The 22 year old we shall call 'Palmer'. The reason for this is because his hands are HUGE. He is only about 5 11' but his hands could be on a pro basketball player they are so big.
The 19 year old we shall call 'Dale' - because he has a huge fascination with Dale Ernhart senior.
The 9 year old we should call 'Big Son' - sounds Native American dont it - because he is always telling me he is my big son... seems fitting then right.
The 3 year old - well we like to call him 'Lispy', yes we are mean and cruel parents because he does lisp with some words and off and on he stutters. He does not have a social problem because of it, so of course we feel the need to torture him.
Here is a picture of Palmer:
That is Lispy with him in our garage after a bad hair cut..... I'll write about that later - much later.
This is Dale....
This picture was taken about 3 years ago at our local fair. We raise purebred Angus and the boys would show them. Dale got 2nd place behind his brother - Palmer. Beautiful steaks standing their I tell ya.....
This is Big Son....
He had mananged to spill - God knows what on his shirt and had been making 'experiments on my table, which then spilled to the floor and found its way to my rug
You can see by the floor that I need new flooring - SO early 80's.... New cupboards too, but that wont happen for a while I am afraid.
And last but not least by any means - this is Lispy..
A couple of days ago I was trying to get some things together for the baby, like washing the little socks, t-shirts, etc that I have left over from the other 2 boys. Lispy had been playing with his toys, the ones in his grubby little paws in the picture, when suddenly it was quiet. Dead quiet. A mother knows with a child like that, quiet is NOT GOOD!! So I bolted out of the bedroom, as fast as a fat woman can bolt, steped on the army guys he had prepared for battle, tripped over his 3 wheel push cart - why did we buy that thing - and finally fell out the patio door to find him holding one of our 10 week old kittens. Our cat, Hope the Dope - yes thats her name - had kittens and they feel the need to live right on the deck. Anyway - I had been canning saur kraut the day before from my 10 gallon crock and left the canner out on the deck when I was done. It had gotten late, 10:30pm and I was to tired (lazy) to bring it in. During the night it rained like a monsoon and it was half full of water. Here's where the poor kitten comes into play - this is the conversation that insued.
"Lispy, what are you doing" I ask
"Hi Mamma - da kitty vanted to doe fwimming" was the answer that I got....
"Lispy, you know that kittys dont like water. Now look she is shivering, cold and probably very afraid of you" I state.
"No her not siverin, her just trying to dance...." At this point the poor kitten was shaking her feet to get the water off of them - but he saw it as dancing.
I continue to attempt to explain that the kitten is not dancing, does not like swimming and would probably like to be with her mamma.
His reply was classic paroting of what I tell him " Mamma, I told you free (three) times, dat her is dancin - why you no understand me - Do I talk funny or lumpthing?"
At that I turned around, stumbled through the door and went back to sorting baby cloths. I told the Milk Man when he got home and about split a gut. I am ALWAYS saying that - dont you understand me? Do I talk funny? when the kids dont do as they are asked/told/begged/pleaded with to do.
I guess I do talk funny....