much ado

That dog of ours has found a deer carcass in the woods.  He has dragged up a couple of it's legs and contentedly lies in the front yard gnawing them.  But Sunday he left one of the legs in the driveway in the path of Mr. D's car.  Mr. D talks to Jax like he understands and I watched him explain to the dog that he needed to move the leg bone so he could get through his side of the driveway.  Well that dog understood "bone" and "driveway" all right.  I took the gang to church and returned to find the deer's torso lying in the driveway beside the leg bone.  Never has a dead carcass struck me so funny as when we saw that huge spine and ribcage and skull smack in the middle of Mr. D's path through the driveway. 

In other news, Mr. G's a happy little Ravens fan. 

I'm going to be in Virginia April 19-22 visiting Jen on the Edge!  If you're from the area and think you'd be up for a bloggy get-together, let me know!

Reason # 2 to buy Whipped, Not Beaten on Kindle: It's been described as "Stephanie Plum meets Pampered Chef."

Reason #3 to buy Whipped, Not Beaten on Kindle:  it's about Public Radio and who doesn't have a soft spot for Public Radio? 

This just in:  my friend Nicole said the formatting of my e-book release looks terrific!  What a relief!

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and then what happened

Well, it's Monday and we've got even more fresh snow on the ground.
The WINNER of She Wouldn't Sing at My Wedding is Kat from Seeking Sanity!  Yay, Kat!  Email me your mailing address!  Hope you enjoy the collection.
As it happens, Mr. G is gifted at wrestling, too.  I'd hoped at least one kid would knock him down a peg, but the little animal went out there and won all 3 of his matches.  Turns out having 2 older brothers makes a kid fearless, tenacious and strong.  Observe his final round:

A wrestling tournament (meet? thingy?) is an emotional place.  LOTS of yelling and crying.  It's all a bit foreign for me, I'm much more at home at a basketball game.  But the kid had fun and wants to do it again.  For the record, the Happyland coaches do a great job of emphasizing FUN and good technique over competition.  I wish Mr. T had stuck with it, but it takes a certain kind of kid to wrestle.  Much like beauty pageants and coin collecting, it's certainly not an activity for everybody.

Mr. B's team took 4th at their tournament.  The 1st and 2nd place teams were in a league of their own.  It was a proud day for him, but I only got to see the first of his four games of the day because his father and I had to go to a zone defense.  Mr. D helped coach and he was very proud, too.  Especially as they won their last game in double-overtime.
The wedding went well--another ridiculously cute and happy couple made legal.
Italian Beef Sandwiches are DELICIOUS and EASY to make.  Here's how:  put 1 chuck roast, 1 chopped onion, 1 minced clove of garlic, 2 cans beef consomme and 1 cup red wine in a pot.  Do not cover.   Bake at 325 in your oven for about 4 hours.  Shred and serve on buns.  Now go buy a chuck roast so you can make these sandwiches this weekend when you feel lazy.  (This recipe is brought to you from a lady named Gerry from Chisholm, Minnesota.)
I have no words for Julianne Moore's gown last night.  Mr. B deemed it "too wrinkly and too big."  When a 10 year old boy weighs in like that, one must wonder WTF her stylist was thinking.  Oy.
And Sybil.  Julian Fellowes, you cad.  You took the best and most interesting sister and offed her.  Not sure if I mentioned that Mr. T watches Downton Abbey with me.  We had a great discussion about the risks of childbirth following Sybil's tragic demise.  It's a gift that despite having 3 sons, one watches Upstairs, Downstairs  and Downton Abbey.  He confesses that it's hard to keep all the characters straight and I suspect he watches only to prolong bedtime on Sunday night, but it's our thing and I like not watching alone so there you go.
 The cookie cake at school was good.  Chock full of chips.  And the kids were angelic--subbing for those middle school kids is some easy money.
Today the children do not have school.  Mr. G went to a buddy's house and Mr. B has a buddy over and they're in a place I like to call "Minecraft Nirvana."
What to do while the children play? 

Spill it, reader.  Did you see Downton Abbey?  Were you outraged?

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diversity

I really believe in backyard bird feeders.  The sound of birds makes a place cheerful and our feeder is BUSY!  If you don't feed birds in your back yard, click on the link and get going.  Enviro Girl is big on promoting diversity.

Speaking of diversity, I don't care nor am I surprised to hear that Jodie Foster is a lesbian.  That's old news, really.  I do, however, think if you're going to receive an award for a lifetime of work you knew about it beforehand and had plenty of time to write a clear, organized and eloquent speech.  Jodie, you also had time to consult with a speechwriter.  Shame on you and every other lifetime achievement awards recipient who gets up on the stage and blathers incoherently.  It's insulting to your audience and reflects poorly on you as a professional.  There.  I said it.  I've read other people's views on her speech--how moving it was, how touched they were--but I am the straight-talking Midwestern gal saying "The emperor isn't wearing clothes!" 

You want to see diversity, step into a 4K classroom and watch the little nippers draw pictures.  It's adorable.  And it demonstrates a range of ability and interests.  One kid draws a picture, but it's really about the whole narrative around the picture and he starts giving me the whole back story--the drawing itself is a vehicle for storytelling.  I have 3 kids at home who do the same thing.  One girl draws a person, adds grass at the bottom of the page, sun at the top.  Classic.  Another girl uncaps a marker, scribbles a tiny bit, caps the marker, selects a new marker, uncaps the marker, scribbles a tiny bit, caps the marker...and so on.  She's not sure what to do, but she sure likes the smell of markers. One kid draws a football field, complete with goal posts and yardage lines.  Another kid draws a zombie, so the kid next to him tries to draw a zombie.   Each kid takes their own approach with the same tools in hand and it's fun to watch.  Parents, your kids don't need a Leapster or educational CDs or games.  They need TIME and PAPER and MARKERS OR CRAYONS.  That's where the magic really happens and their imagination and creativity and small motor skills develop. (And also where the marker sniffing starts--parents, if your kid comes home with a rainbow of colors between their nose and upper lip, you might want to stage an intervention.  KIDDING!  They were smelly markers.  Totally safe and nontoxic way to get your huff on, yo.)

My new smart phone is very different from my old flip phone.  The battery lasts a fraction as long, for one thing.  I've figured out how to answer calls (good) and tried using the phone camera at Mr. G's basketball game.  I was all Oooooh!  Video camera!  Let's do that!  Then I can show my bloggy friends how great he is with ball handling and stuff--give them photographic evidence of his athletic prowess.  You know what's coming.  I get it to work and start filming.  His buddy makes a basket a couple seconds later while Mr. G stands watching.  I say as much to his buddy's mother (sitting next to me) and she's all "Oh!  I missed it!" so I tell her she can watch the video feed of instant replay that I'm holding in my hand.  I wait a beat and set up the camera again.  Mr. G stands watching as his buddy makes another basket.  The third time, after the exact same thing happens again, I draw two conclusions:
1.  This is what I get for being proud and braggy--my intentions SMITED.
2.  If our basketball team's ever in a cold streak and we need to score, I should bring out the smart phone video camera and start filming.  Then Mr. G's buddy will start racking up points while he watches.

It's January and we're on the cusp of shutting down one freezer.   As part of our whole "grow our own food" and "eat local" and "save money" regimen here at Chez Green Girl, our two basement freezers are chock-full in the fall.  We have a quarter beef, bags and bags of tomatoes and stuff from our garden, and various containers of frozen soups and casseroles.  Once a month I try to get by with a minimal shopping list and really hit the freezer hard so food doesn't get lost, forgotten and (inevitably) wasted.  A few years of practice have made me better at managing this.  I know by January we should be down to about 7 jars of jam, 10 jars of applesauce, 7 bags of tomatoes and so forth.  If we aren't, then we haven't been making the most of our resources and we're also not eating as healthy.  In another week I should be able to go down and consolidate food into one freezer and unplug the other.  I should see more clean, empty canning jars than jars full of preserved fruit.  We'll from one "meat" freezer" and one "produce" freezer to one freezer for all the food, tenderloins to blueberries and everything in between.  No more segregation of the food groups, one freezer to rule them all and encase their nutritional diversity at zero degrees Fahrenheit.

Spill it, reader.  Any kind of commentary on wild birds, frozen food, braggy moms, poor speechifyin'.  We're open to all kind of comments here at Green Girl in Wisconsin, Inc.

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blessed, really

It's inevitable that as soon as I think I've got a real strong grip on things around here, seams start busting apart.  Take, for example, Team Testosterone's pants.  I hate to shop, but I love that they're at a PS (parochial school) where they have to wear uniforms because that makes clothing them wicked easy.  Yet lately, every time I look at them, one's got a hole in the knees of his pants.  This morning I went through all their closets and now I've got a mending pile two feet high.  Enough to get me through a viewing of Love, Actually.  And I'm reminded to be thankful Team Testosterone is healthy enough to run and fall down and tear through the knees of their pants.  I imagine there are plenty of moms praying for children to roughhouse, and that makes me feel grateful for mine.

I have to mend holes, which is why I think there's nothing goofier than buying pants with holes already in them.

I had grand plans to catch up on editing and the loose ends of Christmas preparations this week, but I got called in to sub so those plans got shattered.  My plans got wrecked, but obviously the teacher who required my help has bigger problems than a list of errands to run.  Our biggest health concern around here these days can be fixed with tissues and Tylenol.  And I'm reminded to feel glad for the extra spending money right around the holidays...just in case.

funny thing about money and how it can slip through your fingers

Last night I had it going on!   Homework was done, house was tidied, laundry was sorted and ready to get handed out to its rightful owners.  I had book club and plans to pick up my book buddy by 5:00, so at 4:00 I headed out in the Momvan for burgers so Team Testosterone could dine in style.  While driving into town I ruminated on the State of the Household Budget and felt pretty darn lucky how we were ending the year.  Now if I can just make it through the next couple weeks without any impulse buying, home repair or car trouble...  Feeling on top of the world I ordered, pulled into the drive thru lane and turned off the Momvan to wait.  After the two cars ahead of me drove away, I turned the key in the ignition.

And nothing happened.

Flustered, I turned it again.  clickclickclickclickclick 

Naturally a girl's thoughts turn towards her car battery in this situation and I tested lights, radio, windows and all worked just fine.  The drive thru people came outside to see what was wrong--why wasn't I pulling ahead for my family pack of cheeseburgers (plain, 2 with only pickles thankyouverymuch) and fries.  They tried starting my car and even popped the hood.  I suspect they knew about as much as me about cars because they closed the hood after remarking that "everything looks clean under here."

Breathe.  Reach for cell phone and dial Al, my car guy, and ask for a tow.  Head inside to wait after turning on emergency flashers.  Appreciate the kindness of the crew at Tom's Drive In who tell me they'll remake my order after the tow truck gets there so my food is hot when I'm ready to leave. 

While I sit near a window and watch the traffic pass, the irony does not escape me.  I call my book buddy and tell her I won't be picking her up, but I hope to join everyone later.  I think about the State of the Household Budget and how there's a lesson about counting chickens and boy, could I go for some chicken tenders about now because I can smell them in the air.  I skipped eating earlier in the day to save up for the night ahead, so it all smelled good.  Up the road I think I see flashing lights--my tow truck?  No, the gaudy lights of the truck stop at the intersection, Christmas lights maniacally blinking blinking blinking.  I'm lucky.  This could have happened in worse places, like a parking ramp downtown when I was ready to head home after book club, long after Al's shop was closed for the night.  I'm lucky, I have extra money to get whateverthefrickiswrong fixed.  I'm lucky I have a place I can call and know they'll take care of me.  I'm lucky I have a cell phone.  I'm so blessed, really.

hot, savory fast food deliciousness that tastes just like chicken

Eventually Dave showed up, Al's right hand man, a tall skinny guy who reminds me of Mr. B's namesake (a childhood friend who died too soon) and he used his superior mechanical knowledge to get the Momvan started.  The crew at Tom's brought over fresh, hot food for my children.  Dave followed me back to the shop and handed me the keys for a loaner.  In the spirit of being behind the wheel of a Buick, I drove home five mph under the posted speed limit with hot food and not terribly late for book club because the laundry could wait until later.

Dave, who is kind and good and drives a tow truck

I'm thankful for perspective, for God's power to spin my attitude and thoughts in the right direction, especially when things don't go the way I plan.  I used to be that angry girl who'd stress out and scream and freak.  I'm blessed, really, to have become someone who can breathe, step back, keep calm and carry on.

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today we detox

My weekend of being a party girl kicked off with bolwing Friday night and I had the most strikes of the season--finally found my mark!  I also got "hung" 3 times (which is when everyone on your team gets a strike in a frame except for you) and had to buy rounds of shots each time.  Normally a late night out wouldn't be a big deal, but we had to get up early Saturday for the boys' basketball tournaments.

Mr. D and I took Mr. G and Mr. T respectively to their games and nourished ourselves with concession stand popcorn.  Then my dear friend J had a birthday weekend, so after T's basketball tournament I hustled over to a little hole-in-the-wall bar to help celebrate.   This bar had one of my favorite beers on tap.  And there were more shots.  I'd just reached the point of acceptance that another night out would be a lot of fun (thinking I could let Mr. D drive ME home for a change, cowgirl up everybody!) when I suddenly remembered that I'd promised to babysit the neighbor kids!  That night!  What time was it?  Holy crap!  That thought sobers a girl right up (plus some eggs and toast) and I wound up the 2nd shift responsibly keeping watch over a small (and cute and cuddly) flock until midnight.

Sunday morning Mr. D took Mr. G back to finish dominating at a basketball tournament.  I took the balance of our tribe to church, then home to get ready for an evening at LAMBEAU with another couple.  Of course this meant heading to another little hole-in-the-wall bar in a snowstorm, more beer, more shots, a terribly greasy hamburger and deep-fried sides.  (Cowgirl up!  It's Packer Sunday!)  After a few hours of sweating indoors beneath jeans and thermal underwear, we added a couple more layers of clothes and made our way to the stadium to watch the Packers beat the Lions.  They didn't look too impressive last night, but at least Crosby got his mojo back.  And believe me, a winter night at Lambeau with the wind swirling flakes like a snowglobe is pretty darn magical, even if your team isn't playing their best game.  Plus Will Ferrell was there and came out to sing along during "Roll out the barrel."  Will Ferrell!

We got home around midnight again and I woke up today vowing to eat salad and drink lots of water and stay home at night for at least a week.  My cheeks are chapped from cold, my throat is dry from salty food and my head is tired from not enough sleep.  We sure had fun, but now I'm good for a while.  This cowgirl needs a break.

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hunting

Sleep paralysis, eh?  Thus sayeth the internets and Web MD.  The weird thing is, I have the symptoms, but none of the causes.  We'll chalk this dysfunction up to metabolic or hormonal change, which is akin to blaming the government for problems, right?  Another vague, all-encompassing cause of things. 

Here's more than you need to know about my metabolism:  it's pretty high as a general rule.  I eat enormous amounts of food, yet my weight only fluctuates about 5 pounds once a month when I bloat n' flow.  I've been a hot flash my entire life--feeling excessively cold is a sure sign I'm sick or getting sick.  I get so overheated when I sleep that waking up sweaty happens to me all the time.  I keep expecting that "change" to start happening, but so far the only signs of aging on this old body are external--some grey hair and deeper lines on my face.  For now, I'm ruling out hormones, too.  The only big change around these parts is the weather--from cold to colder as we settle into winter.   My hunt for a cause of my sleep paralysis comes up empty, as does my hunt for a cure, namely "treat sleep disorders."  Um, isn't sleep paralysis a sleep disorder?  That's like saying "If thirsty, cure thirst."  Not terribly detailed or helpful.

Speaking of hunting for a cure, the heat in our bedroom isn't working and there's a crew of guys in my basement as I type this trying to get to the bottom of things.  In March we had a new boiler installed.  For some reason "Zone 3" gets no hot water.  Our freezing cold bedroom is heavenly--to me and only me.  No joke:  we put extra blankets on only one side of the bed during the winter, and it's not my side. How many men does it take to fix a radiant heat system?  So far we're up to four...

And speaking of hunting, this weekend gun season opens and Mr. B is old enough to join his big brother and dad out in the woods.  To say he's excited is an understatement.  Since his trip to Fleet Farm last week, he's been trying on his new blaze orange duds almost every day.  That kid is JACKED UP to get in the woods.  He told his dad last night, "Only four more days until I'm a man."  Later Mr. D asked me, "He knows he doesn't get to shoot anything yet, right?" 

While three go sit in the woods and carry out the grand Wisconsin tradition of deer hunting, I'm left back at the ranch with Mr. G (too young) and Jax (terrified of guns) (plus, you don't take a dog deer hunting).  It'll only be a couple years and then Mr. G will join the hunt.  Then I'll have to hunt for something to do while I'm all alone.  But this year I'll stay busy ferrying Mr. G to baseball and basketball, which is fine by me.  I've never had any desire to join the hunting party.  I don't object to it, deer are prolific around here, and when prepared properly, delicious with a side of potatoes.  It's just that I can think of about 723 other things I'd rather do in my free time and sitting in the cold woods propped up against a tree isn't one of them.  Yet, that would cool me off and help me sleep well, wouldn't it?

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and that's a wrap

After passing his qualification test Saturday afternoon, Mr. B asked me if I could quit karate so he could be the first in our house to earn a 3rd degree black belt and outrank everybody in the house.  I told him I'd consider it, but I'm not getting any younger ... could we test together?  He said that would be acceptable.  You know I'm not about to get into an argument with a 2nd degree black belt.

So there's the middle kid struggling to get out of a choke hold during the self-defense portion of his test:

He had to kick, punch, strike and spin a little, too.

Mr. G (he's on the left) did really well.  His stances were much improved during his open hand forms and he has some wicked spin kicks.

Their run times were fantastic, too.  Mr. G ran his last 3 miles in 23:47 and Mr. B came in behind him with 24:14, beating their times from previous weeks.  They survived a grueling 3 hour test after their run and came out covered in sweat and smiles.  Final belt count around here:  four black, three 2nd degree, one 1st degree.  My favorite part?  We're all in the same class now.  No more after school driving!

Their grandma came to town over the weekend, so we went out for burgers after the test and the boys played video games.  I figured they'd crash when we returned home, but they didn't.  Instead, they played tag and wrestled while we visited and tried to watch some college football.  In fact, they didn't feel sore or tired at all until I asked them to pick up their wet towels...

Mr. B got the grappling hook he requested for his birthday and the boys spent some quality time trying to get up into a tree.  I should've videotaped that because it was really funny to watch.  They wear a helmet because I'm scared the hook will fall on their heads.

In other news, our book club is reading Laurent Benet's novel HHhH this month.  Does anyone know how to pronounce the title?  "Four H?"  "Haaaaaaaah?"  "Aitch Aitch Aitch Aitch?  Perhaps "Big aitch, big aitch, little aitch, big aitch?" The Bumbles are trying to figure it out and it's not out in audio book yet.  Aha!  "Aitch aitch aitch aitch."  Straight from the author's mouth.  Isn't the internet marvelous?

Spill it, reader.  What did you wrap up this weekend?

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snakes, mice, dead birds, oh my!

It's fall maintenance time and I've enjoyed some nasty surprises along the way.  Snakes, mice, dead birds and bad smells.

Twice a year I apply some perimeter pesticide around Chez Green Girl.  Yeah, it's mildly toxic, but it keeps the ants, flies, spiders and crawly things OUTside instead of INside, which complies with the rental agreement I've drawn up with nature.  The perimeter spray goes around the edge of the basement walls and around the foundation of the house, I squirt a double application by outside doors.  While wading through the hostas on the north side of my house, I disturbed a snake family.  By the look of them, they've eaten well all summer.  Really well.  They normally hole up by the pool, not near the house, but maybe the unusual heat coupled with the dry weather made them move.  Anyway, snakes only freak me out because they, like zombies, are SILENT.  You have no idea they're even nearby until they slide past, brushing along the edge of your foot (or rise out of the night and start chewing on your arm).  And then the silence is broken by a gasp followed by loud screaming.  Screaming by me, not the snakes.  They just gave me a look before continuing through the bed of hostas.

Twice a year I double down on the laundry/mud room.  This involves dragging out the washer and dryer to clean the floor beneath.  This time I noticed the venting for the dryer was ripped and shredded.  Upon closer examination, I realized that MICE were trying to break into my nice warm house (chew marks and mouse turds, I'm a regular CSI agent).  This was a safe mode of entry since I don't use the clothes dryer for at least half of the year.  I pulled off the torn venting tube and blocked the hole with a bowl from the kitchen, the rationale being that mice can't chew through a bowl.  It still didn't explain how the mice got this far through the vent, however, so I went outside to check out the other end of things.  That's when I saw a GIANT mouse run down a hole right beneath the "out" end of the dryer vent.  Shuddering, I bent down and peered up to find the vent flap stuck open.  Glued open with dried dryer lint.  With a butter knife and my fingernails, I cleaned it off satisfactorily.  Then I went to town to buy replacement tube to connect the dryer to the wall.  Things look better than they did before, but that mouse living so close to the house gives me the willies. 

I'd like to straight-up poison the mice, but the damn dog would probably eat the poison before the mice got to it. (Mind you, the "carnivore" dog wouldn't go after the mice, of course.) Those dinky traps freak me out worse than the mice, the way they SNAP shut when you try to set them.  Which leaves me with those sticky pads that trap the mice (Mr. D calls them inhumane, I call them safer than a mousetrap) or pouring boiling water down the hole repeatedly until I find no trace of a mouse.  I've got the kettle on.

I'm thinking of hiring a cat before I clean the garage next weekend as a preventative measure.

After repairing the dryer vent and spraying bug-repelling chemicals around the house, I began cleaning up the patio and porch, which is when I found the dead bird (smelly!) that seems to have flown into the living room window as part of a kamikaze attack on my house. I can't bear to just toss a dead bird into the weeds, so I had to dig a grave and bury it on the edge of our yard which has become an informal bird graveyard.  Coincidentally, the grass grows quite lush on that end of things.

I'm tackling the refrigerator next, which is a guaranteed stench-fest, but hopefully I don't find anything alive other than a mold colony when I empty it.  I'll keep you posted.

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midsummer assessment

There are rabbits all over our yard and yet the DOG who is supposed to be a CARNIVORE is napping in the shade and eating raspberries out of my garden.  We also have mice around our house, but the dog doesn't seem to mind them terribly.  I don't care that he enthusiastically greets us every time we roll in the driveway.  He's as happy to see us as he is to see the UPS man or our neighbors.  Having now lived with a cat and a dog, I can only say my skepticism of devout dog lovers continues to grow ...

The dry weather means NO mosquitoes (heaven!) but we've got prolific amounts of WASPS.  One stung my arm a couple days ago and it's still all puffy and itchy. 

My children are alternately fighting or bored.  I should start wearing black and white striped shirts and a whistle around my neck.  Their work ethic is deplorable.  All they want to do is lay around watching TV or playing video games.  It's a full time job keeping them off-screen.  I know a lady who cancelled cable for the summer and I think she's brilliant.  What did we do during summer vacation back in the olden days, before 150 channels and video games and the internet?  I don't ever remember being BORED as a kid--was I?  I remember swimming and hanging out with friends and reading books and riding my bike.  My kids have a pool, pals, books and bikes--so is this a boy thing or something else? 

The more my kids push to watch TV and play video games, the more I push back by refusing to entertain them with trips and treats.  Why should I reward their whining with a trip to the zoo or an amusement park?  I'm thinking they need some austerity to better appreciate the simple pleasures in life.   We're redefining "Summer Fun" as trips to the library, the occasional ice cream cone, maybe a movie rental one night.  Am I being too harsh?  Or preventing them from becoming entitled, spoiled, selfish brats?

Also, I've realized Mr. G doesn't know any strokes despite knowing perfectly well how to swim, so we've got to work on that. 

On a hopeful note, the Supreme Court showed some common sense and decency yesterday.   And I've discovered the joy of reading Penelope Lively.

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in the corners

It's amusing to look in the corners at my house.  Team Testosterone leaves a trail of their life all over the place.  Behold:

A Lego space ship near the Sunday comics--suddenly reading the Sunday comics is as trendy as cherry bomb kickball at Chez Green Girl.




 


 Toy soldiers, tinker toys, a Nerf bullet, magnet toys and a cow from the farm set.  There's always a battle scene set up somewhere, or I'm stepping over the wreckage of one.

  

 Always, always, always Nerf bullets.

 

 And the grocery list--they've added to it since our last trip to the store.



 Sometimes I find good things in the corners--like this pair of sandals with orange stitching that goes very nicely with my new Gidget Dress for a casual look.  They were in the corner of my closet.

 

Speaking of the Gidget Dress, here I am in the corner of Mr. D's boyhood bedroom at my MIL's wearing the Gidget Dress on Saturday night.  Mr. B and Mr. T directed the photo shoot and this was our favorite pose.  We call it "A Study in Empowerment for Super Heroes."
 

Told you I look good in that dress!

Spill it, reader.  What's in the corners at your place?

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one good citizen

It's cold and damp and I have 75 tree seedlings to plant.  Really, it's perfect weather for tree-planting, but I'm not convicted since I'm cozy inside right now.  Perhaps this afternoon, after I mop the floors and start dinner.  I'll pull on the green Wellies, bundle up in an extra jacket, grab gloves and get going. 

Tonight I'm slated to present A History of the Constitution & The Importance of Being a Good Citizen to a group of Boy Scouts.  I have about an hour.  I'm supposed to touch on Reconstruction, The Emancipation Proclamation, Civil Rights Movement, Respecting the Flag and Patriotism.   I know what you're thinking:  this oughta be good...   But I actually have a decent opener--I thought I'd give groups of scouts a newspaper and scissors and tell them to cut out any article that wouldn't exist without our Constitution. Imagine what would remain--mainly the advertisements.

Team Testosterone and I cleaned the ditches this weekend.  They were the cleanest they've ever been since we've moved out here.  It is noteworthy that a guy drove past and flicked out his cigarette butt while we were picking up garbage.  I thought Mr. T would run after his car, he was so outraged.  But the trash on our property has reduced over the years, in part, I think, because we keep things clean.   The weirdest things we found were a mangled pair of surgical scissors and a deer leg (which really isn't that weird after last week's skull discovery.  It's actually weirder NOT to find a deer carcass on our property).

Friday night we saw West Side Story and I was so relieved that they stuck to Jerome Robbins' original choreography.  I imagine it's tempting to modernize it, but they didn't.  The understudy for Tony was pretty mediocre, but other than that it was a great performance.  The sets and costumes were noteworthy. Beforehand we had a really nice dinner at Flanagan's and felt like we were all that in our private booth, and then the head chef, who we know, came out to visit a bit with us after our meal.  Yeah, that's how Mr. D and I roll...a few times a year.  We drank a bottle of Hob Nob Pinot Noir.  I highly recommend it--a very bright wine.

From high heels at the theater to mucking in the ditches in Wellies.  My range is better than Tony's understudy.

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thank goodness for bumbles

Because this woman needs a little shot of estrogen right now.  And a shot few glasses of wine and good book talk wouldn't hurt, either.  We read The Night Circus and it was really wonderful.  So I'm totally dressing up in all black and white with a red scarf (tres theatrical, like a true rêveur) and ordering something dainty.  Don't wait up, boys.

why so eager for book club tonight, green girl?

Well, I passed my karate module test last night, nailing the kama form (perfection, truly) and adequately passing the fan form.  Because my son is easily embarrassed, I backed down from the Kimono Challenge.  The boy and I share dojo space, I need to respect his need for me to blend into the woodwork and not make a spectacle of myself.  However, the boy and I do NOT share blog space, so I'm totally making a video of the fan form in a kimono for all to witness and enjoy.  Plus I'll demonstrate the level of dexterity required to manage a darn fan.

Mr. G woke me up for the 2nd time this week out of a dead sleep--nightmare.  Again.  And I can never fall back asleep once he does that, so I'm feeling a bit cranky.

Evidently Mr. G felt cranky this morning, too, because when I asked him to read today's lunch menu for us (normally a cool thing since he's learned to read so well), he read "We're having fat f*cking chicken patties."  OH MY!  Like any good mother would do, I promptly jammed a bar of Ivory soap between his lips and turned my back so he couldn't see me stifling hysterical laughter.  Grouchy, foul-mouthed kid.  Where the f*ck does he get off, talking like that?

After shooing the gang down the driveway to catch their bus, I strolled to the back yard to discover this grisly find (please don't look if you've got a weak constitution--this is really, really gross.  I swear.):

That, friends, is some unidentified animal skull. 

Bigger than my foot.

Either the work of that varmint-eating dog of ours or the Yeti, I imagine.

Bumble Book Club, take me away!

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stinky

Jax found something dead in a ditch and it became his new favorite toy ever. Our dog smells like a rotting corpse. And he keeps dragging various sections of this dead animal to different parts of the yard, so you never know when you'll encounter the stench of decaying flesh. And I swear, he rolled every inch of his furry body over the smelliest bits of whateverthefrickdeadanimal it was so he could carry it with him wherever he goes. Which naturally makes a girl think of e. e. cummings because it is April, which is National Poetry Month, which leads to me wandering around outside quoting the words of dead men in reference to dead animals in my yard.

[i carry your heart with me(i carry it in]

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in

my heart)i am never without it(anywhere

i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done

by only me is your doing,my darling)

i fear

no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want

no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)

and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant

and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows

(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud

and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows

higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)

and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

And speaking of smelly--my sons all wake up with the most powerful breath on the planet. They could peel paint off a wall with their morning breath. Because I worry about them offending their classmates and teachers, I'm always nagging to brush your teeth every morning before they leave the house. I tell them I don't want you to be the stinky kid nobody wants to sit next to. They tell me I don't care, Mom, it doesn't matter. Well, yesterday I learned they are right. It doesn't matter.

I subbed in 3rd grade (and yes, I rocked the lessons on perimeter, writing with adjectives, qualities of good leadership, levers, renewable and nonrenewable resources with a huge eco-women emphasis on reducing our use of plastics, and a bit of art with paint at the end of the day--holla!) yesterday. People, those kids STINK. Almost every kid in that class who talked to me about knocked my socks off with their fetid breath. Apparently when all the kids have stinky breath, no one's going to take offense, which is the logic my children have been using all school year. And I guess I've put my kids at a disadvantage by insisting on good oral hygiene because when your own breath is minty-fresh, you totally notice when other people's is funky. Maybe I need to rethink our morning routine ...

KIDDING! But I should buy a super-sized box of breath mints to help that poor teacher out. If I had a dime every time I wanted to offer one of these kids a piece of gum or something just so my eyes wouldn't water when they talked to me...

Despite their poor oral hygiene, they were a good class, cheerful and focused and willing to work hard.

Spill it, reader. What's stinky in your world today?

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for grins

Your comments have been so sweet--and I've already received the best feedback on Whipped, Not Beaten--people are LAUGHING. That pleases me to no end! My neighbor gal just sent this to me:

You NAILED a scrapbooking party....they are so obnoxious, and I'm a dedicated scrapbooker! ;) Also, the horrors of the kids at a home party, coupled with the dog, are writing perfection. I've experienced both issues, along with pet fur in the food, and so I was laughing thru the entire chapter. :) I never understand why parents let their kids run like crazy people at a home party like that...it annoys everyone, except, of course, that one strange mom who dotes on little Junior. :)

I'm loving the book! LOVE IT! :) I'm so proud of you!

(However, I'll be mopey at you in the morning....I'm going to spend alot of time into the wee hours reading and be tired all day tomorrow.....but it's all good!)

Since it's been all book-book-book (say that fast and you sound like a chicken) around here, I feel like we should take a breather and look around at the other stuff.

Outside, Jax is currently hauling out the recycling, one piece at a time, to various spots around the yard. Helpful dog.

Team Testosterone had their Christmas concert at school--it went predictably well. Adorable little kids, incredibly resentful bigger boys, self-important bigger girls all sang familiar songs with varying degrees of enthusiasm. Mr. G decided such an Important Event required neckware, so he borrowed a tie from Mr. D:

Funny boy.

We received some steaks in the mail from my folks and Team Testosterone enjoyed An Afternoon with Dry Ice:

Kitchen science.

I've only seen ONE Christmas movie so far--Friday night Team Testosterone and I nestled into my bed and watched Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, which remains one of the worst movies with some of the catchiest tunes. Upon this viewing I noticed the cozy cottage on the Island of Misfit Toys was tricked out with window boxes--with blooming flowers in them.

Tonight Mr. D and I are going to shop for gifts and I have Grand Ambitions of watching a few holiday flicks before the end of the week. Tomorrow is Jen on the Edge's Annual Holiday Home Tour, so I better grab a dust rag and a camera.

Spill it, reader. What's making you grin?

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so close to being rednecks around here

Feeling like I'm all that with a brilliantly conceived mantel and all the rest of the Christmas frou-frou set out. Mr. B and I cut a wheelbarrow full of boughs, branches and berries and they're all strategically hung, wired, laid and placed. Let the festivities begin!

I thought I'd get the Momvan washed today. My MIL lives on a dirt road, so that Thanksgiving trip to Iowa left it extra-dirty. Then I remembered we're stuffing a tree into the back of the Momvan tonight. Probably best to wait until after that, no?

Smashed a bunch of my best gourds and pumpkins so I could harvest the seeds and dry them out for next spring's planting. I labeled each pile with really precise descriptions. "Small White Bumpy Gourd." "Orange Yellow Striped Gourd. Some Bumps." My favorite pumpkin, a gorgeous bumpy one with great color had a super-thick shell. I ended up banging it against the floor, muttering Give up your seeds, bitch. It took a lot of tries and coercing (cursing), but I finally cracked her open.

Mr. D let loose about 20 pheasants on our property last night. We'll see how they do. This is our 4th attempt at planting pheasants around here. One year we got so hopeful, a couple made it through the winter and had babies. Then they all disappeared. Eaten by foxes? Hit by cars? We'll never know. The first time we let pheasants go, one flew directly into the side of our neighbor's shed and killed itself. I swear, pheasants are about the dumbest birds ever (and that's saying something, because really? We're talking birds.) Within days we found 2 more dead in the road. Mind you, we live on 60 acres with a bit of development to the south and nothing but wetlands, woods and farm fields to the north for over a mile between us and the next intersection. Turkeys do really well out here, we have a huge flock thriving on the other side of the creek. Hopefully these pheasants are smarter than the last few batches, but I doubt it. I didn't take photos of the release because it was too dark.

Anyway, the master plan is for Mr. D and Team Testosterone to be able to hunt pheasants some day--they'll be that prolific around here. I despise pheasant. It's too gamey, a heavy tasting meat that grosses me out. I confess to not minding if the pheasants never get to huntable numbers around here, but it is cool to watch them fly up when you're walking around the field and prairie.

Still no sign of that cat.

Birdfeeders are full, but we haven't had any visitors yet.

Snow is in the forecast.

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a tale of yeti sightings in the back 40

Long-time readers know two facts about life at Chez Green Girl:
1) we live on about 60 acres, mostly uncultivated space for running wild and free in nature
2) we have imaginations that also run wild and free.

Bearing these facts in mind, none of you should be too shocked by the story I'm about to divulge.

Mr. B and Mr. G are in a Saturday morning flag football league that takes place on Happyland Elementary's playground, adjacent to our property. Mr. G's league plays first, and afterwards he and a bunch of his cronies amuse themselves running around the trails and in the woods on our property while their older brothers play in Mr. B's league. Mr. T participates, but his main job is to keep a bunch of 1st grade boys out of my house while I watch Mr. B play. There's really nothing to get hurt on or get in trouble with--it's nature. They shout, run and shoot Nerf guns, general boy fun.The worst thing I've seen come out of their Saturday morning romps is their clothes--muddy and full of brambles and burrs. In my world, that's okay because Saturdays are for getting messed up while playing outside. I don't ask too many questions because I feel pretty strongly about letting kids have freedom to creatively play without a bunch of nosy grown ups bugging them about it.

Cue to a couple weekends ago when a buddy asked Mr. G to go home with him for a play date after flag football. Off he went, I returned home to finish washing dishes for 10 minutes before returning to the field to watch Mr. B play his game. The doorbell rang and I answered it--to discover a posse of boys on my front porch wanting Mr. G.

Aw, guys, I'm sorry--he went over to M's today after the game. You'll have to come over and play next week.

What about your other son?

He's busy playing football right now.

What about your other son--the oldest?

He's got some Boy Scout stuff going on today. Gosh, guys, I'm really sorry.

But we want to hunt for the yeti in your woods.

Ah. The yeti. That's trademark Team Testosterone--making up a storyline to add to their adventures in the woods. And that explains what they're doing every Saturday--and why the ranks of boys back there each week keeps increasing.

Yeah, we need to hunt for him and Mr. G knows where to go. We've seen his tracks.

Really?

Is it true that Mr. B has seen the yeti 10 times?

Ummm...is that what they told you? These kids know my sons are making this up, right?

Is it true that he's been living back there for a hundred years?

That seems to be the story... Part of me wants to perpetuate the myth and verify Team Testosterone's story, but I'm starting to worry that these kids are pretty gullible.

Is it true there was once a bear back in your woods?

Well, our neighbor thought so--he saw some scat.

Is there really a secret hideout where the yeti lives?

Is it true that the yeti is 8 feet tall?

Then one boy lowers his voice and looks at me with solemn eyes. Is it true that you had another son and when he was a baby he wandered into the woods and the yeti ate him?

I can't help laughing. Oh, honey, you know my boys are just making that up. Right? RIGHT?

We'll be back next week. Mr. G will be here, right? Then we can hunt for the yeti again.

And they were.

What really tickled me is when another mother told me how much fun her kids have at our place, hunting for a yeti. I didn't think I needed to tell her the yeti was only a legend ...

But still, I can't help asking her, "Did your sons tell you how the yeti ate my other son?"

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glorious fall

Picked and packed and posing: Mr. T, Green Girl & Mr. G.

I've quit hating on fall--I blame the awesome weather we've been having since Saturday. Absolutely gorgeous and sunshine-y and mild. I grubbed in the garden. I watched Wisconsin teams DOMINATE over their opponents all weekend (seriously--no other state in the Union is cheering like we are--our Monday sports section in the newspaper is twice as thick now with all the reporting of Badgers and Packers and Brewers). I ran a sensational 26:37 for my 3 mile candidate training run. (Actually, that last bit is both good and bad--that was my goal for my final run time and now I have to beat it for two more weekends--is that even possible? I asked Mr. O if he was fudging my run time and he laughed at me--guess not.) Our neighbors had fireworks, Team Testosterone (plus Mr. B's BFF Mr. A) played hard and long outside and we picked the pumpkin patch.

Mr. B, convicted truant, biting into an apple.

The boys played flag football, we ordered take-out pizza on Saturday and grilled a big ol' tenderloin on Sunday--ate it with a side of salad, green beans, potato salad and butterscotch brownies warm from the oven.

Loading the bags in a sunny orchard.

How can a person be grumpy with so many blessings? Asters in bloom, a new propane tank and contract (saving us a lot of money), apples--so many apples! I bought one of those nifty corer-peeler gadgets and things have gotten pretty saucy around here.

C'mere you little rascals, mama wants to give you big hugs.

Turns out a little fresh air and sunshine is exactly what this Green Girl needed. Spill it, reader.

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a buddy for jax

I'm not a dog person. That being said, Jax is a good dog. He's figured out our property boundaries so I don't have to chase him a country mile and drag him back home. He appreciates that he has to sometimes go in his kennel, but mostly does not. He ignores the fabulous dog house we built him and sleeps in a burrowed out spot beneath our bedroom window. Because he poops in the tall grass and weeds preventing us from cleaning up after him, I'm not even mad that he dug up the daffodils in his sleeping spot.

Jax follows me around the yard while I'm working and up the driveway to get the mail and paper. He paws me when I sit, demanding that I pet him. Once a week I really dig in with my fingers and work out the loose fur and scratch and scratch him free of that burden. He loves being in the Momvan, he loves chasing the boys, he gently allows the neighbor girl to pat him and run away squealing.

He's a chubby (seriously--Mr. G fed him a whole box of dog treats the other week--the boys are always feeding him) and content. Like his predecessor, Violet the semi-stray cat, Jax does not bark or nip or growl or in any way act aggressive. He's just a friendly beast with a mellow vibe.

Mr. D keeps feeding me this line about how Jax will be this fantastic watch dog. He'll let you know if someone's coming up the drive--when you're home alone during the day, he'll keep you safe. True story: we have this wonderful man who fixes our small engines (ATV, chainsaw, etc.). We had a dead battery and I called him, he dropped by one afternoon to take a look and helped himself to the open garage. I joined him after he'd been here for maybe 5 minutes and he chuckled and told me he didn't know we had a dog. Apparently he was looking at the guts of the ATV and reached down for a screwdriver and touched a wet nose. That fantastic watch dog? Hadn't made a sound. When M looked down at him, Jax wagged his tail and smiled.

Usually if a car pulls in the driveway, Jax will come check it out, but he'll stand back. Imagine my surprise when I stood at the kitchen window yesterday doing dishes and saw Jax act completely out of character. A rumble down the drive sent Jax running full-tilt to greet the UPS truck. I've never seen him go at a vehicle like that. You know those stereotypes about dogs and mailmen? I figured we had a situation like that on our hands. I dried off while keeping an eye on the dog and truck. Jax stood at the edge of the truck, tail wagging with excitement. A moment later the UPS guy tossed him a treat.

Aha! That's why Jax got all revved up about the UPS truck. Treats! Later Team Testosterone informed me that "The UPS guy always gives Jax a treat. They're friends." Whether that UPS guy does this for all dogs or just Jax doesn't matter, Jax loveslovesloves him.

There's only one way to end a story about a dog these days.

Squirrel!

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burning up

Yesterday I turned off the heat--you read that right. Mother's Day and it finally warmed up enough to turn off the heat. Sixty degrees brings less of a bite when the wind blows and this hot mama spent the bulk of her weekend outside. Garden beds were cleaned out. The pool got shocked and vacuumed. Screens were hung, windows were washed, laundry dried on the lines. Basketballs got dribbled and shot, boys played in the creek and everyone got muddy. It felt glorious to come inside at the end of the day sweaty and grubby with dirt buried beneath my nails and caked into my heels. The showers of winter merely freshen our stale bodies, but the showers of spring and summer--when the soap bubbles turn brown with the day's exertion--well, those feel like a thing deserved, earned somehow.

We dined like kings--burgers on the grill, homemade potato salad, lemonade and a beer for me. A satisfying weekend--I forgive spring for her late arrival.

Last night I lay in bed, my soul warmed by the sun's rays and all that I'd accomplished. Then I realized part of the heat was radiating from my arms--sunburned and giving me a bona fide farmer's tan. Hot mama indeed.

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good things (NOT the Martha Stewart edition)

Friday night my ears popped and I could hear clearly for the first time in over a week. The sounds! The clarity! Heaven!

Speaking of hearing--this story about Lila, Jami Nato's daughter, just made me all weepy with joy.

Saturday I stood outside Habitat ReStore with Mr. G trying to figure out how to manage 2 heavy boxes of wood scraps and my bag across the parking lot. It would take two trips and I'd resigned myself to that fact when the tall red-haired man behind me offered to carry one for me. "I'm waiting for someone right now anyway. It's no problem." The kindness of strangers is one of life's sweetest surprises. We made it to the Momvan in one trip and I felt so grateful.

Finding a Target gift card buried in a pile of stuff. Handing it to the cashier and discovering it's worth $20!

Watching Megamind with Team Testosterone. Very funny.

Even funnier? Playing Charades. Especially when one of the players is six years old.

Going to church as a family and coming home to cook bacon, eggs and English Muffins for breakfast afterwards--buttery, savory, greasy deliciousness.

Temps reaching the 40s--with a forecast of 50s by the end of the week. I'll open windows! Hang out bedding! Start running again!

Sleeping though the night without coughing. Waking up to nary a rumble in my chest--just the clear, steady sound of healthy breathing.

Spill it, reader. Good things.

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