Weighing his Options

We are STILLLLLLLLL harvesting so Brian is out in the field until late.  Grandma makes them sandwiches every night and takes them to the field along with a jug of tea, chips, and some sweets.  After the ridiculously long harvest we have had, the men are getting to the point of never wanting to see a ham sandwich again. EVER.  It will take him until next harvest before he can call a ham sandwich palatable.
The other night he called me at 8:30 and said due to breakdowns they were calling it a night;  did I want to feed him or should he go to Grandma's?  I wanted to see him, but I had no meat thawed and had planned on fixing myself an egg salad sandwich (keep in mind-no meat, no meal is his theory).  He wasn't thrilled so he said he'd see what Grandma was cooking when he switched pick-ups at her house.  About fifteen minutes later, I got a call from Grandma.  "Your husband is heading home as fast as he can.  He left a few minutes ago."
Me: "What are you fixing for supper?"
Grandma: "Fried ham"

Sharing the Farm

I always loved going to visit friends who lived on farms when I was a kid.  I loved seeing the animals and running wild in the open spaces.  My friends always thought I was crazy to love coming out to the farm so much.  Now that I have my own farm, some of the novelty has worn off, but I love the wonder of farm life in visitors' eyes.  Over the weekend, we had some visitors who have an eighteen month-old son.  It was so much fun to watch him chase our chickens, look for fish in our stock tank, ohhh and ahhh at the big cows, make piggy noises at the pigs, and feed the bottle calf.  It makes me so excited for our daughter to get older and learn to love the farm and bring friends over to share the fun with!
Here's some picture from the visit.

Conversation Overheard

This may be too much information about cattle for some of you, but I thought it was pretty funny.

My husband has a friend who is looking to have a few cows to raise as grass-fed beef.  He was wanting to buy six cows and have them AI'd (artificially inseminated) so he could sell the calves. The friend called Brian to ask what it would cost to have it done.  Brian informed him that AI'ing was only like ten dollars a cow, but that the semen could get pricey depending on what bull he wanted to use from.  We had a bull collected several months ago and have the semen stored in liquid nitrogen in the barn so Brian offered to sell him some of our bull's. To that offer, the friend asked, "how much does your semen cost?"  Right at that moment, the friend's wife walked into the room.  Not being around cow breeding lingo very often, she apparently gave her husband a rather creeped out look.  He quickly had to explain what he was talking about.

Laws of Harvest

1. A 20% chance of rain means it WILL rain.  The rest of the year a 70% chance means it's unlikely, but during harvest......

2. If it can break down, it probably will.

3. If you blow a tire, the tire shop will be out of the size you need.

4. Don't plan on getting anywhere quickly.  Every road, trail, and highway are filled with moving, hauling, and cutting equipment (all of which can squish a normal sized vehicle like a tin can and not even notice).

5. Do not plan on seeing your husband except early morning and late night.

6. Do not plan on eating supper before 10:00 pm.

7.  When you're sent to look for a part, take it with you-much easier to explain the thing-a-ma-bob you need when you have it in hand and the salesman doesn't look at you like you're a nin-com-poop.

8.  Buy LOTS of allergy medicine.

9.  Never try to plan a vacation around harvest.  It will come earlier, come later, or last longer than you expect.

10. Be thankful for all the grain going into the bin!

Love It, Hate It

Harvest.....love it, hate it.
It's a beautiful time of year.  The wheat is that perfect golden color only wheat can be; it waves and rustles in the wind.  It is amazing to watch the beauty of a ripe wheat field.  It's also amazing to watch the harvesters run massive combines through a field, fill their bins with the tiny kernels, and then dump into a semi to be hauled to town.  I love watching the crop come full circle.  I watch as it's planted in the fall, sprouts up green and soft in the spring, and ripens to amber waves rolling across the prairie by midsummer.
I hate the allergies that come with harvest.  I sneeze, itch, and swell.  I can't ride on the combine without getting hives.  It's really lovely for a rancher's wife to be allergic to what he farms.  It's also very irritating to try to drive anywhere.  Farm machinery does not move quickly and when every farmer in the county has several combines, grain carts, tractors, and support vehicles going field to field, driving down a country road (and sometimes highway) becomes very SLOOOOOOW.
Harvest is over within a couple of weeks so what I hate I only have to endure for a short time, and what I love isn't around long enough to get old, and I get to look forward to it the next year.

Parenting Strategy

My husband is the youngest (by quite a bit) of four children so we've gotten to observe several sets of good parenting strategies.  Recently his oldest sister, who is sixteen years older, was out to visit with her twin seventeen-year-old boys; their family ranches in Missouri.  These are two of the best teenagers you'll ever find.  They know how to hold a conversation with adults, look you in the eye, be respectful, responsible, get along with peers, and work HARD.  You've never seen two boys who know more about engines (they've been taking things apart since they were eighteen months).
Their dad was raised on a dairy and gets up before the sun comes up, and he believes in gettin' up and gettin' to work.  He lets the boys "sleep in" until seven, and then they're up hauling square bales, working cows, plowing fields, and fixing equipment.  They have chores before and after school.  When their dad had to pay a speeding ticket for one of them, the boy worked it off with extra work.  The boys have time for fun, but they have responsibilities that they must take care of first, and there's not so much free time that they're coming up with trouble.  When asked what their father's parenting strategy is, the unanimous answer is "have you ever seen the show Hell's Kitchen?".

Is She a 7 or an 8?

My recently divorced brother-in-law had some anonymous person subscribe him to Maxim magazine, and it got delivered to Grandma and Grandpa' house instead of his.  The other day I was over there and wanted to look at one of Grandma's cooking magazines so I pulled out a magazine.  Imagine my surprise when instead of cinnamon rolls I see a scantily clad buxom blond!  I quickly shoved that back in before any of the kids in the house could see and decided that I really didn't need to look at magazines that day.  I later shared with Brian what I'd pulled out of the magazine pile.
Yesterday, Grandma and Grandpa were over to help Brian fill out paper work on cows.  He decided to recount my embarrassing moment for them.  Grandpa asked who was on the cover, but since I hadn't spent enough time looking, I didn't know and moved on in conversation with Grandma figuring Brian could take that one.  Next thing I hear is, "she a 7 or an 8?" (while they were looking at a computer)  Whoa, buddy!
I stopped midsentence with Grandma and butted into the boys' conversation.   They quickly turned the computer to me and explained they were talking about udder scores on the cows they were registering.

The Line Has Been Crossed

I'll do a lot of things for my husband, but there are a few things that I just won't have anything to do with.  Last night, he crossed one of those lines in the sand when he came home covered in afterbirth, poop, and who knows what all else.
It was nine o'clock, and I was making supper when he arrived home.  I knew from a previous text message that the day had not gone well, and that they'd had to pull a calf from a cow that was brought in from another ranch and was not the calm, easy-going type we keep around.  I did not realize what he would look like until he walked in.
The calf was backwards so they had to hook the calf pullers (chains and a bar that hook to the calf and then it's pulled out by force). This cow did not want to be cornered and helped.  She took off across the pasture, escaping every time they tried to herd her in.  When they did get her surrounded and tried hooking up the equipment, she decided to take Brian as he was in her way to freedom.  Her long horns and glistening hooves headed straight for him.  Realizing she was not stopping, he dove to the side but was slogged down by mud and manure.  Thankfully she just wanted by and did not hurt him other than stepping on the back of his leg pushing it further into the smelly muck.
Once they finally had the calf on the ground my lovely husband had to pick it up to get the fluid out of it's lungs because it was not breathing correctly.  In the process, he became covered in afterbirth.
I immediately sent him to the shower, and I hear the burn barrel calling those clothes. Disgusting!!!!!

Rent-a-Husband

Anyone have a husband for rent?  I'm looking for someone with lots of spare time, good with lawn mowers and weed eaters, good at building things, handy at taking things apart and putting them back together, and did I mention time.  My honey-do list continues to grow, but my poor husband is never home to do it.
My husband fits all of the criteria above except the time part.  Most women have husbands with nine to five jobs, and when their home on evenings and weekends, they can work on household and yard projects.  When you're married to a rancher, that's just not the case.  He leaves by eight in the morning for the ranch (earlier if he's baling) and doesn't get home until around eight in the evening (it can be much later depending on what is going on), and by the time he gets home, he's usually pooped out.  With harvest coming up, it's doubtful I'll see him awake more than an hour maybe two at the most.  There are also no weekends off.  Farm ground and cattle don't count one day more special than the others.  The running joke is "put it on my list".  The problem is the man's going to have to take a couple months off from the ranch to accomplish all of it at this point.
So if you know a deck buildin', basement finishin', weed whackin', chicken house paintin', baby gate hangin', dish washer fixin' kind of a guy laying around let me know.  I'll put him to work!

It's All in the Timing

You know that cow I was watching in an earlier post?....her saga continues.
Yesterday, my husband called to get information on when the egg donor cow and the embryo recipient cows needed to be up there, but because Nebraska Bull Service is on central time, he didn't get them called until after hours.  When they returned his call this morning, we were getting ready to go into the doctor's office for our daughter's sixth month check-up and shots.  He gave them the dates of her heat cycle, and after they did some figuring, they informed him that the recipient females needed hormone shots TODAY in McCook, Nebraska.
At that point, the twitterpation started.  Brian was no longer focused on our daughter being in the 97th percentile in weight (chunky monkey!) or how many times the poor little thing was being stuck.  He immediately got on the phone to his dad to organize trailers and the rounding up of the help.  The animals didn't have all the paperwork for crossing state lines filled out so he hurriedly called the vet.  The vet informed him that she had all the shots they would need for today if he wanted her to give them, but he needed to be there by 2:30 central.  Of course that seemed like a better idea than trying to get cows in, loaded, and to Nebraska before closing time, but it would need to be slightly more rushed.
As soon as Gracelyn's appointment was done, we rushed for home so Brian could help finish loading up and drive one of the trailers up.  Unfortunately, there were problems getting help and trailers hooked up so when we arrived, there were cows still in the pasture and no trailers in sight.  After pacing a hole through the carpet, they finally arrived two trailers, three trucks, a four-wheeler, and alfalfa bales in tow.
The first set of cows loaded fine and took off for the vet's and only a little late, but the next load wasn't so easy.  Grandpa bought a new trailer that they found is higher than the cattle like to step up into so it took pushing, prodding, and a lot of grumbling.  The poop and the pee were flying; clothes, boots, and even faces were covered.
I'm not sure what the vet will think when they arrive, but they're on there way!

What a Morning

I'm always leery about what's coming next when my husband calls and asks, "wanna hear about my day?" It's usually cringe worthy and gives me something new to worry about.  There's been three-wheeler accidents, lots of cow run-ins, several electrical problems, equipment malfunctions, and a variety of other very dangerous things. This time it happened to be "I put out three fires in the tractor cab and got chased by a sick skunk."  This all happened before lunch.

Our equipment is old and provides hair-raising moments on a regular basis, but it really gives you the warm fuzzies when your husband has to put out electrical fires in the tractor he's baling with.  Apparently the wire sparks and causes little fires.  It had only been doing it once in a great while so they left it in lieu of fixing bigger and more problematic issues.  It appears that the wire got tired of waiting until they had time to fix it.  Brian put out the first one no biggie.  The second time he thought he'd move it up the list, and by the third time he decided it was time.   They now think they have it fixed for good.  I guess we'll see the next time he goes to bale.

While they were working on the tractor, they spotted a sick skunk.  Unfortunately, they didn't have a rifle, but since it was of a good distance they decided not to worry about it.    After working for awhile, crawling inside the cab, under the tractor, and poking around to get the wire fixed, Brian noticed a noise; he looked up.  There was the skunk investigating what was going on.  Brian's brother was under the tractor so Brian very calmly (or at least that's what he told me) alerted him that it was time to get out from under the tractor.  His brother was irritated because he wasn't done with whatever job he was doing until he looked up and saw sickly skunk near the tire.  Both men took off!

What does your husband do at his job that you'd rather not hear about?

Coons in the Combine-Raccoons that is

Everyday brings something new on the ranch, and today it was extracting raccoons from the combine.  My in-laws live along the creek and have a terrible coon problem.  The coons get in the garden, in the corn of for the cattle, and even break into the garage to get the cat food.  Over the past three weeks, ten adult coons have been caught in the live trap baited with cat food.  They are the fattest, sassiest looking coons you've ever seen after munching on the easily accessible treats around the farm.
Today, while getting the combines ready for the nearing harvest, my husband and brother-in-law found two baby coons tucked safely away in the feeder house.  The mommy coon had found a warm, dry place to make a home for her little ones not realizing that harvest is nearing.  As the men took apart the combine to replace a belt, they noticed an odd sound.  Opening up the feeder house, they found the two adorable little coons.  They realized they had to get them out, but neither wanted to sacrifice their hands to do it so they devised a plan that involved barbeque tongs and Grandma's trash picker uppers.
The resulting  course of action was amusing for all bystanders.  The carefully reaching in, the careful pulling out, the hissing coons, and most of all the grimacing faces waiting for the coons to wriggle free of the grip and run up the legs of their home wreckers.  It's really too bad no one thinks of a video camera in time to get the good stuff!

Nephewisms

My nephew, Trent, is a born and bred ranch boy.  He's always up to something and his slow down button is broken (or nonexistant).  If he can be up and doing something, he's up and doing it ninety miles an hour.  If there's a fresh cow patty (the juicer and greener the better), he's stomping and dancing in it.  Everything he does is done with gusto.  He loves life and is a joy to watch discover the freedom of ranch life.
He occasionally comes up with sayings or does bizarre things that we've dubbed nephewisms.  Here are a few:
After standing around the corner and seeing him stick a pop tart up his shirt into his armpit, "Why are you sticking a pop tart up your shirt?"
His reply to was to grin and bound off.  You never know what he's up to....

Me: "What's your hungary level?"
Him: "Marven!"
Apparently I've asked a few times too many if he's a starven' marven.

After cooking a stuffed shells for supper, I was incredibly irritated with him for not even trying a bite.  He ate everything else on the plate but wouldn't touch the shell.  He was finally told he had to try two bites.  He started crocodile tears and repeating over and over, "it's gonna taste like soap".   Soap?!?! Seriously, where does this kid come up with stuff.  To my knowledge he's never even tasted soap to know what it tastes like (and why would I serve something that tasted like soap).

"COWABUNGA!!!!!"  This is his favorite thing to yell midair above anyone he can beat out of bed in the morning.  My husband is a very good sport about Trent's enthusiasm for this morning attack.  In fact, he'll even return to bed to pretend to be asleep (although curled up to protect vital organs and sensitive areas) so Trent can get in his morning thrill.

If you ever need a good laugh, let me know, and I'll get you the latest nephewism!

A Cow's a Cow, Right?

Since marrying my husband and moving to the ranch, I've learned more than I ever knew there was to know about cows.  I used to drive by a field of cows and think, "boy what a cute black cow, oreo cow, white cow, or brown cow (I have since learned that Herefords are NOT brown; they are red!)."  I've since learned the breeds that correspond to these colors, names of good bulls, genetic information, genetic problems to avoid in certain animals, and I've learned that hours of conversation can revolve around cattle.  In fact, when calling his sister to share the news we were expecting, my husband first spent about thirty minutes discussing heifers with her.  I have learned to appreciate the warm-eyed creatures, but I have not developed the passion for them my husband wishes I would.
My husband recently gave me a very important job of watching for when a certain Hereford cow was in heat.  He is on a tractor all day, and this cow is in the pasture behind our house.  He has to know exact dates so he can get her eggs flushed.  I won't give all the particulars, but he told me what to watch for.  Unfortunately, we have another Hereford cow who appears very similar to the one I was suppose to be watching(at least to my untrained eye).  When I spotted the signs I was looking for occurring way out in the pasture, I excitedly called my husband to inform him, proud of myself for paying attention and being helpful with the cattle instead of sitting by idl .  I unfortunately was not sure exactly which of the two cows it was, and I figured it was good enough to just alert him that it might be her.  I did not realize we needed exact dates and that if you weren't there at the time, it is more difficult to figure out later.
When he got home, I could see the disappointment that I didn't know precisely which of the two it was.  I'm not naturally in tune to  markings or other unique features of individual cows.  That's just not me (yet....I'm getting more cow savvy).
When the cows came into the corral that evening, I spent some quality time making note of individual markings so that next time, I can tell for sure.  Well, hopefully.......

Daisy's Very Bad, Awful week

As promised the story of our farm dog, Daisy's terrible week.
The week started with Daisy coming home from one of her adventures out to the pasture reeking of skunk. No one would pet the poor thing, and we told her how bad she smelled any time she was in the vicinity.  The real problems started two nights later......
"Honey, get the flashlight!" my husband yelled at 2:00 a.m.  Yes, that's right two in the stinkin' morning. "Daisy's got a porcupine!"
Thinking Brian was sleepwalking to check on why the dogs were pitching a fit in the middle of the night, I got him the flashlight as he was throwing on his boots (with his sleep shorts-very cute) and digging out the clip for the rifle.   "Now what did you say it was?"  I questioned.
"I'm pretty sure she's got a porcupine; she's got quills stuck in her nose.  Now bring the light out and shine it on the him while I shoot."
Oh, brother....what a circus we must have been.  Keep in mind we are in our pajamas, it's two in the morning, our dogs are going bananas, and I'm trying to keep the flashlight on the critter while keeping the dogs out of the line of fire.  Brian got one shot off which seemed to anger it so it turned it's back to us, and being the weenie I am, I hopped behind Brian shining the flashlight over his shoulder while he got in a second deadly shot.  Sure enough it was a porcupine.  What in tarnation it was doing here on top of a treeless, waterless hill in western Kansas I'll never know, but we were left picking quills out of Daisy's nose.
While you would think that Daisy's curiosity would be quelled, it wasn't.  At eight months pregnant, I was showering hoping to turn in early as soon as our niece, nephew, and my brother-in-law headed back to town.  Midway through my shower I heard all kinds of barking, shouting, and other ruckus so I quickly finished.  I got out to the living room to find my husband and brother-in-law holding a shovel and discussing whether any of the dogs had gotten bit.  We went on a search and found Daisy huddled under the wheat truck behaving very oddly.  Realizing she'd been bit, we raced inside, called the vet out of his son's football game, and loaded her up in the back of the vehicle with Brian holding her.  By the time we made it to town, her paw was swollen to three times it's normal size, and after looking at her, the vet wasn't very hopeful.  He didn't carry anti-venom so he gave her fluids, steroids, and some antibiotics, and told us not to expect much.  So much for getting to bed early....I spent the night worrying about the dog.  The next morning we called in and found that she had made it, but was still very weak and would need to spend more time there.  After three nights at the vet's, she was strong enough to come home.   After that experience, she has learned that there are just some places you just don't stick your nose!

Welcome home, honey!

After being gone for two days, my husband left the field early and came tearing into the driveway to see his family.  He was greeted by me standing on the porch holding a 38 special revolver pointed at the driveway.  Of course I wasn't aiming for him, but he later informed me it had crossed his mind that he'd left the toilet seat up one time too many.
My house dog moments before had alerted me that something was amiss, and when I checked on him, I found him barking at a rattlesnake not ten feet from our main entrance.  I HATE rattlesnakes....HATE them.  While I realize some people like them, I have nothing nice to say about them.  When your husband comes in and tells you he's killed six that day, when you have two within six months of each other outside your door, and when you've had two dogs bitten (tomorrow I'll write about Daisy's very bad, awful week), you just want every last one of them DEAD.
After Dudley's warning, I grabbed my pistol loaded with snake shot and had moments before my husband's arrival, finished offing the the little booger. I realize it would seem a little more practical to use a shovel. In fact, my father-in-law has used a wrench, and my husband once used a tire iron (I'm hoping more sanity trickles down to our children).  Unfortunately, my husband informed how far a rattlesnake could spring, and now I'm very happy standing a good distance away shooting.  Whatever the cost per shell, it is well worth the price.
Nothing says welcome home, honey better than a freshly fired 38 and a dead rattlesnake!

1 out of 8 equals 25%????

My husband's a brilliant man.  He teaches upper level science courses and can figure farm figures in his head quick as lightening, but diaper math throws him for a serious loop.  Shortly after our daughter was born, I heard from one of my co-workers that Brian had told her at an inservice that Gracelyn was doing great (she was), she was sleeping all night (she wasn't; he just didn't get up or even hear her), and he was doing 25% of the diaper changes.
I started cracking up!  At that time, we were doing 10-12 diaper changes a day; one with each bottle.  He was changing ONE of those.  I quickly explained that he was obviously very mistaken about the number of diapers our little darling was producing each day.
I tried setting him straight the next morning by asking him to go do his "25%".  Being facetious did not help him realize the error of his ways.  All he did was laugh, and now the phrase has caught on so now when he changes his diaper of the day he informs me he's off to change his 25%.  On the rare occasion he changes two, he's up to 50% despite there being eight diapers (give or take) each day now.  I haven't had to be gone yet to see what would happen to the percentages if he had to change all the diapers in a day.   Could be interesting to find out though!

Squealin' Tires and Bumpin' Heads

You know those roads in third world countries....? My father-in-law has one of his very own leading down the steep hill to his house.  This "driveway"has ruts and washouts that will swallow a small child, bumps that will send your head rocketing into the ceiling.  You need four wheel drive to get out of it in the mud and snow, and even then, you have to back alllllllllll the way down to the bottom and get a running start to even have a shot of getting up.  It usually take me three or four tries.
My father-in-law is a wonderful man, but like any rancher, he's stubborn.  His way of fixing the driveway is to throw out cement blocks to keep the dirt from eroding (thus the head banging bumps).  It does stop the the dirt in that spot, but water flows downhill around the cement creating washouts unlike any a driveway has ever seen before.
Before heading up or down it, I stop to double check that our daughter is strapped in her car seat correctly; the Jehovahs witnesses who go door-to-door stop at the top and walk down; the highway patrolman who came to check tags on two new vehicles had to squeal his tires to get out of one of the ruts.
Last night as I whacked Brian's head on the vehicle roof, I mentioned that his dad needed to work on the ol' driveway.  His response, "he just did."

Rattlesnake Coffee

"mmm...that's some rattlesnake jumpin' coffee this morning."  I thought as I sipped my morning brew.

Anytime we get our coffee stronger than normal, we now refer to it as rattlesnake coffee and warmly remember the story of how it got it's name.

Brian's friend stopped for the night on his way to Colorado and kindly made coffee for us in the morning.  Despite being a city-boy, he like his coffee strong enough to stand a spoon in.  I proceeded to drink my normal two cups, and by the time he hit the road, I was more jittery than a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.  

Brian suggested we walk off some of my energy through our newly planted tree row to see how if all the little cedars and oaks were making it.  As we got to the end of the tree row, we were discussing all our future plans, going over our plans for the day, and I was NOT paying an ounce of attention to where I was stepping in my pink flip flops (I hate real shoes but have realized the perks of wearing them on strolls through grassy areas).  As I put my foot down, a giant rattlesnake slithered out, coiled up, and started rattling his warning. With the caffeine coursing through my veins and the shot of adrenaline, I moved faster than I had ever moved before and faster than I probably ever will again.  As I climbed my husbands back at the speed of light, he tried figuring out what was going on as he made every attempt not to fall.  When he saw the problem seconds later, he convinced me to release my death grip and get down off his back so we could back out of range of the the rattlesnake's strike.  By the time we got the gun, the snake was gone, but I learned several very important lessons that day.  Always wear real shoes when walking through tall grass, carry a pistol when walking through tall grass on warm days, and give my husband warning to brace before I scramble up his back so that we don't both end up in a pile on top of the snake.

Grubby hubby, dirty Daddy

"wha, ha...."
Yesterday as I gazed so fondly out the window at the tractor making its rounds, I forgot about summer laundry.  As my husband entered the house yesterday unrecognizable, covered in grease and dirt, I couldn't help but stutter gibberish as summer laundry came flooding back to me.
For those of you who have clean husbands, this may all seem exaggerated, but really it's what comes walking into my laundry room all summer long.
We married in June so washing his summer laundry became my duty right after returning from our honeymoon.  Welcome home, honey!!
The first week I did all our laundry I had some serious ranch wife reality therapy.  I sorted through his pile appalled at the sight of motor grease stains from thigh to knee, grass stains, cow manure, blood, and any variety of things found on a ranch.  I truly thought they were ruined; I'd never in my life seen something so disgusting.  I piled them up and planned to take them out to the burn barrel.  I didn't know how we were going to afford getting him so many new clothes if he kept this up.  That evening as I carried a loaded black bag to the burn barrel, Brian stopped me and asked if I had snakes in the bag based on the way I was holding it out in front of me.  When I explained I planned on burning his clothes, he almost rolled on the floor in laughter.  He told me that was how his clothes always looked in the summer while he was working on equipment, taking care of cows, and plowing fields.  In fact, he use to tease his mother that he only  returned home to the ranch from college in the summer to make sure she still knew how to remove stains.  He suggested I call her.
The woman is magic....I took the clothes up and watched her spray the jeans and t-shirts with Shout until they were sopping, let them sit for 20 minutes (during this time I proceeded to swear up and down that this was never going to work and she had to just go in and buy new jeans and t-shirts and tell people she'd gotten the old ones clean), put them in warm water to soak for a while, and then finally put them on the longest wash cycle.  Poof....unbelievable but they came out not only not ruined but clean.  Shout really does get EVERYTHING out!
I now by Shout buy the gallon, put on some tunes, and get to spraying.  It's become a summer ritual of the life I've been blessed to have.