New Website!

Hey guys!

I just wanted to quickly let everyone that subscribes to this blog know that I’ve moved it. I have a new website and I combined my blog with it. If you head over to my website and then hit the blog tab, you’ll be able to resubscribe there. Everything was transferred over to the wix platform and they’ll be hosting my blog from now on.

This blog website will be deleted in a few days.

Thank you,



My goat needs a bff.

Mini farm update time! I know everyone has been waiting anxiously to hear what’s up at my animal filled house. Boulder’s tummy is so much better. Now he’s gaining weight and getting chunky.

And he’s spoiled beyond belief. He paws at my legs, asking to be fed and picked up. This goat literally loves to cuddle. We’re still weighing our options as far as what to do with him ball sack wise. I want to band him and make him a pet, or leave him intact and stud him out. That’s right, I want to be a goat pimp.

But my husband keeps reminding me that my original idea was to get a buck, a couple of does, and make some goat babies. Goat breeder vs. Goat sperm dealer. Anyone have any thoughts? Any goat life insight? It would be greatly appreciated.

Now on to those horrible chickens. Ugh. They are getting so big and so dang gross y’all. They’re losing all their downy feathers which, luckily, means it’s almost time to transition them to a chicken coop. I’m so ready. They poop on each other and act really sketchy every time I have to change their food or water.

The funny looking one my husband had to have is hands down a rooster. I can tell by the wild look in his beady eyes. And by his ornate feather and super extra tail. It looks like it’s forming a dang pony tail.

I need a mini farm guru, someone to tell me what to do with Boulder’s man parts and how to keep my chickens from attacking me when my back is turned (which is what I think their plans is).

Help me.



Mini Farm Mishaps

This last week has been all about learning. Lots and lots of learning people. But I promised to tell y’all about my fear of chickens first, so we’ll start there.

Like most of my fears, the chicken one is a little irrational. They’re smaller than me and their brains are minuscule. But still, they scare me. I don’t like unpredictability, and to me, chicks are extremely unpredictable. I never know what they’re thinking or what they’ll do next. I can’t judge their movements…all of it scares me. This week when we cleaned out their cage, my five year old had to move them from one box to another. I have no idea what’s going to happen when they are full grown.

On the Boulder side of things; we’ve got tummy issues. At first I thought it was the move or the new stuff he’s grazing on in our yard. But it got real bad. It is still bad. This little spoiled man gets like two baths a day. I read that goats don’t like baths. Well google, this one does. He loves bubble baths to wash his tush. I’m starting to think he sh*ts like Tasmanian Devil on purpose.

I did learn this afternoon that we need to switch the milk we give him. Apparently formula is really hard on their tiny tummies. And it’s also the reason he’s still so small. Now, Boulder’s milk is the most expensive milk in the fridge. We switched it yesterday, fingers crossed by tonight he’ll be sh*tting like a normal goat.

Side note: Is this TMI? Like a new mom talking about her kids poop is TMI? I’m throwing out some things I’ve learned in case any of you lovely people decide that goats are your next good idea, that’s all.

We also attempted to get Boulder a lady friend. Roadie {Stoli named her} was a silver buckskin and she was super prissy. She was dam raised {meaning she’d only nursed off her mom and had never had a bottle} but the people we got her from assured us she’d make the transition just fine.

Well as any mom will tell you, that’s not always the case. And that wasn’t how it went with Roadie. After three days of her refusing to eat, screaming for her mom, and me about to collapse on the floor and cry…I received a text from the couple we bought her from. They were asking how she was and when I told them what was happening, they offered to give us our money back and come pick her up. Apparently her mom was running around the field crying for her baby. Broke. My. Heart! They said Roadie was her first kid and they didn’t know how it would go. So…we quickly got Roadie back with her momma.

Now I’m not sure what I want to do. Boulder is such a pet at this point…I don’t know how he’d react if we tried to put him in a pen with another goat. He’d probably get pissed and promptly ask someone to go fetch his warm organic goats milk bottle.

I’ll figure it out, simply because I have to. He’s my goat…and they’re my chickens. And this is my circus. Hahahaha get it?

Also, in my messages someone mention how much they enjoyed the shirtless men I usually put at the end of my posts. So. You’re welcome.



Our Newest Adventure

You know how, as people, we tend to have issues? And we tend to kind of self medicate our issues any way that works for us? If you’re shaking your head no, then kudos to you my friend.

I self medicate my inability to have more kids, with baby animals. I know I do this. I have a long history {three dogs, a cat, and a failed rabbit experiment} of doing this. In my opinion, knowing you have a problem is the first step in recovery. I obviously haven’t figured out the second step yet.

Enter Boulder, the Nigerian dwarf buckling. He’s ten days old and he needs to be bottle fed. Yep. Bottle fed.

Now, I’m not completely insane. Boulder isn’t my first bottle baby goat. I had one in high school, who I LOVED. I’ve always wanted another goat {ask anyone} and now I have one. He needs a couple lady friends and then we’ll be all set.

All set for what? You might ask. For my tiny farm of course. I didn’t just get goats, that would be silly. I also got some baby chicks, four of them to be exact {one didn’t make it}. I’ve never had chickens before. Never wanted to, they terrify me. So I’m kind of flying by the seat of my pants with lots of help from the internet.

So we’ll have baby goats and fresh eggs and goats milk…We’ll be a little bit self sustainable. It’s going to be fun, our daughter is THRILLED. Thomas? He’s the most patient man in the world.

Join us next time to hear all about my very real fear of chickens.



Just one of them days.

Y’all remember that song by Monica?  Just one of them days, that a girl goes through…I started singing it when I decided on a title for this post and now it won’t leave my head. I’ll probably dream about it tonight. Ugh. 

Anyway. I’m having one of “them days” today. Everything started out okay. I got a lot done this morning, had a great work meeting…but then somewhere between school pick up and taking off my strapless bra off when we got home from ballet class…I got cranky AF. Not at any particular thing or event. {Even though my kid and neighbor kids decided to mix puppy poop with water to “fertilize” the grass and that would have given me reason enough to get pissy} But either way, everyone in my house just started to bug me. I needed everyone to shhhhhhhh. No one wanted to though. Certainly not the six week old foster puppies. So I powered through with my teeth clenched, muttering under my breath, because #momAF.

But as my house finally got quiet and I made my detox tea {in my mind, detox tea will make me thin} I got to thinking about mom tantrums. I threw one today, only in my head of course, but I still threw one. My daughter gets cranky. It happens when she’s tired or over whelmed or if she has to eat vegetables at dinner. And what do I do? I keep her mood in mind. I work around it and try to help her through to the other side. The sane side. I get her in bed a little early, I ask a lot of questions to make sure something’s not bothering her. I give extra cuddles and pick my battles. Does she return the favor? Nope. But she’s only five so I’ll cut her some slack. For now.

My daughter doesn’t care if I’m cranky, my husband just gives me a wide berth…My mommy fits don’t matter. I don’t get to kick and scream and demand chocolate. Or wine. I don’t get to stomp up the stairs and slam my door. That would bite me in the ass within 24 hours. No one is going to check my forehead to make sure I’m not getting sick as an excuse for my craptastic behavior. 

All those little thoughts lead me to this spectacular one. We’re the mom’s. We’re the fixer of fits. Why aren’t we fixing our own? We know what we need, right? We know everything. So, it’s time we start mommin’ ourselves ladies. I just put myself in bed early. I have old Grey’s Anatomy reruns on the TV, hot tea on my night stand and my biggest dog cuddled right next to me. 

My cranky mommy tantrum mattered to me. I noticed it. And for once, I’m fixing it. 😉 If anyone comes in here to bug me…then I’ll try the door slam. 

Love, LP

Welcome to it. 

Five years ago, my sister was there when I gave birth to my daughter. I told her from that point on that she owed me a birth. So, she finally paid up and I got to watch my nephew come into the world. I have two books that need to be written, a house full of neighborhood kids and two new foster puppies that need to eat. Since I also needed to make a blog post, I figured I’d kill two birds with one stone. Lots of twos in that sentence…

Dear my strong stubborn beautiful smart baby sister,

As you know, I didn’t watch Stoli (my daughter for those of you who don’t know her name) make her debut. I has too busy pushing and scrunching my eyes closed so I didn’t see my vagina explode. Remember that? They had to stitch me back together. Anyway, that was what I was gearing up for when they told you it was time to push. I was nervous and scared and excited. There was no blood or gore though. Watching my nephew being born was very calm and clean. I’m not saying I felt slighted or anything. I’m glad you’re not currently being held together with thread… You were a rock star and Aaron (her husband) was kind of cracking me up. I will never forget him highfiving you after the baby was born. I cried, just as much as I did when I met Stoli for the first time. I was in complete and total awe. And the awesomeness only continued.

I know I was kind of an asshole after Stoli was born. I was cranky and exhausted and very unsure of any and everything. Not you though. You took to motherhood like you were born for it. Seriously, I was so proud of you. Proud of you and also slightly scared of you. You’ve never been afraid to speak your mind or be vocal about what you need. I’ve always admired that. I was also a little jealous. You’re my baby sister, and I wanted to lock you me and the new little man in a room. I didn’t want to share y’all. I mean, Aaron could have come visit but everyone else could go fly a kite. 

When Stoli came up to meet the baby and was instantly obsessed, you simply smiled with tears in your eyes. When she sang to him, over and over, you encouraged her. You were so patient when you let her help you feed him. Where I would have gotten flustered, you were nothing but calm and kind. Stoli loves you so much. She adores you. And you made sure to treat her the way you always do, giving her affection and attention even though you had a thousand other things on your mind. Where I would have been terrified to leave my infant alone for the first time, you guys waved and went to bed. And I got to hold my nephew for HOURS during his first night home so y’all could sleep. If I wasn’t already completely smitten with him, I was after watching him snooze in my arms. Where Thomas (my husband) and I were divided and he called me crazy and hormonal and made me want to slit his throat in his sleep, you and Aaron were united. He had your back even when he didn’t completely agree. *cough* pacifier *cough*

Because I’m your typical first born, I like to think that you learned from my mistakes. I like to think that by being by my side during the first week of your niece, your first love’s life, you knew a little more of what to expect. And how to prepare. How to cope and how not to act like a sleepy crabby butthole. But in reality, it’s just who you are. You’re strong and patient and capable. You and Aaron have been a team from the get go, and you didn’t let the stress of being new parents separate you. It was more than admirable. 

Now, I’m not writing this to put myself down. Not at all. I was a first time mom, I was young and I was terrified. Eventually I figured it all out, learned my new normal and I became myself again.

I’m writing this because I just needed to share how proud I am of you and Aaron. SO PROUD. And I can’t wait to watch the two of you keep slaying this parenting thing. And I’m writing this so that everytime you start to feel like you’re losing your cool, or like you want to strangle your husband, you can read this. You can read it and know that I’m on your side, and I think you’re doing great. Also, thank you for paying up on your birth debt and giving me the worlds cutest baby as a nephew. I love you guys ❤️


Yesterday I was sick. Not like I-have-the-flu-I’m-dying sick, but I was feeling down enough that all I wanted to do was lay in bed and take a lot of cold medicine. Which I did. However, I announced to my husband on Saturday evening after a full day of errands and birthday parties and work stuff that I was taking a sick day on Sunday. I felt the need to warn him in advance. I like to lay out my expectations step by step. This helps me in two ways; one, he can’t act shocked when I refuse to get out of bed at 6:00 am and make my five year old oatmeal. And two, if he does act shocked, I can be super pissed at him for not hearing me the day before. 

So. My husband got up with our daughter on Sunday morning and took her to get dough nuts. Which was adorable because she got all dressed up like they were going on a date.  Then he proceeded to hang out with her the rest of the day while I did nothing but sleep and binge watch The Office. {Long side note: I say “hang out” b/c I REFUSE to say he “watched” our daughter. I hate that. He isn’t a baby sitter, he is her other parent. When I spend hours with her at home while he is working I don’t call myself her nanny.}

I knew my daughter had an awesome day with her dad, mostly because she’s a very loud child and I could hear her having fun. Neighborhood kids came over, the kiddie pool was filled up. My house was over run with giggles and the sound track to Trolls. Of course through out the day I had crying children in my bed. Sometimes only mom’s will do and I completely understand and embrace that. 

I as I clicked “hell yes” on my 1,000th espisode of The Office around 4:00 that evening, I was so in love with my husband. I even sent him dirty text messages, promising all kinds of things later that night. He gave me a whole day of saying Go ask your dad and it was glorious. I was feeling refreshed, my allergy attacks had died down and I could move without my head throbbing {the headache was probably pro longed due to my Netflix binge}. 

And then I left my room.

The house looked like a damn bomb had gone off. Dishes, dress up clothes, tea party riminents, barbies, crayons, and one lone bowl of popcorn. There was shit everywhere, and my daughter’s room was even worse {I’m talking bad people, even a baby doll broke and those filler beads were everywhere}. Now, all the other mom’s out there know how I felt at that moment. It was an odd cross between extremely pissed and left over euphoria from my day in bed. Should I scream? Should I just be happy I got this day to rest? Should I thank my husband and then start screaming at him? 

You all know what I did, b/c it’s what we always do.

I calmly told my daughter to was time to clean up before bed time. Then I spent the next 45 minutes getting my house back in order. My husband helped, he’s a smart guy. Now, I’m not a saint, I talked the whole time about how the mess was just proof that all I do all day is pick up after people. B/c it so freakin’ was.

In the end, I love my family more than I love my sanity, my well being, and a clean house. My husband rocked it, my daughter had an amazingly fun day, and I’m up to season 4 🙌🏼 

Love, LP ❤️