Redneck Thang, or just Gender Roles?

Before I married the Hubby, he invited me to a BBQ at his
buddy's house. Buddy was married, with a nice house in the
country just up the road from where Hubby and I live now.

When we arrived, Buddy's wife was inside with some other
womenfolk getting food ready. Buddy was outside by the
grill. Future-Hubby sat down by him, and I did the same.
I didn't know Buddy's wife or the other women, so I stayed
with FH. The minute I sat down at the picnic table, Buddy
tossed a 10 lb. pack of ground beef in my direction, and said,
"Here, pat us out some hamburgers." I was flabbergasted.
Me? Pat out hamburgers? I'm a guest here. Whatchoo talkin'
bout, Buddy? I said, "No thanks." FH looked at me kind of
funny. But he made no move to pat out any hamburgers,
either. So Buddy did it himself.

I had been raised around these parts, so I knew that after
Thanksgiving dinner, all the men went to watch football while
the women cleaned up the mess. I knew that if a man had
something in his hand that he didn't want, like a candy wrapper,
used gum, tissue, receipt for something he just bought, etc.
that he said, "Here." and handed it to his woman. But I had
no idea that a man would ask a guest to do his food prep
for him.

True, I had been away from the area for awhile. I had got
me a college education. OK, so it was from Springfield, MO,
but that is still the city compared to where I'm from. And
I had lived on my own for several years. I didn't have to
depend on a man for my survival. I considered myself to
be independent. FH called it "set in my ways."

So was I wrong to feel "put-upon" when Buddy asked me to
pat out the hamburgers? He didn't ask FH, his friend since
childhood. He asked me, the guest that he had only met a
few times. Would men outside of Redneckland do something
like that? Is it a universal gender thing? I hope not. By golly,
we womenfolk even have us them there votin' rights now!

The first casualty of summer, Mr. Kickball.
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R.I.P., Mr. Kickball

Poor Mr. Kickball. It was not his time to go. He was only in
our loving home for about 4 months. He was just entering his
prime. #1 son picked him up at Wal-mart in January, an off
time for kickball adoptions. He was much-loved. He spent his
days bouncing around the tile floor of the basement, near the
pool table. When the weather warmed up, he could be found
in the yard or on the carport. Most recently, Mr. Kickball
was seen impersonating a basketball for #2 son. Sadly, those
days are done, may he rest in peace.

The story of Mr. Kickball's tragic demise is not a pretty one.
We returned from town, and I opened the garage door with my
opener that works after I push it 4 or 5 times. Hubby has the
good one for his door, but he never uses it because his truck
is too big for the garage. Instead, he parks his 1980 Olds
Toronado in there, draped in a car cover. So...I opened the
door and saw nothing. I always look, because the cats think this
is their lair, and with 5 cats, you have to be alert. Again, nothing.
I pulled into the garage, and when I was almost to the front wall,
I heard a "pop" sound.

#1 son, who is allowed to ride up front, looked at me accusingly.

"What was that?" he demanded.

I looked out, and 2 cats, who had been lounging on the trunk
of the Olds, were standing and looking at my rear tire.

"I don't know. Don't look. I hope it wasn't a cat."

Of course #1 son jumped out and immediately looked back.

"Oh, it was only my kickball."

I guess that wasn't so bad, when he'd thought it might be
a cat. Mr. Kickball had been resting on top of the Olds,
where Hubby had moved him from the top of the dumpster,
where #2 son had left him overnight. The cats must have
shoved him off in a battle for supremacy of the Oldsmobile.
Mr. Kickball still rests under the tire. Hubby will have to
clean up the remains.

We had another casualty of summer last year--the
Sidewalk-Chalk family. They lived in their clear plastic
house on a shelf under the breezeway from our garage
to the porch. Such a lovely family...they were great lovers
of art. They enjoyed spending those lazy, hazy days of
summer basking in the sunlight on the carport.

They also came to a sad end. Again, we returned home
from town. I noticed the carnage before we even reached
the end of the driveway. Their broken bodies were strewn
across the front yard, their house torn beyond repair. We
knew the murderer immediately--the neighbor's black Lab.
He had already been threatened at BB-gunpoint for kidnapping
ceramic yard bunny and his cousins, ceramic turtle and ceramic
squirrel. (I was not too upset about these redneck relatives--
they were on Hubby's side of the family). Hubby paid a visit
to said neighbor, who relinquished bunny, turtle, and squirrel,
though bunny had part of his head chewed off. The murderer
himself was never apprehended, but for a short time he was
kept tethered beside the neighbors' trailer unless one of them
was home.

What will the rest of this summer bring? We will keep our
precious ones near, and keep a closer watch to prevent
accidents and mayhem.

Did You See That?

Last month, as we turned into our driveway after school, I saw
that we had a visitor of the critter persuasion. "Look, someone's
rooster!" I told the kids. It was big and black, with a red head.
"Uh...Mom...I don't think that's a rooster," said my #1 son.
The kid definitely has better eyesight than me.

It was kind of big to be a rooster. And nobody out here has
chickens anyway, because if the coyotes don't eat them, the
free-running dogs will. The thing took off, and it was creepy.
It had a big red rubbery-looking neck and head. It had been
sitting on the late Mr. O. Possum, who had been in the yard for
a couple of days. And he was most definitely deceased and not
simply "playing possum," which I knew for certain because of
the simple fact that he had no head. OK, at this point I didn't
know Mr. P. had been there that long, or I would have had
Hubby fling him somewhere (but not down the sinkhole like he
did the last one.)

I told Hubby about the thing, and he said, "Oh, that's a vulture."
After checking into this subject by asking my middle school
students (who I find to be a great source of useless information),
I found out that they are sometimes called buzzards, or turkey
buzzards, or turkey vultures. Google lists some as red-headed
buzzards, red-headed vultures, and my personal favorite, the
Red-necked Vulture. How appropriate!

I also asked Hubby to get Mr. P. out of the yard, and he was
of the opinion that something would come along and eat him, so
there was no need to move him at this point.

My Redneck Yard Ornaments
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Redneck Yard Ornaments

Here are a couple of yard ornaments from my side yard. They
are situated behind the outhouse, which can not be seen in this
picture.

This is my husband's collector truck. He has plans to fix it up
and take it to car shows. He has had this plan for 7 years now.
I know, because #2 son is 7 years old, and right after he was
born, my step-grandpa died, and my grandma gave my husband
this truck.

It is some kind of 1970s-model Chevy. It was in pretty good
condition when he drove it home. Yes, it was running before
he started fixing it up. The biggest problem was a lot of black
smoke from the exhaust, and a bedfull of leaves that blew out
on the highway. It had all its parts on it, too. Now the bed and
the front end are in the barn, I think. Or under the side sections
of the barn. I believe the plan was to sandblast and repaint
them. We rednecks don't really get in a hurry about things.

The other item is our picnic table. We have had this for about
7 years, too. We have never painted it or treated the wood,
but it still holds together. It was missing for 1 year, because
we took it up the road to our friends' house for a Halloween
party. Then they kind of forgot to give it back, and got
divorced, so we didn't think it was so important that we
had to bother them about our picnic table. When the kids
got older and wanted to have a picnic, my husband called
his buddy and asked if he could come up and get it. "Oh, no,"
said Buddy. "I'll bring it down this afternoon."

We wondered how Buddy was going to load that thing by
himself. The answer came about an hour later. Here he came
down the road with our picnic table swinging from the boom
pole on his tractor. For some reason, we did not find this
strange. Kind of like the time we woke up to find Buddy's
truck parked in our front yard, with no one in it. His pickup
truck, not his dump truck. We figured there must be some
kind of explanation, but he never gave one, and we never
asked. That's just the way of the redneck.

The next time I can't think of anything to write about, I'll
take you on a tour of the barn. That's meant to be a promise,
not a threat.

Caution: Redneck Driver!

Redneck Road Rules for 10-year-old Drivers:
1. Don't run into the camping trailer that is parked in the front yard.
2. Stay away from the sinkhole.
3. Take a different path each time so you don't kill the grass.
4. Little brother must wear his seatbelt when you give him a ride.
5. When you peel out, kick the gravel back in the hole.
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Driving the $300 Car : #1 Redneck thing to do on summer vacation.

Friday was the last day of school for my kids. They had to go
with me yesterday for part of my teacher's workday, so today
is their first full day of summer vacation.

#2 son is happy to lie around and play GameBoy all day, with
Cartoon Network playing in the background. #1 son is a bit
more ambitious. He has read a Popular Science magazine,
played GameBoy, downloaded a program to make his computer
look like it is running Longhorn (he already has one that makes
it look like a Mac), and has driven his (yes, his) $300 car. Oh,
and we all played some basketball: sons against Mom. I won.
Woohoo! I can beat a 10-year-old and a 7-year-old in a game
of basketball on a 7-foot goal. I'm quite the athlete!

Now getting back to this car business...if you have read this blog
before, you might be familiar with the $300 car. It was the star
of my April 25 blog, currently in the April Archives. My husband
bought this junky car, and then decided he needed another junky
car. Because that's what rednecks do...we buy numerous junky
cars instead of one new car. So he said he would give the $300
car to #1 son. Who is 10 years old.

I thought he meant that when the boy was 16, he could have the
car. Oh, no, no. He meant now. So he taught the boy how to
drive this 1996 Toyota Tercel 4-speed manual transmission that
is currently running on two cylinders. It's not like he could get
hurt. He always straps on his seatbelt (he's a little bit of a nerd,
not a redneck.) As the boy says, the car won't go out of second
gear. He only gets to drive it around the yard. OK, so it's
a six-acre yard. He ran out of gas yesterday evening. He says
that's because Dad was riding with him.

Yesterday Grandma picked them up from school so they didn't
have to annoy me all day while I was trying to check out of both
my school buildings for the summer. She said she had quite a
time. She sat on the porch with a walkie-talkie. #1 son had one
in the car with him, and #2 had one in the house with him. They
would call if they wanted her. We are technology-friendly
rednecks. #1 would call her as he drove by to see if his signal
lights were working. He is very safety-conscious. He took her
for a ride, and demanded that she put on her seatbelt. Oh, and
she had to ride in the back seat. They took out the passenger
seat because it was too ripped up, and the Porche seats they
were going to put in it didn't bolt down.

My boy loves his car. He told his 4th-grade buddies that he
could drive a stick. "Hey, Mom! A fourth of our class says
they can drive a stick too!"

It must be a redneck thing...teaching 10-year-olds to drive.

Big Blogger Challenge #4

Mr. BeanJeans, of Big Blogger challenge #4.
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This is Challenge #4 for the Big Blogger contest at http://trampanto.blogspot.com/
Create a character for a children's show called Fun Times and Rhymes.

So here is my entry:

"Hi Kids! It's Mr. BeanJeans here again on Fun Times and Rhymes.
I have a story and a poem for you today, boys and girls. First, the story.

Last week I went to visit my best friend, Garrett Carrot. Garrett wanted
to go to the swimming hole, which is across the highway from his garden.
"No, Garrett," I told him. "We are not supposed to cross the highway.
It is dangerous." But Garrett would not listen. He darted out in front of
a big truck, and was smashed flat! The ambulance came and took him to
the hospital. I waited for a long time. I was worried about Garrett. Finally,
the doctor came out and said, "Mr. BeanJeans, I have some good news
and some bad news. The good news is: Your friend is alive and will get
better. The bad news is: I'm afraid he's going to be a vegetable for the
rest of his life." So remember kids, unless you want to be a vegetable,
don't run into the road.

And kids, until next time, keep telling your mom, "I don't like vegetables,
and I'm NOT going to eat them!" And I will keep dumping your plate
off the table. I'm so lucky to be invisible to moms.

Now here is your poem to get you ready for bedtime:

When you go to sleep at night,
and the lights are dim, not bright...

all your toys get up to play,
like you and your buddies do all day.

The teddy bear gets out of bed.
"Let's play baseball, " Bunny Rabbit said.

The dump truck whines, "You guys are rough.
You'd better stop--you'll break some stuff."

They hear a noise... see a light...
jump back on the shelf...Nighty Night."

(Other Big Blogger Challenges were:
1 Mention a "cat" in your blog
2 A real-life business with a funny name
3 Review a breakfast cereal like a movie)

Those Things the Rednecks Do

Today I was surfing through the channels and found one of
those emergency room shows on TLC. Right off the bat (or
"first cat out of the bag," as my husband says), I knew I had
found me a redneck.

It was a girl with a long mullet-style haircut, wearing a long
denim skirt. Her wrist was bent in a way that a normal wrist
does not bend. The doctor came in and asked her what had
happened. "Well, I was chasin' a rabbit in the middle of the
night....over at my boyfriend's house? And I fell in a sewer
hole?"

O...K.... Now I couldn't stop wondering why she was chasing
a rabbit. Was she hunting? Why did she do it in the middle of
the night? Didn't she have a beagle or other rabbit dog to chase
the rabbit? Was she wearing that denim skirt while chasing the
rabbit in the middle of the night, or did she dress up special for
the two-hour drive to the emergency room? What exactly is a
sewer hole? Is it from an old outhouse? Is it a ditch? Is it a septic
tank hole? And why did she say it like it was a question?

So the doctor told her that her wrist was dislocated, and they
would have to operate to put some wires in it. He said, " Do
you have any health problems?" And her mom said, "No, she's
always been healthy. Except she's a passer-outer."

Then they did the surgery, and it was clarified that she was
chasing her pet rabbit. Oh, that makes all the difference.
It must be acceptable to chase a pet rabbit in the middle of
the night over at your boyfriend's house.

The girl asked the nurse if she would be able to go home, and
the nurse told her, "Oh, yeah. But you're going to be a little
sleepy today." The girl's grandma laughed and said, "Heh, heh.
You're going to sleep in the truck on the way home."

So what's funny about that? Were they going to put her in the
back of the truck while she was asleep? I have never been to
Oklahoma, but I believe it's much like its cousin to the north,
Kansas. And that is the most depressing drive I have ever taken,
from Missouri to Salina, Kansas. I wish I had slept through it.
There were not even trees to look at. They built their fences
with little metal poles because there was no wood for fenceposts.
That is just wrong. And the wind will blow the eyebrows right
off your face.

So let this be a redneck lesson for you. Do not chase your pet
rabbit in the middle of the night over at your boyfriend's house,
because there might be a sewer hole you don't know about, and
you could fall in it and dislocate your wrist, and then you could
be on TV and make us rednecks look dumb.