Friday, March 30, 2007
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
Here it is, finally. The long awaited rooster killing with lots and lots and lots of pictures.
*DEAR READER BEWARE*
This post is as real as it gets. There are guts, some blood and dismemberment.
You have been warned.
Here the mighty man of valor sharpens his ax in preparation for our first ever chicken slaughter.
The guest of honor, Edna. Named after my grandmother, by mistake. We thought he was just a hen, turned out he was a rooster and a mean one at that. He brought about his demise when he relentlessly attacked the two year old.
The woodsman ties Ed's feet from a rope that is suspended from a branch in a tree. He stretches his neck out on a log.
Ed was very calm throughout; we asked him if he had any final words.
Cockadoodle DOOOOOO .....
It was a nice clean cut. We let him hang for about five minutes. A chicken has two nervous systems so they flap around quite a bit after they have been killed. It's weird. Just when you think they are done, they start flapping a bit more. Creepy.
There was not as much blood as we had prepared ourselves for.
The hunters first kill.
We prepared a large pot of boiling water in advance. The mighty-warrior-chicken-killing machine dips his trophy into the pot. The chicken stays in the pot for one minute, that's it, your not cooking him, yet.
Then the chicken is pulled out of the water and the body feathers peel away very easily.
Funny, my sons are more interested in the dirty water than their father plucking a chicken.
The tail and wing feathers take a bit more brawn to pluck.
My son gets to play a little tug-o-war with Ed.
Now, lets go see what's inside of that rooster!
One of us held a book with step by step instructions, while the other tried to comprehend what it all meant.
The feet come off first. Slice the skin around the joint.
No, hon, the joint, move the knife down a bit....
This is where my years of preparing chicken dinners paid off.
Wah-la! A very clean cut.
Looks just like a leg from KFC.
Next, pull out the neck and the gullet. What's a gullet? It's the sack in the chickens throat where the food is stored. We didn't withhold food before killing Ed, and we would come to realize that may not have been a good idea.
Slice the neck and gullet out at the base just inside the body cavity.
Did you get the gullet? We'll soon see.
Okay, this is the yuckiest part. A chicken apparently has an oil gland located right above their um...little fat...uh...butt? No, tail.
See that yellow thing sticking out by the knife blade? That's the, ugh, oil gland. Yick, this just made me sick, it was greasy and well, oily...blech.
Mighty-ferocious-beast-slaughtering man just scooped it right out with his sharp little knife.
That's the neck laying on the board, get your head out of the gutter, this is a family-style slaughter. Do you see the gullet? No? What's does the gullet look like? Hmmmm.
Mighty-beast-stalking-hunter-man prepares to dig out the guts.
If you have done everything correctly then you can slide your hand up into the body cavity and pull out all the organs.
Except Super-human-beast-killing man's hands were to big, so I got the job.
It was all nice and warm and squishy inside there.
Get away from my chicken woman!
No, me! My chicken!
Guts. But, not all of them. Something wasn't coming out.
There was a definite clog up at the neck that wouldn't release the remaining organs.
Ahhh, here's the problem. The gullet. It was still in place. It's the red and yellowish thing being pinched. No, the other red and yellowish thing. What? It all looks red and yellowish? Well, guess you had to be there.
What's inside of it? Let's take a look.
Ed's last meal.
Finally, all the guts. Let's see what we have; the heart is to the left on the pavement. The blob in the middle is the intestines, liver and gizzard and the two blobs to the far right are the testicles.....no, just kidding. I think those are the kidneys.
and a foot
Now we're done with the outside work. Let's step into April's kitchen and wash that bird like crazy under cold water.
Note how yellow the skin is? It's very greasy.
The easiest way to store a fresh kill is to cut it up in pieces and place it in freezer bags.
So, let's get to cutting.
Legs and thigh and the two wings. Look at how dark the meat is.
I saved the feet to pick my teeth with and ward off any evil spirits
Here's the cook. I've only scalped my head on that low hanging cupboard about fifty times in the last two years.
But look, I'm smiling through the pain.
Now, who's up for some chicken?
continued from the previous post
There are many couples in this world that just don’t match. You know what I mean? Like Sonny and Cher, they just didn’t match or how about Donald Trump and his latest super-model wife, please? Kelly and I were one of those mismatched couples. I was a head taller than him, he had jet black hair and flawless skin, I had freaky-white hair and freckles splattered all over my face and I’m guessing that I weighed three times as much as him. But, when you’re blinded by love, those physical features just blend together perfectly.
Kelly and I spent every possible moment together. During recess I would carry him around on my back, because he was just a tiny little thing and well, I was gigantic. I wanted to squeeze him and pet him and call him mine forever and ever; yes, I was that abominable cartoon creature with the tiny, cute, loveable pet.
One day as we wrestled around on the grass during recess I kissed his cheek. He stopped and looked at me with a big smile then wrestled me back to the ground and returned the kiss on my big freckled face. Oh, it was love.
Kelly had two older sisters that would crochet bracelets and necklaces for him to give to me. I wore all my yarn jewelry with the proud air of The Queen Mum. One day the sisters scrounged up a real piece of jewelry for Kelly to give me. It was a thick silver bracelet that clasped around the wrist like Wonder Woman’s arm bands. I hadn’t the nerve to tell him that I thought it was too much, I also hadn’t openly admitted to any of my family that Kelly was the man of my dreams and we were so in love that nothing could tear us apart. So, as I walked out of school that day I thought about how I would hide the bracelet. My first thought was to stow it away under one of the bushes at school and then retrieve it every morning before classes started but, I didn’t want to risk it getting dirty. I decided the best thing would be to come up with a real wing-dinger of a story to tell my mother and sister and then my love bracelet would never have to leave my body.
First, I showed the bracelet to my sister. She looked at it and asked where I got it. I told her I had found it under the bushes in front of the school. That seemed to satisfy her and we walked to the car where my mother was waiting to take us home. The first words out of my sister’s mouth were, “Mom, April found a bracelet.” That did it, I didn’t have the time or the experience to get my story straight, my mother asked where I’d found it, how I found it, who did I think it belonged to, and then she marched me up to the school and into the office where I had to hand in my bracelet to the school secretary to put in the lost and found. I was crushed. I knew deep down that my mother would never understand that the bracelet was a gift to me from my true love. So, I let it go. I never saw my beautiful silver Wonder Womanish bracelet again.
Kelly didn’t care that I had so carelessly lost the bracelet. Our love was stronger than any material gift. We continued to be in love and then Christmas break came. We talked on the phone once; it was awkward because if we couldn’t push each other on the swings or play horse and rider, then we didn’t have much to say. I think he told me something about visiting an antenna.
When we came back from Christmas I noticed Kelly’s desk was empty. I asked our good friend Danny where Kelly was and he told me he had move to Antenna. Our town’s radio and television station was located two blocks north of Maine Street and the antenna soared above all the trees. I always dreamed of climbing to the top to see how high it was. I was excited that Kelly was living by the antenna; maybe he would get to climb it and tell me how high it was. Day after day I thought Kelly would come back. I asked Danny if Kelly was going to a different school and Danny said, “Yeah, he’s going to a school in antenna.” Kelly was gone, forever. My little, tiny, bundle of sweetness was gone.
I don’t think it was until third grade while I was studying the United States that it dawned on me that Kelly had moved to Montana.
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
Brad Meyers was a very flirty, ornery boy that I grew up with in my small Kansas town. We easily became friends and I always enjoyed talking to him, but by the time we were in high school he had become a rocker-head and was held back a year in school. In a small town if you get held back a grade, well, it doesn’t do much for your social life, poor guy.
For some reason, during the early weeks of first grade, Brad became smitten with me. Our teacher had arranged our desks in a semi-circle around the room facing her desk. I sat just two desks away from Brad. This nearness allowed us to pass notes easily to each other without detection. I would write Brad a note saying, “Want to play swings at recess?” He would write one back that read, “You are cute.” I’d glare at him because being called cute was mean and a stupid thing to say, I hated it when any adult called me cute and it was worse coming from a nitwit, love-struck boy! I’d write him a note saying as much. Unrelenting, he would write, “I love you.” I’d retort with, “I DO NOT LOVE YOU!” Back would come, “I Love you forever.” I would beg him to stop writing me notes but he continued the onslaught. Finally, fed up and unable to put a halt to his forth right words of affection, I came up with a brilliant plan. The next note I received that professed Brad’s love to me, I would get up, march to the opposite side of the room and plop it down on a boy’s desk, then that boy would think that Brad loved him. Brad would be so embarrassed and the unsuspecting boy would be so mad that he would beat up Brad and Brad would leave me alone forever. It was flawless; I was a seven year old genius.
The note came not long after my plan was hatched and I executed it with superb eloquence. Not caring if I would be reprimanded for leaving my desk I hopped up and delivered the note straight to the desk of a boy I knew nothing about, Kelly. Marching back to my desk with confidence I gave Brad a look that said, “You are a silly boy trying to mess with me! I am waaaaaay smarter than you. Don’t you look dumb now? Yes, you do. But, I look cool and the entire class thinks you’re a doo-doo head and I’m clever, yes I am.” It’s possible that I stuck my tongue out too.
I sat down at my desk reveling in my own glory. Unfortunately, I didn’t pay attention to one small detail. The small detail that distinguished who was actually writing that note to Kelly, there was no signature. Kelly saw that note as a hand delivered, hand written confession of my deepest feelings for him. How do I know this? Minutes later Kelly passed the same note around the semi-circle back to me. Some of my classmates took the time to read the note and smiled in my direction as they continued to pass it along to me. I opened the familiar piece of paper and read Brad’s scrawling, “I love you” and underneath was Kelly’s note, “I love you too.”
I could feel my neck and ears getting itchy with the blood that was rushing to my head, I realized my mistake. I was panicked. What had I done? How would I correct this awful mistake? Then I looked across the room at Kelly. There he was staring at me with his big chocolate brown eyes, smooth peaches and cream skin with a small black mole at the corner of his upper lip and a smile. Well, maybe I did love him.
To be continued…..
Monday, March 26, 2007
When I was in first grade I accidentally professed my love to my first boyfriend, Kelly.
Remember the jazz shoes I wrote about? I was wearing those when the kitchen grater incident happened.
We used to have 28 chickens. We now have half that number. Do you want to know what happened? Also, I have a large child in my house that is unable to walk, and I've decided that I live down in a holler.
Okay, you still have time to vote.....but really, I'll probably write about all of them.
poured out by April at 11:35 AM
Sunday, March 25, 2007
After I had a terse conversation with my two oldest sons and my husband about taking off their
Godblessamerica muddy shoes before they come in the house and threatening to put a couch, t.v. and all of them on the front porch to live out the remainder of their days so they can contentedly wear their Godblessamerica muddy shoes wherever they darn well please.....
I see my husband walking across the muddy yard in his white socks and then entering the house!
Me- What are you doing?!
Him- (startled) Uh? What?
Me- You have on your socks!
Him- Well, you made me take off my shoes and I didn't have time to put them back on. Have you seen my baseball cap?
Him- I have to take Seth to baseball practice.
Me- Are you taking Ike?
Him- No, I won't have time to watch him.
Me- You are not the coach.
Him- Uh, yeah, I'm one of them.
Me-No, your not.
Him- Honey, don't be difficult. Look, I'm taking my muddy shoes with me and did I tell you that you have on pretty shoes? They make you look pretty.
Me- They look pretty because they aren't muddy!
I constantly have stories that I'm retelling in my head. I don't always get them written down, but I thought if you all wanted to hear some, then I'd be more motivated to get them out of the dense forest that is my brain.
Whatcha wanna hear 'bout?
Kelly, my first boyfriend....he had a mole like Marilyn Monroe.
Where's my grater!? Another Carmen and April Classic
Recent happenings around The Big Baby Ruth....this includes bodily harm, murder and a natural disaster.
Okay? If your at all interested in promoting more fodder on this sight, leave a comment and vote for what you want to hear about and I'll scribble up a bit on which one gets the most votes before the week is done.
poured out by April at 8:49 AM
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
My best friend from seventh grade through high school was Carmen. Carmen was nine inches shorter than me, skinny, smart, respectful, popular, state cross country champ, honor society member, teacher's pet, modest, kind, blah-blah-lots of good things blah. I was her tall, blond, funny, dumb, fashion advising side kick. We heard ourselves described as Mutt and Jeff more than once.
We spent most of our time laughing at each other, but mostly at me. Carmen had an amazing way of blending in with a crowd or becoming invisible and therefore avoided a lot of public humiliation for things that she was solely responsible for. She also had a laugh that sounded a bit like a new born puppy grunting, short inhalations through her nose barely audible to the human ear.
We lived about half a mile apart on the same rural route, so we spent an ungodly amount of time at each other's homes. When talking about our parents, we would refer to them by their first names, because we thought that was funny and our parents have uncommonly old people names so it was fun to say, "Harry and Martha were a bit peeved that I parked my car on their side of the garage." and "Gerald and Faye are going to Colorado this weekend." Carmen's dad was a dead ringer for Sonny Bono and my dad had a striking resemblance to The Fonz. You can imagine the amount of fun we had with that.
My grandmother was house-sitting for us once and Carmen's dad stopped by to drop off some papers for my dad. When my parents returned, my slightly stunned and star-stuck grandma said, "Sonny Bono stopped by to say hi!"
Carmen had an older brother, Camron. He was a senior when we were freshmen in high school. This boded well for Carmen because her brother was a champ in wrestling and fairly popular so his buddies knew better than to mess with his little sister. However, her best friend was fair game. One of Camron's best buds was Bryce Cole or, as I appropriatley named him, Brass Hole.
From day one of my freshman year Brass Hole and his gang of Levi's 501-Stetson Cologne wearing gang had fixed their sights on me as target practice for their amusement. I never stood a chance to even introduce myself by name for I was quickly tagged as, "Albee", that would be short for albino. So, as Carmen and I would stroll to our lockers, Brass Hole and the Levi's 501-Stetson gang would walk down the hall and say, "Hey Carm, howya doin? How's Albee today?" Carmen would sneer and I would turn various shades of crimson only giving more credence to my freaky white locks and encouraging them to further point out how red my white skin could become.
Carmen turned 15 early in the school year and was able to drive us to school in her little blue Jeep. This was the kind of Jeep that guys use to go hunting, it sat up high on big tires, had little removable doors, no real windows, and a snap-on vinyl top. I hated that Jeep. It was nearly impossible for me to get my six foot body stuffed into the seat. There was nothing solid to grasp onto for assisting me in my launch into the Jeep. I never knew if I should try to hike my butt up into the seat and then fold my legs one by one into the side or kick my left leg in and then flop my body towards the driver's side and hope for a good landing. Carmen spent a lot of time waiting for me to, "GET IN!".
Being tall was a curse when I was young. I towered over all the girls and a large majority of the guys, including Brass Hole. I carefully chose the flattest shoes made. My favorite, were a pair of navy blue, leather, lace up jazz shoes. They had slick leather soles and were very cool and very flat. Unfortunately, the slick part gave me a lot of trouble. Our school janitor made sure that the floors in our hallways were shined to a mirror finish so while wearing my jazz shoes, I would precariously slide around corners, skate into lockers, skid to a stop or just fall down. I was constantly flailing around for something to hold onto to keep me from slipping: the stair railing, an open locker door, or an unsuspecting person were all frequently used to aid me to a stop. I usually had my books in one arm because this was in the day before backpacks were cool, therefore; I only had one arm to use to stable myself.
One winter day as school had let out, Carmen and I walked through the slushy parking lot to head home in her Jeep. Carmen did her usual "hippity-hoppity like a little sprite freakin' bunny" into the driver's side of the Jeep and then settled down in a comfortable position to wait for me to decide which launching method would be necessary for me to, "Get in!". I carefully secured all my books in my left arm and placed my pencil bag in my mouth. I used my right hand to open the little, but useless door to the Jeep and then kicked my left leg up into the passenger side. As I kicked my left foot, my right foot, donning none other than my slick jazz shoes, slid on the ice. I grabbed for the tiny metal door handle with my right hand just in time to keep me from falling in the slush and mud. It all happened so quickly that Carmen didn't realize I had suspended myself under the door. There I was, one leg hooked in the Jeep and the other sprawled under the open door unable to pull myself back up. I was mumbling through the pencil bag, "Arnen, I huck, I huck! Hef me! Hef!"
Carmen, laughing hysterically, jumped out and helped right me to my feet. I got up and embarrassingly looked around to see if anyone saw me. There they were, Brass Hole and the Levi's 501-Stetson gang getting a hardy laugh at my predicament from just across the parking lot.
I've blocked out what they must have said to me for weeks after that little stunt. But, since I was freely giving them such usable material, I can only imagine that I relived that humiliation over and over and over.
Ten years later, at my sister's wedding I saw Brass Hole. He and his wife entered the reception hall while I was standing by the door, his wife turned to me and said, "Bryce was really worried about coming because he knew you would be here and he feels so terrible about how he treated you in high school." I was standing there holding my sweet little baby girl and as sweetly as I could manage I replied, "Oh, goodness, that was a million years ago. I'm so glad you both came! By the way, did you know I used to call you Brass Hole?" They both looked at me and started laughing and then Brass Hole said, "I deserved worse than that!"
Yes, he did. Yes, he certainly did.
Monday, March 19, 2007
I fired my cleaning service. Not really, but saying it that way makes me feel powerful. They came twice a month and it was so wonderful. But, never again, or at least not until I'm desperate.
I'm desperate. Come back cleaning ladies, come back!
My children outnumber me four to one. I can only sweep my kitchen floor twenty times a day before I decide it's just a stupid waste of energy. I can only yell and bark orders so many times before I just give up and hide in the office hoping when I come out the house will be in order and smelling fresh.
To make myself feel better I'm writing a list of what I plan to do to my children's homes when I visit them, which will be often and for several weeks at at time.
1. I will pee all over the toilette seat and heck maybe on the floor and if I'm still agile enough I'll aim some at the wall and I will never flush the toilette, ever or wash my hands.
2. I'm going to spill every beverage I'm handed on the countertop and then to be helpful I'll use every paper napkin available to clean it up, but leave the soggy napkins on the countertop to dry therefore gluing themselves to the counter.
3. I'll drop my clothes in the bathroom, the living room, the kitchen, the foyer, the porch, the basement and leave a few socks in their car.
4. I'm going to pack the largest suitcase I can find with five bazillion Legos. I will drop Legos in the toilette, the sink, put some in the fireplace, sprinkle them in the yard, chuck a few in the garage and then like a flower girl I will promenade through the house and lightly dust every room with a covering of colorful plastic, oh the glee.
5. I will bring with me an entire tube of toothpaste and on the last day I'm at their house I will brush my teeth and then smear toothpaste in the sink on the floor, the mirror, the tub and I'll rub some in the carpet with my foot and then toss the empty tube in a drawer without the cap.
6. I will take all their DVDs and CDs and put them in the wrong cases, and leave a few empty.
7. I'll hide all their remotes and cordless phones.
8. I'll go into their closets and try on all their shoes and then throw them out of the closet when I'm done.
9. I'll open every packaged food item and then leave it open and place it precariously on the edge of the shelf in the pantry so when they open the door the bag will tip out and spill the entire bag of chips, cheerios, nuts, pretzels and what have you all over the floor.
10. I will use every towel they own.
11. I will offer to sweep up some of the spilled pantry items and then dump the dustpan into their car.
12. I'll hold a handful of Hershey kisses in my hands until they're all nice and gooey and then I will finger paint the windows, just cuz.
13. I'll stand in one spot, preferably their bedroom and hold the trigger of a full can of wretched smelling Lysol until it fizzes out, leaving the fumes to cascade around the room for days.
14. I'll offer to do their laundry and then dump it all in their closet.
15. I'll hide half eaten Oreo cookies under all the couch cushions.
16. I'll accidentally break one precious thing or maybe two.
17. I'll smear honey on all the door knobs.
18. I'll cry, whine and act sick if they ask me to help clean up.
19. I'll beg for all my friends to come over when I've got the house looking really ripe.
20. I'll look around and swear repeatedly that the house doesn't look that messy.
and then I'll line them up, give them a hug, a kiss and wave goodbye, until next time....
Sunday, March 18, 2007
I've been reading quite a few books lately. My problem is I start a book and then start another and then maybe start one more just because I like to complicate things. My problem then is that I confuse some of the characters and what they are doing and then I get one big discombobulated story that might take place on a chicken ranch smack in the middle of Brooklyn to a very confused Presbyterian teenager that gets ship wrecked on a deserted island. What?
I'm currently reading Betty MacDonald's The Egg and I which is excellent reading if you love stories about Ma and Pa Kettle and other crazy woods people. She's very funny and the stuff she lived through on her chicken ranch is just painful and inspirational if it's possible for both of those things to happen, well, if you read several books at a time anything can happen and be somewhat true in your head even though it's happening in three different books.
I recently finished reading Home is always the place you just left. A memoir of restless longing and persistent grace by Betty Smartt Carter.
A friend loaned me this book after I had one of my many "I-need-to-get-the-H-E-Double-Hockey-Sticks-outta-Missouri" moments. It's painful, but real. Betty Smartt Carter is the daughter of Kennedy Smartt the founding father of the Presbyterian Church of America. She writes about her life journey to Christ. Her overly sympathetic attention she gives to people, her need to be loved and her doubts that God is real and loves her. It's an amazing and touching story.
We are reading Robinson Crusoe by Daniel Defoe. This is my second go around with this book. I must say I enjoy reading it much, much, much more this time with my son than I did with my daughter. My son loves the high sea adventure, the ship wrecks, the weapons, the wild beasts etc. We will read for about an hour before one of us cries, "Mercy, my throat is too dry!" I just remember how painful it was reading it with my daughter, she just couldn't wait for it to end. It does take some patience to read the old style and deciding how you will pronounce "viz" which to us is an exasperated sigh.
My sister left A Tree Grows in Brooklyn on her last visit to my house. So I picked it up and have been reading it off an on. I need to get back to it, but not before I start....
Give Father A hard Knock by Ken Kraft. He is the author that my sister introduced me to. This book is about an object lesson in family turnabout. He and his wife Pat go to live with his father in U-City, Missouri just after they were married. Ken has a wonderful dry sense of humor. I got my neighbor hooked on him and now we are hoping beyond hope that we may someday just happen upon his Missouri farm, even though he hasn't lived there for more than thirty years.
and lastly, but certainly not the least..
We are studying the Gospel of Mark by God. I've decided that the parable of the seed is my favorite parable. Am I the only person that thinks it was slightly funny that Jesus spoke this parable to the crowd, but didn't explain what it meant and then His apostles were slightly clueless too? I'm sure I would have been saying, "Huh?" to a lot of Jesus' parables too. I'm glad I get to read the Bible and have a study guide to lead me through it.
Friday, March 16, 2007
I found an envelope sweetly decorated lying on the top of the stairs that said, 'Open right away!'. Inside was a colorful hand decorated card. Inside the card was a typed poem.
Her hair is blond her eyes are blue
She is soft and kind only on the best of days
The other days she is a whirling twirling Major wind storm
She's a master at making you Guilty
Even if it's about the smallest thing
Maybe the reason for all her yelling is the treats she receives afterwards
It began with an Enormous heart shaped pillow
Next it was breakfast ready on the table
Which was quickly moved to the bed
Even a surprise mini party
We will never know exactly
but we do know that these special treats
usually only take place on Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday
Thursday, March 15, 2007
This morning as I was driving my daughter to take her mid-term exams I was singing along with a Leann Rimes song. Just to make it more fun, I decided singing the song with a really bad Spanish accent.
"HOW WOULD I LEEEEEVE WIT-OUT CHOOOU? IF CHOOOOU ONLY KNEW. BABY I WOULD DO ANYSING. DA Da lee dooo laa la loooooo (this is where I insert my own little twist on the song because I don't know all the words).
I was having a really good time. It's a new day, the sun is shining, I was happy, what could possibly bring me down?
I glanced over at my daughter and noticed she was sitting up straight in her seat staring out the front window. Normally, she would be staring at me either laughing or rolling her eyes while shaking her head in amazement at how incredibly talented I am. I know she wishes she was even half as cool as me, but with her father's genes I don't think it's possible.
"So, are you ready? Huh? Ya ready? Ya ready?" I questioned her.
"I'm trying to study in my head, but you're being so loud! Sheesh!" was her exasperated reply.
"Oh, sorry." I turned off the music and deflated. The rays of colorful light that had been emitting from my inner being dissipated into a fine mist and were sucked out through the ventilation system.
"Do you know how to say, 'I love you Mom' in Latin?" I sheepishly asked.
"Yes. Te Amo Mater." she said smiling at me.
When we pulled into the parking lot she didn't want to go into the building quite yet. I asked her if she wanted to pray. So I held her hand and we asked God to help her remember everything she had been studying and thanked Him for the opportunity to learn and some other things. Then she gave me a few hugs and a kiss and off she went.
As I sped away I turned up the music and then decided it wasn't as much fun to sing really loud in a Spanish accent without an audience, so I turned off the radio and had a nice little chat with myself about an old dilapidated house that sits downtown. I must say, it was quite a nice conversation.
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
I wanted to write a post about what a stubborn, skunk my two year old has been. I wanted to show you a bunch of pictures of him screaming and throwing his giants fits. I wanted you all to feel my pain, but all his pictures look a lot like this one. I think you all would think I was lying. Little poop-head.
Sunday, March 11, 2007
I am woman! Yesterday, after hours and hours and hours of raking and burning and hauling the woods in my front and back and side yards, I looked about and thought I could be raking and burning and hauling for the next twenty years and this place would still look like it was swallowed by a big leaf-belching-twig-barfing tree! That's when I decided I needed to cut down some trees!
I told my husband to teach me how to use his chainsaw and with reluctance, he did. I started out cutting small stumps off at the base that have been bugging me because I was certain that a child would be shish-ka-bobbed on them. My husband watched me from a distance. I don't know if he was more worried that I would decapitate myself or hurt his precious saw.
I cut down four trees all by myself. I had to hold one back from falling when my 5yo decided to run in front of it just as it started to fall. I think I screamed, "ISAAAAAAC MOOOOVE!!" loud enough for all of you to hear, next time I'll yell, "Timber" like every good woodswoman does.
I don't think I made a difference in the yard's appearance. Mostly; because I left the felled trees laying in the yard partially cut into logs. But, now that I know how to use the saw, look out!