Category Archives: life

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It’s been over a month since I posted. I would like to think I have had great intentions of getting a post up but great intentions do not open the laptop and start typing on their own. Life at casa Mudpuddles has been hectic.

  • Sgt has officially left the Unit That Sends Him To Places That “Officially” Don’t Exsist and is now in a full time french program. His hours are fantastic, weekends free and he is learning to say dirty things to me in a new language.
  • I was offered a new position at work in August. Full time floor support and escalations for our client. The hours are late and long, the pay, no so great and I spend the better part of my day speaking with, or calling back angry customers. I love it.
  •  7 of our 16 lambs have been invited to spend some time with our local butcher. The should be returning next week wrapped in neat packages bearing lables  that say things like “Chops”.
  • I celebrated the 10th aniversary of my 29th birthday.
  • Last week I was asked to teach our next training class. If I agreed it meant I would be working late nights, long hours and weekends. The pay sucks too. I said yes.
  • I got together with a girlfriend I had not seen in 8 years. We met up in a local coffee shop and spent the night talking, laughing, crying. It was the best night out I have had in a long time and made me realize how much I missed my partner in crime. I am making plans to fly out to Halifax for a weekend once the training class is finished.
  • I have given up on Twitter.
  • I have approximately 1,297,473 posts to read in my Bloglines.
  • Operation Potty has begun. 


Bubbles Vlog

I’m thinking about doing a Vlog every Sunday. If my readers (all 4 of you *waves) would like to see something particular … farming, a tour of my bathroom, an interpretive dance to Little Green Bad while wearing only underpants … leave a comment and I will do my best to accommodate.

But for now here is a video of Henry and me in the kitchen playing with bubbles.

You’ll notice my real name on the video. If you’d like to hook up on FB send me a me message with “Blogging” and we can be BFF’s.



On July 25th we had a house full of family and friends to celebrate Sgts safe homecoming and Henry’s birthday.

I had wanted to make a fun cake for Henry* and planned out something with sheep. It was my first attempt at using fondant and bought some at a local baking store. Being the overachiever I am I also thought I should try and make some from scratch. Trusty Google helped me find a recipe for marshmallow fondant that seemed simple enough and it was. sheep

I used the homemade fondant for the base and the store bought for the sheep.

To get the woolly look in the fleece I took a drinking straw and made little swirls.

sheep3Our meal for the celebration was lamb burgers and lamb sausages made from a ewe I had to have culled. She didn’t have a name, just a number. #5.

#5 proved to be delicious and my friend thought it would be great to pay homage to this wonderful creature.

sheep_deadI was feeling really pleased with myself and then I saw this!

Go ahead and click over to the post. I’ll wait until you get back.


HFW ‘s little Harry shares his birthday with my Henry and they both live on a sheep farm so it’s not surprising that their mum’s would make them a cake with sheep. HFW really outdid herself with that incredible creation! I now want to move in with her and bake cakes all day while the boys chase sheep.

*Yes, I know Henry’s real name shows up on the cake and you’re probably wondering why I would continue to use the a.k.a. after that. It’s to keep family from Googling our names.

No Longer Waiting

Just two short years ago I was sitting in Kingston General Hospital, hooked up to an IV and waiting.

It seems my whole life I had been waiting. Hell, I married a soldier. Now that’s always about the waiting. Waiting for him to leave, waiting for him to come home, waiting for a posting message, waiting to sell a house, waiting to buy a house. Waiting for the wait to be over.

But on August 3, 2007 I sat waiting to meet someone. Someone I had been waiting for for a very long time. 10 years and the wait was almost over.

At 8pm the doctor broke my water and started the pitocin. And I waited.

At 8:30pm I begged Sgt to find the nurse and tell her I wanted the epidural. And I waited.

At 9pm the anestesiologist came into my room and told me I would soon feel less pain. And I waited.

At 9:15pm I felt less pain. And I waited.

At 10:45 the nurse came in to check on my progress. 10 cm. And I waited.

At 11:04pm I was no longer waiting.



How fast these two years have gone by.



Sgt made it home safe and sound. His plane was about an hour late but that’s to be expected, the military is not know for it’s punctual returns.

While driving home Sgt reaches over, turns the radio on and out of the speakers comes this song. (Sorry, I couldn’t embed this video.) The perfect song for that moment.

Henry played strange for the first day but quickly fell back into routine with his dad. Wednesday morning Sgt and Henry were enjoying some scrambled eggs and toast for breakfast and this came on the radio.

I have always associated music with moments in my life, I like to think of them as anthems to a particular memory. Last week I added a couple more songs to my anthems list and will think of those moments each and every time I hear these songs in the future.


Reading and commenting on blogs has been placed on the backburner for now but I will be returning next week when my holidays start.

Just a quick “Hello” to let you know I am still here.

Send In The Troops

It has been 19 years, 5 tours of duty, countless courses and field time and I always feel the same butterflies in my stomache when Sgt is about to return home. It is the same feeling I would get when we first started dating and I knew he was on his way to pick me up. I start a project but my mind quickly goes to something else and I find myself leaving a half cleaned rec room to start rearranging kitchen cupboards. I can not focus on one thing for any length of time and as a result it looks like my house has been burgled by very messy, very dirty thieves.

Let’s start with the bedroom. I have several large piles of my clothing on the floor and on Sgts side of the bed. Some are to be taken to the local thrift store for donation. Some are winter items that haven’t been stored yet. Some are clean and I haven’t put them away. And some are my maternity clothes that I am just not able to part with at this time. (But that’s a post for another day … or a session for me and my therapist.)

The laundry has piled up and I am afraid it will topple over and smother one of the children.

The kitchen still has last nights supper dishes sitting on the counter. Rice has yet to be swept up from underneath the highchair. The floor is beyond sticky.

The livingroom looks like Fisher Price stopped by after a night of kegging and threw up all over the floor.

I won’t dare set foot in Will and Charlie’s rooms without HAZMAT gear and a stick to beat off any creatures that may lunge out from under their beds. Teenage boys are gross.

We had a small flood in our storage room in March and everything that was taken out has to be put back with some sense of order.

The only rooms that do not need any cleaning or reorganizing are the bathroom (only because I have OCD when it comes to a clean bathroom) and Henry’s room.

This is my last day as a single parent due to deployment. Sgt is scheduled to return tomorrow night, around 7 o’clock and it may just take a small army to get this house ready for his return.


Two Sundays and a Shephardess

Last Sunday – It was a beautiful day and I had planned on getting the gardening finished. I had my whole week planned out but following that schedule went to the wayside when #8 decided to take a turn for the worse. 

I was heading out to the barn to collect the eggs for the day and when I turned the corner there she was, lying flat out in the straw*.  My first thought was “Shit, she’s dead.” but upon closer inspection I saw she was breathing. Laboured breathing but still breathing. She looked up at me with her big, brown eyes and I teared up. She looked to be in so much pain at that point I did the only thing I could think of. I called my neighbour. (We’ll call him George)

George is a cattle farmer and a great neighbour to have when you are in a bit of a crisis. He calls in on me often to make sure I’m doing alright with Sgt away and always offers to lend a hand. Our call went a little something like this.

Me – Hey George, it’s MrsSgt from down the road. I have a very sick ewe that is suffering, is there anything you could do to help her out?

George – Sure, let me just call my son. He’s got the rifle in the truck.

Me – Oh.  *followed by stunned silence

George – Or you can call the vet who will charge you emergency fees for a Sunday call and then you will need to call the deadstock disposal folks who will charge you for an emergency Sunday call. It’s up to you MrsSgt.

Me – It’ll be quick right? She won’t suffer right? I don’t need to be in the barn when it happens right?

Now before you get all animal activists on me please understand that this poor creature was suffering and was beyond help.  I do not run amok shooting animals for the hell of it and you will not see my picture on the upper right hand corner of the  TV screen one night with a reporter chatting with the local farmers in co-op all saying how quiet MrsSgt was and how hard it was to believe such a nice lady could keep body parts in her freezer and if anything she should have been arrested and charged with writing a really bad run on sentence.

It turned out George could not track down his son but he did pop by to assess the situation. His conclussion was that #8 was going to expire at any moment and he assured me it would be sooner rather then later. I felt better after his visit knowing she would be off to greener pastures before the sun went down.

Or so I thought.

An hour later I went out to check on her … still breathing. Two hours … still breathing. Three hours … you get the picture. 10:30 that night I sent Charlie out to the barn and he returned to inform me she was still alive!  I headed to bed hoping that sometime in the night she would see the light at the end of the tunnel and head towards it.

6 am and Charlie heads back out to the barn. He returns and says “Mum, she’s still alive.”

“You have got to be kidding me. Please tell me you’re joking Charlie.”

“Yeah, she’s dead. I thought it would be funny to see your reaction.” The little shit.

Let’s flash forward to this weekends events shall we?

Late Friday the sheep got into the feed room and devoured approximately 25 lbs of chicken feed.  This is not a good thing for sheep to be doing because it can cause complications like bloat. Sheep may be long on cute but they are most definitely short on smarts and will eat themselves to death. Saturday morning I notice one of the lambs is looking poorly. His head is hanging down and he’s not moving about as much as the others. I can tell he’s not well so I decide to move him to the back of the barn where we gather the sheep for handling. While I was at that I figured it would be a good time to update the vaccinations and drench everyone for worms. Once I had all the sheep in the catch I notice the #10 ewe is looking a bit hangdown as well and decide to keep her and her lamb in the catch with the other lamb. We continue to check on them throughout the day and both seem to be coming about.  After dinner Will is out in the barn and shouts to me that #7 is going down now too.


Now I have 3 sick sheep and a husband that is 10,000 kms away. I am really starting to dislike this whole army thing about this time. And the whole “Let’s raise some sheep” idea that was mine in the first place. What the hell was I thinking?

Sunday morning comes and out in the barn I have two ewes and a lamb. All very dead and all very bloated. Will and Charlie head out to the back pasture to start digging a hole for the lamb and I call the dead-stock removal folks.

Guess who doesn’t work Sundays? Dead-stock. Guess what the weather forecast was for the day. Satan’s Bowels Hot with a dash of Rain Forrest Humidity.

Will and Charlie move the ewes into the empty hay storage area where it is shaded and hopefully cooler. While moving them the ewes belch and fart out all of the gases that have built up in them.**

Finally this morning (Monday) the dead-stock folks call and ask if I still need them to come by for the sheep. I think I surprised the man on the phone when I hollered “Hell yes! When can you be here?”


Sgt will be home in just over a week and I wouldn’t blame him for filing for divorce citing failure to keep livestock alive as his reason.



*For those who are not familiar with sheep this is uncommon unless they are extremely ill. Most sheep will jump and run when people approach them.

**My intention was to have you throw up just a little in your mouth. Was I successful?

Second Verse, Same As The First

Alberta’s Finance Minister opened up her big gob recently and has sparked yet another debate about stay at home parenting. For as long as women have been shooting offspring out of their bodies this has been a hot topic and it is one I have stayed away from.

Until now.

Ms. Evans feels that good parenting means sacrificing income to stay at home while kids are young. What Ms. Evans believes and what is real are totally different things.

They’ve understood perfectly well that when you’re raising children, you don’t both go off to work and leave them for somebody else to raise,” Evans told the small crowd. “This is not a statement against daycare. It’s a statement about their belief in the importance of raising children properly.

What I do not know is whether she stayed home with her three sons while they were growing up.

As a mother who has been it all, SAHM, WAHM, and WOHM I can say without any hesitation that I know what is best for me and my family. Period.

I refuse to sacrifice my family home and our lifestyle so I can be home all day. And I take it personally when I feel I am being judged because someone thinks I should.

I know I am a better mother because I work outside of my home. Even on my days off Henry goes to daycare because I know he will have fun and learn more then he would if he was with me all day. I really am that boring.

I know my son is well loved and cared for in his daycare. When it is time for us to go in the morning he happily puts on his shoes and runs to the front door, eager to go. When I pick him up at 5 o’clock he quickly runs to me for a hug and a kiss then runs back to play with his friends. When I ask him to find his shoes and sweater he hides because he does not want to leave. There have been days when I have carried him kicking and screaming from daycare.

He has started counting to 10, knows most of his colours and loves to sing the “Clean Up” song. Could I have done any better if he had been home with me all day? No. Could I have done any worse? Probably. Like I said before I really am that boring.

I think it’s time we stop pointing out to one another what it is we are doing wrong as parents and start pointing out what it is we are doing right.