Oh The Dichotomy

We have never hid from Ivy any of the realities of the farming and hunting that we do.

Ivy also loves pink, princesses, dresses, sparkles and anything else fancy and girly.

The combination has made for some interesting times…

It’s one thing for her to be helping her Great Gramps track a deer in the woods.  Tracking a deer with her imaginary friend Belle who is wearing camo coveralls over her pretty yellow dress, that’s an Ivy special.

Pretending to go hunting I don’t think is an odd activity for a girl who has been exposed to so much hunting herself. But when she is dressed in a pink dress with her pink six shooter cap guns, it’s just funny.

Then of course there was the time we ate Rudolph.

So I shouldn’t be so surprised and amused anymore when my girly girl tells me things like:

“Want to hear about my fairy song?
First they go flying, and then they kill stuff.”

But I am.

Edges

It appears that when Clara is cold she takes matters into her own hands.

Now, if you want to know why she’s covered with bumps and bruises, check out her feet.

The girl has no concept of edges!

OFG on Skis

All right! All right!

I know, it’s been DAYS since I’ve written, but seriously people calm down.

I was out of town, and now I’m back and I’ll tell you a story, show you some pictures and we’ll all be happy right?

Right.

SO…

Ever since my Uncle Jim, ( You remember him? ) Started cross country skiing again and setting OFG records some members of my family (myself included) have been harassing him, on his speed or lack thereof (it’s almost like a tradition, remember the triathlon?).  Last weekend while we were in Michigan visiting for another Storm surgery there was some time to play when the vet work was done.  It was then that I think Uncle Weasel enlisted Ivy’s help in getting me back for all my back talk on his skiing speed.

Sunday morning was beautiful, calm, sunny and cold, 7 below when we headed to the Allegan forest. Knowing it was a bit chilly out I had dressed the girls and I appropriately.  Ivy had double socks and mittens and lots of layers under her snow suit, Clara was bundled up and then put into my amautik. I had long underwear, sweatshirts, jeans, snow pants and the amautik (which I can’t wear unless it’s at least down to about 20-25 or I overheat) lots of socks, mittens and my thickest hat on. After we hopped out of the car and got suited up we spent a nice leisurely Ivy paced 10 minutes on the trail and I mentally congratulated myself on all my layers.

Then Ivy was DONE. John swooped in and took her on piggyback snowshoe ride and Clara and I headed out with my Uncle down the trail. So here I am, dressed to be virtually standing still skiing with Ivy at seven below, really skiing down the trail. I had a thirty pound heater on my back with the ability to lurch from side to side  (that’d be Clara) no poles (can’t use them in the amautik and don’t need them with Ivy) and my perfectly layered clothing was suddenly way too much! Clara soon feel asleep in her cozy spot but would grumpily and noisily wake back up if the motion of the skis was a bit too much (gliding all the way over one ski or the other, almost falling down, etc.), or if we were to, heaven forbid, stop.

I had a great time trailing after Uncle Weasel down the trail,  as I admired the beautiful morning and tried not to be trailing behind by too much I discovered something.

He is pretty speedy for an OFG!

But take away Clara, three extra layers and give me back my poles and I think I’d have him!

Reason #46 We Do A Lot of Laundry…

…because Clara’s new favorite trick is to climb on the table – and sometimes she finds things there.

I’m hoping that most of the soda went on the clothes instead of in her belly, but I’m afraid nap time is going to be tough today!

*I’d also like you to know that by the time I got there the soda was already down her front, in her belly and gone. As much as I like posting photos on my blog I’m not about to let my child caffeinate herself just before nap for a photo op!

Secretariat by William Nack

Would I recommend it? That depends.

If you are a horse lover, racing buff  or just fascinated by Secretariat then yes.  This is a well written biography of a horse. Information, facts, quotes, history – it’s all in there. Not only that, but it was written by a man who spent a considerable amount of time near the horse and the people surrounding him, not just a random bozo who looked up facts one day.

But that brings us to the depends part of the recommendation…

All that information, all that history, if you are just out looking for an enjoyable read you’d better skip this one. Unless you fall into any of the categories above, the who beget who in horse racing history may make the first chapters seem endless. If you can make it through that then you’ve got to wade through Secretariat’s syndication.  Unless you really want to know all about who got all shares (and if I remember correctly there were 32) you’ll get very bored and may walk away. This would be sad because then you would never make it to the last third of the book. The last third of the book is where Secretariat wins the triple crown, and where I found out that even reading about a horse races makes me cry.

It’s good –  but it’s not for everyone.

Now, go and watch Secretariat race in the 1973 Belmont stakes and tell me it didn’t bring a tear to your eye!

Once upon a time…

… a little girl woke up from her nap.

The little girl was very unhappy and very hungry so her mother fed her oranges.

Once she got a handle on all her orange slices..

…and started getting them in her mouth…

…life improved.

Then something startled the little girl causing her to start crying mid-orange.

It just so happened that her mother was taking her picture and caught the orange falling out of her mouth, complete with drool.

This did not make the little girl happy.

Fortunately for the little girl her mothers friend came by to take care of  her while her mother and father went out for the evening.

Recognizing the friend as a woman who would not take pictures of her screaming and drooling and then post them on the internet the little girl leaped into the friends arms and was happy the rest of the night.

The end.

Ophiuchus

Last night Sarah one of my top news informants called me up and out of the blue told me that I was no longer a Taurus, I was an Aries.

While I processed that shocking information we informed John that he was a Leo he replied in a voice that made it clear that we were once again falling under the “crackpot” category:

“No. I am a Virgo.”

What I learned from my news informant was that all the zodiac signs have been shifted by about a month to make way for the sign Ophiuchus.

As an aside I’m really glad that’s not my new sign. I mean really can you imagine the poor people trying to answer a lame pick up line.

-“Hey baby, what’s your sign?”

-“Ophiuchus.”

-“Bless you.” -and they move on to someone they assume not to be diseased. On second thought this may be a blessing in disguise.-

A little internet research and it seems that this is actually 3000 year old news but for some reason it became popular this week. Since this news is 3000 years old there are sidereal zodiac signs and tropical zodiac signs and those who follow these things already know all about it, apparently it’s been accounted for – or something. A little more research and I discovered that delving into astrology websites while believing in none of it was on the verge of making me crazy. The interesting part of it all was not the possibility of my zodiac sign changing, it was that I cared.

Yup, that’s me a non-believer of astrology.

So why was I so upset when I found out I was an Aries?

Why was John insistent that he was still a Virgo?

Why did other friends I talked to react with shock and confusion?

As far as I know we all fall into the 70-some percent of the population that doesn’t believe zodiac signs have anything to do with anything, so what’s with the attachment?

Perhaps we need to look to the stars for the answers…

…or not.

Doomwyte by Brian Jacques

Hello my name is Jessie and I love books with talking mice, and shrews, and otters, and moles with funny accents, and any other little woodland talking creature as well.

I  think that by this age most have out grown their love of small furry talking creatures, but…well…I haven’t.

This is one of the newer Redwall books and I love all of these books.

I love them because the good guys always win.

Because even though they win the war they usually lose a few good “men” along the way.

Because swords are not in themselves evil, just the nasty varmints who wield them.

Because friendship always wins.

Because there is always a riddle to solve.

Because the Dibbuns (children) are always getting into mischief.

And most importantly, because when all the fighting is done there is always a feast.

I read Mossflower when I was in middle school, it’s still my favorite, but well, as you can see I thought the rest were pretty good too…

Would I recommend it? Yes, I’d rank it among my favorites, but if you’ve never read any I always recommend starting with Mossflower. I’m impatiently waiting until I’m able to read these aloud to Ivy.  Unfortunately we are currently at the point that even a Franklin book is enough to start Ivy shaking with fright.  I’m thinking we’ve got quite awhile before we can read about marauding sea rats, raven tyrants, and wildcat queens!

The Plastic Bag

I’ll be the first to admit that I’m not always up to speed on world events, nation wide trends and pop culture. While I might cruise a political blog or two, I don’t usually make it to a regular news website, and hardly turn on the radio for music anymore much less news. Fortunately my friends know this and are kind enough to do things like call me and tell me if a tornado is on it’s way over as well as other happenings less life threatening but still important.

One of those news items that has filtered it’s way into my cozy life under this rock is that there is a growing trend to ban plastic bags. Madison (unsurprisingly) is on the anti-plastic bag bandwagon with a recycling program and thoughts of banning plastic bags altogether.  I could pontificate on the pros and cons of this as well as the ridiculousness of passing mandates with fines that no one is going to attempt to enforce, but I’ll spare you all. Instead I’ll share an incident  in which a grocery store plastic bag was the hero of the day.

This morning just after breakfast the girls took a bath together and life was good.

Then Clara pooped in the bathtub and full chaos set in.

Ivy jumped from the bathtub ran through the bathroom and into the kitchen yelling.

I removed Clara from the tub and as I was debating the best method of cleaning it up…

…Clara promptly pooped on the bathroom floor.

Ivy showed up freezing and wrapped herself in a towel, but not before dragging it through poop.

Clara, after being cleaned up from the bathroom floor incident escaped to the kitchen. (How you ask? Well I was up to my elbows in a bathtub full of fecal matter that’s how.)

Ivy watches and reports back with “MOM! Clara pooped in the kitchen… It’s really big and nasty!”

I finally got the tub cleaned and threw the girls back in aaannd the super pooper struck again.

Re-clean bathtub.

Put girls in.

Clean girls.

Clean bathroom floor.

Look in kitchen.

Wonder if there is any way someone else is going to clean up the “big and nasty” on the floor.

While I stall Clara starts attempting to leave the bathtub.

Now in a panic with visions of poop footprints all through the house I run for the pantry and grab The Plastic Bag.

Me, a lot of paper towels, some cleaning stuff and The Plastic Bag clean up the “big and nasty” in record time.

I curse our stupid kitchen floor with stupid cracks between all the stupid fake boards the entire time.

I throw a knot in The Plastic Bag toss it out into the mudroom just in time to catch Clara jumping out of the tub.

While drying her off I find more poop on her, or the floor, or me, it is unclear where it came from but the end result is the same…

… clean more stuff, again.

Finally I get the girls dressed and out of the way.

To do this I teach them how to be all American by giving them the computer, an armchair, a bag of popcorn and a cartoon to watch.

I clean more, mop floors, do laundry.

I pick up The Plastic Bag on my way out to do chores and swing by the garbage.

My point:

It takes a pooptastrophe for me to mop my floors and the plastic bag is not necessarily the epitomy of all evil.