Recovery in the country

Sometimes my life amazes even me. Seriously, I normally walk the tightrope of enjoying the high qualities of living in rural Wisconsin but avoiding some of the less sophisticated habits of country folk. Tonight, though, I had to stop and laugh at myself. Here I am, recovering from surgery, hunched over, barely managing to hold it together. In a desperate attempt to keep husband and children sane and smiling, I agreed to a rather hilarious little roadtrip tonight. We piled into the truck. "Old school" (this is how we explained it to the children). Two toddlers double-buckled in the front lap belt, and the other two kids tucked into the jump seats in the back. Dead deer in the back. All of us wearing at least a smidge of blaze orange. We headed for town to register the deer. Bought some tic-tacs and hung out at the gas station with the local cop, some Mexican farmhands who came in to buy pizza and beer, and several other fellow rednecks with their trucks and slaughter of the weekend. Amy decided about midway through this venture that she needed to pee. I helped her do it - in the street - next to the truck. Spent the next 10 minutes warning the other kids not to step in the pee. Then we piled back into the truck and "old-schooled" our way to the farm to pick up milk. Had fun "scaring" each other in the dark while Aaron filled the jars. Then we bumped our way home over the one-lane wooden bridge, joked about stopping at the country tavern with our brood for some pickled eggs, and ate Christmas cookies for a bedtime snack.

I believe I am fooling myself if I continue to believe that I have not succumbed to the inevitable ways of country living.