys get to drive the truck slowly through the pastures themselves (and everyone knows that, next to blowing things up, driving a truck is a boy’s favorite way to pass the time). They climb fences, get chased by puppies, cuddle newborn kittens, run through the mud, yell at cows, herd sheep, climb haystacks, build forts by the creek out of dead brush, ride the tractors, and keep the makers of Tide laundry detergent completely in business.
They have even been known to play with pigs on the ranch.
This year, Ben decided to try his hand at raising pigs for 4-H. We met the three little pigs just days after they were born. The boy and Ben spent hours chasing these pigs around, scrubbing these pigs clean in the creek, and taking these pigs for long walks on the ranch. We even hauled my four-year-old nephew out to the ranch and introduced him to the pigs.

Little K had a grand time at the ranch, chasing the pigs around, and then, over lunch, he told everyone the sad story of how Big Foot stabbed his dad in the leg with a knife. Naturally, no one believed him, because the boy and Ben are both experts on the television show “Monster Quest,” and everyone worth their salt knows that Big Foot doesn’t even live in our region.
Big Foot totally resides, with his Small Footed children, in the rainy areas of Washington state.
Little K has a grand imagination, and the boy and Ben were quick to point that out to him.
Because, in all truthfulness, if Big Foot actually DID live in our state, then there are two 3rd graders who might have to be concerned with that thought in the middle of the night.
I have always told Hubs that one of my dream jobs would be to have a horse ranch that raises Kentucky Derby race horses. My ranch would be one where nobody gets loaded into a truck and taken for a ride to the local market. I would raise beautiful race horses, train them to be winners, and sell them for squillions of dollars. And, except for the part where I don’t know anything at all about horses, it seems almost perfect.
Hubs, on the other hand, has a different dream job. He wants to work for “Myth Busters,” where he would be paid to explode things.
But I digress.
Really, the pigs were fun. The boys had a ball with them.
And I don’t want to talk about it, but…our freezer is not exactly empty at this point in time.
It’s why we live in the city. Close to the Starbucks.
So that we can miss the part in between all the fun we had with the pigs and the freezer being stuffed.

1 thought on “Some Things Are Just Best Not Talked About

  1. That's why we buy our "freezer fillings" from the 4-H kiddos; we never have contact. Makes dinner a more pleasant experience…
    Love the pic of the boys, they are sooo cute!
    I miss Starbucks, I really do. I've gone from Every! Single! Morning! to once, maybe twice, a month, and it's slowly killing me. Literally. I'm going to die of Espresso Truffle withdrawals. On my headstone, please put "She loved Starbucks so much…it killed her".

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