"Help Me" or "Hump Me".

For starters, I'm coming to you live from Arkansas.  Yeah, that happened.  We've only been here a few weeks so for me to pass judgment this early in the game would be unfair and unjust, but, between you and me, all of those jokes you hear about bad teeth and double-wide's...well let's just say they aren't too far off base. 

Rinn seems to be adjusting just fine.  He appears to have plenty of pleasant conversations with the locals.  I say "appears" because his speech consists solely of incoherent babbling other than the words "hi" and "mom" and I catch about every 5th word of the southern accent.  Basically, when the girl at the grocery checkout tries to make small chat, Rinn and I look eerily similar; smiles, eager nods and polite laughter.  Rinn has no qualms about this but I walk away confused as to whether she wanted to "help me" or "hump me."

One oberservation that I can speak on is that Arkansas is overrun with the elderly and every damn one of them has an opinion about child rearing. The cost of living here is ridiculously inexpensive so it's no wonder that it's a mecca for geriatric retiree's looking for a small slice of land to park their gigantic RV and consequently dole out unsolicited advice to the younger generation found toting around small children. I really should be more receptive to their wisdom considering that whole respect-your-elders thing  but its hard to decipher which are actually wise in the ways of the world and which left their wits somewhere in the late 60's. I want to take you seriously but then you try telling me that by giving my son soy milk, I'm all but guaranteeing that he become one of those "homosexuals" and I start to look around to see if you've been separated from a group being led by a person donning white scrubs and carrying an empty straitjacket.  

If you ignore that, and the fact that my dad and husband unknowingly slaughtered one of the most revered snakes of the state by clobbering it with a pickax in the driveway, I'd say we're doing an alright job of adjusting to our new culture.  

I may have been absent from the blogging world, 

But I've always kept up on the Twitter machine so follow me: @RebeccaRinn

Arkanite? Arkanian? Arkansawyer?

There are very few things that I enjoy about Wisconsin weather, mostly because humidity does absolutely nothing for my hair and, let's face it, wind chills could be administered as corporal punishment. Still, I thought it best to be fair and allow Rinn the opportunity to make up his own mind regarding our cold and unreasonable temperatures, so following the season's first winter storm we bundled up and braved the outdoors. 

He was unimpressed.

He gave me the same look I get from teenage girls when I ask them if they like Justin Bieber. Either it's "Like seriously, of course I do and I can't believe you even had to ask" or "No, I hate him and now I hate you by association."

Eventually there were tears and we went inside.  No sweat off my back and it just confirms that we made the right choice when we decided to move to Arkansas. Say what? Yes, I said "move" and "Arkansas" in the same sentence.  No, I did not just bump my head.  My parents were living in Branson, MO when I found out I was pregnant and in an effort to play a bigger role in their grandson's life, returned to Wisconsin.  As it turns out, they are more attuned to Southern living and as a person who once went almost three years without a real winter, I too find sunshine more agreeable than snowdrifts. Dance is a universal language allowing me to teach almost anywhere and I'm almost positive they have the internet in Arkansas, so blog readers, fret not, I'll continue to post.  

Also, Rinn will inevitably use "all y'all" in casual conversation and seriously, how adorable is that?

And if anyone is wandering, I've since had my roots done.  

The jig is up, I'm not a natural blonde.

Sledding: fail.

"It's cold and there are wolves after me."

Papa saves the day.

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