Mork Calling Orson....come in, Orson!

We are here! We are safe! We are healthy! My two fans, Sally and Horsemom: thank you for checking in frequently, requesting updates. We have been having a hot, dry, but good summer. We were hoping to get about 500 bales of hay off the 1 yr. old field that I manage. Just before the drought began, we (and I say "we" VERY loosely) baled 800 bales of hay!

After putting up our own stash, we sold the remainder almost immediately. Which seemed good, at that time. Had we waited a month, we would have made a terrific profit, but that in a nutshell, is the hay business. The great news is that our loft is full. The bad news is that our pasture is teetering on dead and the hay field did not even grow after the cutting. We have received a couple of inches of rain in the past week. So I do see little green sprouts in my pasture, and I do see the hay field getting a little green besides just the weeds (which do not die in the drought of the century--go figure!) So I have hope.

We made it through the 4H Fair, although we only went one time besides our dog showing days. Little Peanut Daughter was Champion in her showmanship level (!) and Reserve Champion of Rally Obedience. Not bad...considering the complete lack of practice. I was shocked...didn't even have the camera! Bad mommy!

My Percheron therapist went home. I was very sad and disappointed. But when things are beyond your control, they are beyond your control. And it turns out that it is a better thing for me right now. Less poop, less hay, less work, one big thing off my plate. Granted, it was one big thing on my plate, that I LIKED! But sometimes, oftentimes, the Lord knows better than I do. So, on to the next roller coaster hill.

I have been training to be a school bus driver! It is good pay for a great part-time schedule. I take my CDL skills (driving) test next week. I have already passed 4 different written exams and a physical. I drove on the interstate, in a construction zone, last week. I said something like, "Remember when I said that after cancer, nothing is scary to me?? I was LYING!" I did white-knuckle it through the concrete abuttments, but we survived and my terrific trainer just kept saying, "You're doing fine. YOU'RE FINE. There won't be any construction zones on your test." :)

The biggest news of all is, WE ARE COOKING INSIDE! Yes, fans, we got our 10 yr. old, "brand-new" cooktop installed and working just before the one-year mark of July 4. All appliances are in place. New laminate countertops in and happy with that choice. Current issues will be detailed more fully over at the remodeling blog: http://www.deathbykitchen.blogspot.com , I promise! There are many things still to do, choose, install and complete. It is far from over.

#1 will be a senior in about 10 days. She does not believe it and is not embracing it at all. She just likes driving by herself. #2 is sure she is really 16, no matter what her birth certificate says. #3 is not convinced that she just turned 9 since her feet don't touch the floor when she sits at the table. I am delighted to have hair hitting my shoulders, although it is not the glorious hair of old. Thinner, flatter, but legit-ponytail at least. I shall not lament.

I am continuing my nut-job health-food weirdness, handed down to me by my mother. More to come on kefir (dairy and water), goat milk, raw honey (bees say hi!) and my ongoing mission to actually keep my house under control. If you're reading this, please leave a little comment. It really stokes the fire!

Menu Plan Monday--ALREADY? ARE YOU KIDDING ME??

I have only a few words today: Corporate taxes are due 3/15...which means my accountant wants to see something before then. Which means I should have done more sooner; which means I am still procrastinating on SOME things, which was one of my New Year's resolutions.

Which means we are having PB&J for most of this week.

Thank you for your patience. We will commence planning again soon.

Feel free to send me your plan so I can sponge off your efforts. :)

Menu Plan Monday--ALREADY? ARE YOU KIDDING ME??

I'm not ready! I'm not buckled in yet!

Monday: Eating at MIL's house--THANK the merciful Lord.

Tuesday: Spaghetti, salad and garlic bread. Cooking on the driveway again. Easy and everyone likes it.

Wednesday: Pizza Hut. Awana is back on after two missed weeks due to measles contamination. So we'll be hustling out the door.

Thursday: Handyman is in charge of dinner, because he was gone all week last week. And it's his turn.

Friday: Rueben casserole that I saw in the newspaper. Haven't figured out where I will bake it yet.

Sorry this isn't very helpful to you all. Can I just encourage you to put something down on paper. It makes all the difference in the world. Seriously. :)

Chickens

We love our chickens, and we love their eggs. They were our first farm animal. We bought an original flock of chicks about 6 years ago, with some friends. They raised that first group in two baby pools in their garage. They were suburbanites with 6 kids and wanted the experience. Once they were grown into pullets we moved them here, into the coop on wheels that Handyman had built.

They were a terrific flock, half Ameracauna (Easter-Eggers who lay green eggs), and half Rhode Island Reds, with a few unique specimens thrown in. We lost several to hawks, especially in the beginning. We had made them a wonderful aviary with pvc and poultry netting. It eventually got destroyed in a windstorm. Then for awhile they were free range in our orchard. It was absolutely delightful and hilarious to have chickens on the front sidewalk, looking in the sidelights at the front door!

Ameracaunas are wonderful, and they can vary greatly in coloration. We had one who was completely white, named Tweety. We knew she was an Ameracauna by her green legs. We also had one black hen. Her feathers are tipped with gold, and she has the puffy cheek feathers so common to EE's. Even as a chick, she was striking. Our friends named her Falco, because she looked like a falcon.


One spring early on, Falco went broody. This is when a hen decides she wants to hatch chicks. They refuse to get off the nest, no matter what. While they are resistant to getting off the nest, they also lose most of their fear of you in their zeal to sit. Usually hens raised without mothers (like ours), do not go broody.

Falco was a zealot. It went on for weeks. But we had no rooster, so there was no chance this was going to work out. I belonged to a great website called Backyard Chickens, and they have lots of bulletin boards for chicken lovers. I happened to see a post offering bantam hatching eggs, for a low paypal payment, including shipping. So I bought a dozen.

They arrived by Priority Mail the next day, wrapped in bubble wrap.

Bantams are small chickens, about half the normal size. I had had bantams as a teenager. They are terrific. More personality than 3 full-sized chickens. Beautiful colors, lots of fun. Since the eggs are tiny, we put all 12 under Falco.

She was unsure for the first day. Probably ready to give the whole thing up. I think she had already been broody for almost a month at this point! An entire sitting would only take 21 days, so I'm sure her hormones were ebbing. But she was swayed apparently, and commenced sitting. (I'm sure she was happy that I was no longer stealing her eggs.)

At about 2 weeks we candled them, and by golly--there were multiple ones that showed distinct promise. This being our first time to candle eggs, we were too unsure to take any away from her, even if they appeared empty. And on the night before day 21, we moved her and her nest, into a baby pool in our garage.

Sure enough, she hatched them! It was the most glorious, wonderful experience ever. Four fluffy little tiny chicks. We were enchanted. Then our stupid corgi decided he should catch one, and that was then end of that one. Kids learn about death...check that lesson off the list.

Fortunately we had 3 left. And spoiled they became. These were purebred bantam varieties. It turned out that we had a hen and rooster Buff Brahma Bantam and a Blue Cochin hen. They were tamed from birth, just about and became our favored pets. They grew up in our flower garden and we learned the vocalizations of the mother hen. The special sound that says, "DO NOT MOVE! EMMINENT DANGER!" and the one that says, "Come and get it!"

She was a wonderful mother. And she never went broody again. I have several scrapbook pages of "the chicks", and their miracle mother, Falco.

I tell you all this to say, that Falco is now the oldest and only hen left of our original flock of 28. I have one other hen, who I bought as an adult and several little bantam hens raised by their mothers, (who think I am Godzilla.) And Caesar, the little bantam rooster, is the only sibling remaining of his hatching. He is an older guy now, too.



So now we're having the urge to start a new flock. Little #3 doesn't remember raising chicks, so it's time to start thinking about another go-round. We've been through hawks, coyotes and even a loose dog massacre (someone else's dog). Having birds will definitely toughen your hide. But they are fun and the eggs just can't be beat. I purchased organic large eggs at the store, and my homegrown ones are still more orange and robust.

Another idea rattling around in my spring feverish mind...

Menu Plan Monday--on Tuesday, or Story of My Life

Yeah, yeah, it's Tuesday. So sue me! Just kidding...I can't remember what I was doing on Sunday afternoon. It might have had something to do with blowdrying a chicken, or cleaning up 3.5 gallons of dog barf underneath my office chair floor protector thingy. I am trying to blot out the entire evening really.

So here's my plan:

Monday: Ate at my MIL's. She roasted a giant chicken in the oven. We had salad, steamed baby carrots, (I added honey.) and baked potatoes. I haven't had a baked potato in about 6 months or more. (BECAUSE I DON'T HAVE AN OVEN.) I don't sound bitter, do I?

I did enter the Lowes Makeover $100,000 giveaway. The finalists will be announced on March 5--which isn't too far away. When I told Handyman, his first words were, "I wouldn't have to do the work." I am imagining what it would be like to go to Lowes with a gift card that has a $100,000 balance. I am sure I could apply some of that towards my favorite contractor...hmmmmm.

Oh! Back to: Menu Plan Monday

Tuesday: I will use some of the chicken meat sent home from MIL's, to make Chicken Taquitos (Whatever you do, don't skip the salt sprinkled on the taquitos before they're baked. Those bites were the very best!)


Wednesday: Grilled Cheeseburger Wraps, which I had posted last week and didn't use.

Thursday: Kung Pao chicken, which I added for last Sunday, but didn't use.

Friday: Spinach and Bacon Frittata and hash browns, which I made last week and enjoyed so much, we are having it again! Woot! Woot! The hens are laying.

Saturday: Slow Cooker Cream Cheese Chili

Sunday: WHO KNOWS?!

Reviewing last week's recipes, I want to say that the Ravioli in Sage Cream Sauce was AWESOME! We all loved it. The pecans were the piece you shouldn't miss out on, although other nuts would probably do as well, if you have a preference. It was easy and quick and has already been added to our favorites folder!

Check out OrgJunkie today! She has a great post with linky for her favorite organizing links! It looks chock full of stuff we can all use. And, could I ask y'all to leave a comment? It is fun to write a blog, and more fun to see 50 views for the week; but a real bummer to get absolutely no comments...if you can't think of anything, just say hi! TYVM!

The Story of Mr. Bingley

When we scouted this place out back in 2002, there was an orange cat hanging around outside. The house was vacant. We were told it had been vacant for a year. And prior to that, had been a rental for awhile.

We are all cat lovers. Handyman, like my dad, loves cats. Handyman could never have cats as a child, because his brother is allergic. He had to satisfy himself with the barn cats at his grandparents farm, when he visited them every summer.

When we married in 1991, I had two cats. The amazing Chelsea, best female cat ever; and her neurotic mother, Monet. Monet and Handyman bonded while we were still dating, when she jumped out my open apartment window and landed (much to her surprise), one-story below ground in the old coal dump area outside my ancient apartment building. She was stranded in the brick, room-size well when he showed up one day, and like the prince he still is, he rescued her.

I remember telling my vet that I was getting married and needed to change my name in their files. He said, "You are going to ruin a perfectly good relationship by getting married?!" I replied, "He likes cats." Dr. McCune said, "Oh, I understand."

But back to Mr. Bingley. There was never a doubt in anyone's mind that we would tame any cat on the premises, once we moved in. Each time we came to look at this place, and talk ourselves into the big plunge of remodeling it; he was here. Big, orange and quiet, skulking around.

When we finally took posession, we saw him still. Not skinny, but skittish. Soon enough, little #2, almost 4 at the time, sat on the sidewalk by the garage and up he came, to pet her! He rubbed on her immediately and that was all there was to be done. He sniffed noses with our big male cat through the cracked-open patio doors and soon came in to join our family.

We had named this place Netherfield, an homage to our obsession with Jane Austen literature. (We try not to call it Neverdone, but that does creep in occasionally.) So the only logical name for this feline was Mr. Bingley, the popular owner of Netherfield, in Pride & Prejudice. The moniker fit, as our Mr. Bingley possessed all the same characteristics of his namesake: good humor, gentlemanlike behavior and kindness.

We enjoyed his wonderful presence for over a year. He never wandered far, always coming in at night. We were sure he appreciated his home. Then one day, no Mr. B. The next day, no Mr. B. It was heart-breaking. We printed flyers, called our neighbors, drove around calling. Nothing. He was gone. There was only one logical conclusion to all this: coyotes.

No matter what Hank the Cowdog says, coyotes are NO fun, at all. They wake us at night with their infernal partying. They eat our pets, feline and avian. They creep us out at all hours of the day and night. They had to have eaten our big buddy and what a roast he would have made. We were heartbroken.

A year went by. I picked out another cat at the humane society, when I was there getting some free barn cats. Tony, all personality in a short-haired package. He fit right in.



Then one day, a friend mentioned that he had a big orange cat that had showed up in his barn and was scaring his half-grown kittens that lived there. These friends live about a mile away, straight west as the crow flies, but across a swift-flowing creek, and a lot of fields. He asked if we were missing any cats?!

"Well, we were, about a year ago," I told him. It was a big, orange male cat. He said this one was shy, and hard to catch. But, he said once he caught him, the cat was not agressive, seeming to like being petted. He said his neighbors had told him that the cat had been hanging out in their barn until they chased it off. I couldn't believe that it could be our guy. It'd been too long. But I agreed to come look at it, the next time he was able to catch it.

So, when he called early one morning, I went over. We had three cats in the house then, since we had acquired Tony. I did not need another cat. I knew better than to take #2 or #3. They would want to bring home any cat from anywhere. They didn't clean litter boxes. #1 wanted to go, and since she was beginning to show signs of adult behavior, I agreed.

When we got there, our friend Rob was standing at the far end of his barn holding this giant pumpkin-colored cat and I gasped. Mr. Bingley was a big bulky cat with very matte hair. It wasn't shiny or sleek. It was very unique, I thought. This guy had it. As I went closer, I didn't think it was Mr. B. The face seemed wider and the eyes were green. Mr. B. had gold eyes, almost exactly the color of his fur.

But everything else was the same. The size, the color, the hair. He was neutered. He was kind. He was heavy. We agreed to take him. Can eye color change? I didn't feel like I could say, "almost, but no." So home we came.

He never hissed at any of our other cats. They never hissed at him. He immediately took up residence on the foot of my bed, where he sleeps every single night. He goes out, wanders around and comes right in. He never skulked around the house. He was never intimidated by our tribe of very vocal dogs. But his eyes are definitely not gold.




We got out the scrapbook and looked at the old pictures of Mr. B. This guy has the same number of little stripes in the middle of his forehead. We couldn't bring ourselves to call him Mr. Bingley in the beginning. We were only about 85% sure it was him. But then, we couldn't not call him Mr. Bingley.

We avoided the issue for awhile and called him "the interloper", "the impostor", and "the stunt double". Then he just became Mr. Bingley again. If he is not the original, he is so precious a duplicate, that I feel blessed to know him. If he is the original, I am, of course, thankful that he was protected and generously returned to us.

And so to quote Spenser, through Jane Austen's Sense & Sensibility: "For there is nothing lost, but may be found, if sought..."

Menu Plan Monday---I think I can, I think I can

(There is a new post, a few days prior to this one. Because I started it back in January, it posted it chronologically to its start date, not post date. )

Let it be known that menu-planning doesn't even take that long. If left to my own devices, I would plan the same 14 things over and over again. But Handyman does not go there. This is a man who eats catered food, routinely, on the job. Sometimes that is good. Sometimes it is evil. But it definitely puts a little pressure on me, in a good way.

For the first time in ages, I will be linking this post to org junkie's Menu Plan Monday. Mostly because that's what makes my menu planning faster, and more fun. I just troll through the linky and steal other people's work. It's not cheating anymore Ladies! It's support!

Monday: Today is Westminster Kennel Club dog show, on USA Network or something we don't get. So we are heading to Grandma's house, to watch. We will be having a stroganoff made with a pre-cooked pot roast from Costco. We have eaten these several times and been very impressed. They cost about $12, which ain't cheap, but they are done after 10 min. in the microwave and fall apart tender on the plate. If I can track the recipe down, I will link later. Basically sour cream and noodles, parsley flakes. Maybe some cream soup.

Tuesday: Also Westminster Kennel Club night. So back to Grandma's Spinach/bacon frittata is the plan. I stole it from HERE. My hens have started laying again, and even though they are little bantam eggs, they are bright orange and full of good stuff. Buy organic, it's worth it.

Wednesday: Is Awana night at our house, which usually means Pizza Hut, which usually means $20. I'd like to reduce that, so I'm going to try Grilled Cheeseburger Wraps. I have some of those great flatbreads from Costco, in my freezer that I will probably use instead of tortillas. They are a lot more filling. Again, I am springing for organic beef. Costco has organic beef patties for less than $4/lb. I just thaw them and chunk them up for whatever I need. Otherwise I am paying about $5/lb. for Laura's lean at Kroger. I do not buy store ground beef, ever. We just don't eat ground beef a lot. Not that we don't want to, but it's more than I can tolerate on several levels.

Thursday: Handyman is home all week, so this sounds sophisticated without being difficult or expensive. And #2 loves ravioli. Ravioli with Sage Cream Sauce


Friday: This recipe came from my BFF: Arni's salad with BBQ chicken. Fresh green salad with shredded BBQ chicken, black beans, corn, avocado, red onion, shredded cheese, and the tortilla strips you can get in the crouton section. I put a little ranch dressing mixed with Frank's on mine, as well. Awesome!

Saturday: LEFTOVERS, LEFTOVERS, or cold cereal.

Adding Sunday NOW: Kung Pao Chicken, only 500 calories, over brown rice. Yum!

There you have it: A week's menu for a home with little to no kitchen!

Menu Plan Meltdown: UPDATED WITH FREE STUFF!

Yes, it is past Monday. Yes, I made a menu plan. Yes, it gave me peace of mind. Yes, it is buried in my daytimer and has not seen the light of day. In fact, I admit, I did not even prepare a dinner on multiple evenings this week. Those darn kids, they snack all the time. And when they start thinking about dinner, I have barn chores to do.

I made all the dishes on my menu last week. Actually I had to skip one, because I had three different, very edible leftovers in my refrig and I refused to cook something else. I even gave food away to the neighbors--(it was good soup). I'm just sayin' the effort was there. But this week, I have failed.

Handyman is on a major network show for Superbowl and he isn't home any night for supper. Kids eat without ceasing all day. I feel responsible to feed horses, they can't use the can opener or microwave. So I go to barn, kids fend for themselves.

Here is a good example: Hummus, crackers, organic turkey slices, 2 kinds of kefir, walnuts, craisins and almonds, pomegranate, honey bell oranges, tomato soup, cottage cheese, pickled beets, salsa, chips, chicken nuggets, nitrite-free hot dogs, salad with croutons. There are all kinds of great combos there, for a perfectly satisfying meal.

Staple of choice here: Popcorn. Go figure. No stove, no oven, no problem!

As a special reward for reading all the way to the end: GO HERE to get some FREE printable worksheets to help you get organized! I'm downloading them now! You should too. :)

Menu Plan Monday

Okay, this is about my fifth week putting together a menu on Sunday afternoon. And it helps tremendously with my sanity, because I DONT HAVE A KITCHEN right now. Therefore, my meals need to involve NO ovens and very little stovetop, since I use one burner on my driveway.

So here it is:

Monday: Crock pot chicken with biscuits

Tuesday: Crock pot pizza

Wednesday is Awana--so grilled cheese and tomato soup

Thursday: Bacon Ranch Chicken over noodles

Friday: Jambalaya

Saturday: Pasta Fagioli soup

Sunday: Quiche, which I will bake at my mother'in'law's

Ahhh, I don't have to think about this again.

I am sad, though, that football season is drawing to a close. :*(

Home Is Where My Heart Is.

Well, so much for my career as a lunch lady! When one goes through cancer, one experiences a lot of different feelings and thought streams. I would guess that I am not the only woman to have cancer and think, "What if I die? What will happen to my children?"

For awhile I danced with the idea that my homeschool friends would take them in for school, and help them make it through. I have no doubt that many of them would be willing to do it. I'm pretty sure I even pleaded with my husband to not ever put them in school. I'm pretty sure he had moments of panic about the whole thing too.

Then I came to the idea that putting them in school might be okay, so that if something did ever happen, they would at least know the drill, be able to "swim" and better to do it while I am here to help them get accustomed, right? So that's what we did.

#1 was already in public high school by this time. She wasn't crazy about it, but God proved Himself faithful in her situation, many times. I thought #2 should go for 6th grade, so she could join band, and sports or whatever interested her. And little #3 begged me to see her local school, since her sisters were "getting to go". So we visited and she liked it a lot. It helped that it is a lovely new suburban school with primary-colored ramps and banners from the ceiling, and it was recently named the #2 elementary school in our state! I felt so much better.

So they went. And, I immediately decided I should get a job while they're gone, so I can bring in money to help remodel this place. So I did. And it was fun. I got a job in the main kitchen at a large high school in the city next door. The pay rate was great, the fellowship was nice and the work was strenuous, but invigorating.

That was last year.

This year, after #2 and #3 had gotten to hear every single cuss word ever invented, on the school bus and beyond, we prepared to do it all over again. Only I went back to work 2 weeks before they went back to school. My mom was in town, so we muddled through, sans kitchen and everything.

Then the middle school notified me that #2 had scored poorly on a statewide test, in math. And their plan to rectify this was to remove her from art (her special talent which I have paid extra to indulge, for years), and put her in a second period of math wherein she would do an online math program that would help her solidify her math foundation.

When she continued to struggle and the regular math class teacher started spending a portion of the class teaching an individual who did not speak english, I met with the guidance counselor to see what my options were. He thought she would be able to get out of this lower-level class, away from the poorly-behaved, unmotivated students, to get into a better environment for learning. When I contacted the math teacher directly, she disagreed. She said #2 should stay in her class, and perhaps stay after school also, for homework club.

So I had her stay. #2 explained to me that homework club involved sitting in the library (sorry, media center), where the math teacher gave her flash cards. This after spending two hours during the day, in math classes.

Something had to give. The homeschooler in me reared her American-born, mother-bear head and said, "Not with my child, you're not." So the lunch-lady career careened into the ditch, and we made major life decisions.

Thank heavens for choice in education! We have friends who have been attending a charter school that is 60% online, 40% brick and mortar, for several years. This year, that same school opened at 100% virtual option, using curriculum I had already admired, developed by the man who wrote The Book of Virtues.

We applied at Thanksgiving and got in for second semester. I went ahead and transferred #3 also. I had spent many years homeschooling #1, and felt like I was missing out on that time with #3. She liked school, but like most children, loves being at home.

Is it perfect? No. Is it easy? It's not HARD. It is a terrific hybrid of homeschooling and accountability/diligence/tutor-type education. We can be online live with the teachers every day if we want or need to. We can motor along on our own, following their pacing guides to make sure we make adequate progress. It is an amazing option that I actually enjoy.

The most wonderful thing about this type of program is that the student doesn't move forward until they exhibit "mastery" of a subject by scoring 80% or above on an assessment. These assessments are frequent and immediately scored by the program. There are oodles of optional activities to assist you when you struggle, and you may retake the assessments as many times as you need.

Isn't that the way education should be? Last year, #2 got left behind when she had trouble with fractions. The class had to move on. Essentially, her can was kicked down the road for next year's teacher to deal with it. If she didn't get it in the time alloted for this year's class, too bad--movin' on. ACK! How many others are being rolled to the side of the road by this type of program?!

Next thing you know, she's giving up on herself and any hope of post-high school education. No one cares WHEN you learn fractions. No one ever asks that. You just need to learn them. If it takes you one month to get them down pat, rather than 2 weeks, no one cares, EVER. But you do have to get them down. This system handles this rather large dilemma wonderfully.

Do I wish I had all my time to myself, to clean house, or read books or post on my blogs? Absolutely. But the confirmation of my decision became clear last week, when #2 told me she wasn't smart enough to attend a college-prep, charter high school I am considering for her. --What?!

She was sure that since she had been relegated to that math class, and its various entities, she would not be able to cut it in a college-prep program. Only halfway through seventh grade and the label is firmly ensconced on her self-esteem. Ugh. I knew right then I had made the right choice, not waiting until the end of this school year.

Change is always hard. My parents moved me in the middle of 7th grade. It was HORRIBLE. Honestly, I think it damaged my academic progress permanently. I thought about that a lot when I was deciding what to do with my daughter. I wish I had never sent her to public school. But what's done is done. And the experience there will teach her many things I cannot.

Thank you, State Legislature, for allowing us to have charter schools. Thank you, Mr. Bill Bennett for developing the K12 curriculum. Thank you, Sally N., for telling me to go home to my children.

Move over, Reno!

The fame is spreading here at Netherfield! Reno was simply the first of our stock to go Hollywood! (I'm sure someone will be contacting me soon about writing a cookbook, for people who don't have kitchens.)

We received word last month, that Tucker the Wonder Dog, and his sister, Tasha the Judge-Nipper have gone global!

2012 Welsh Corgi Calendar from Brown Trout



Taken almost two years ago, my little rodents' picture made the cover! I told Handyman, we now have celebrities pooping in our yard!

I know there have been several catty comments going on around the water dish, about the "younger set" getting all the attention. But we are doing our best to keep everyone on the same pay grade.

I did make a complete fool of myself at Tractor Supply, showing the clerks my dogs. They were like, "Oh, you have corgis." I'm going, "No. These are actually my dogs."

They say, "Those are your actual dogs?"

Me: "Yes! It's so exciting."

Them: "Cool. Here's your change." They were clearly in awe.

So, since my dogs' photo is by far superior to several of the other months, I have already cut up my calendar. Using the cover shot to cover up the ridiculously bad January selection. February is a cute blue merle Cardi, so I will go with that. March is, of course, MY DOGS, so that will do. June is #1's best friend's dog, Sparky, so we will keep that one. And all the rest will probably be hidden.

I am not one bit of a stage mother. Don't think it for a second. The girls haven't minded giving up their beds for the corgis at all.

Hollywood comes to Reno

The greatest horse in the world finally got some notice...and brought in a little cash, for once!

Handyman has a side gig, other than remodeling. He does lighting for film and tv. And every now and then, he lets us be part of it. Back in the 90's, #1 got to be in a spot for the Children's Museum. I think that was the last time we got to be part of it.

All the girls wanted to meet Jim Varney, but that didn't work out. #1 wouldn't go meet Jake Lloyd, no matter how much we begged her. She did get to stand next to Peyton Manning, but Handyman didn't introduce them. #2 did get to meet Julianne Hough, her personal hero, and get her picture taken with her.

#3 doesn't get it yet.

After I bathed him and sprayed his tail with Pam spray (a quickie detangler), he was ready for his close-up:

As is usually the case, he did take after take after take, patiently and with good humor. He was a little put off by the big fuzzy mike, but kept his cool.

Meanwhile, the peanut gallery begged for handouts:


The spot turned out beautifully! click HERE

I even got to be in it! But Reno deserved much more screen time. It's the second time in my life that I have received a free, 24-year old horse that has changed my life.

On the Road Again

We headed back out onto the gravel road, across the rickety bridge and hung a left onto the bigger gravel road, that eventually joined the paved road. The goats were making their goat noises and we were all laughing, and it was sprinkling rain again.

I only missed one turn, amazingly. I do have some weird innate talent for directions or at least remembering how to get somewhere once I have been there. It's not as great a skill as my wacko-memory for phone numbers, but it's pretty handy.

We came upon the "knife sale" place again, and #2 piped up from the back seat, "Don't make eye contact!" I thought I would crash, laughing so hard. Then we heard the water noise. And it wasn't water. Then I had this flash-back to my friend April saying, "Goats pee a lot." It honestly never occured to me that a goat would pee IN MY CAR, WHILE IT WAS MOVING. I guess I figured they would be uncomfortable or unsure enough, to just hold it.

I was wrong.

Okay, well we have that plastic floor mat, that has curved edges and there is hay to soak some up. What else can we do, but continue?

As we were getting closer to civilization and it was supper time, I did agree to whip into a McD's for girl sustenance. But I stayed in the car, while they ran in and ran out. The sky was getting darker, and we had a ways to go, albeit all interstate from here on out.

As we pulled back out onto the road, we heard it again..."water". Ick. Oh well.

The rain really started coming down as we merged onto the interstate. I do have a small amount of weather phobia, handed down through the generations, like Bubonic Plague. I have done my best to overcome it, and had a modest amount of success with that. Being a mom, and a great actress, has its rewards.

But I do much better when I can look at the radar screen, which I could not, in the car. So I did the next best thing, which is to turn on my favorite, local talk radio station. They always have current weather info. I trust them. I have listened to this same radio station since I was a child. The child of a woman with weather phobias...

So I turn on the radio, and I turn up my windshield wipers. Coincidentally, we are friends with a talk-show host on this radio station. He is personable, generous and very kind to my girls. So when his familiar, smooth voice came right into our car, we felt a little safer...until he broke into his own show to start announcing tornado warnings, and sightings.

I continued to drive north, not going much slower for the weather. Our friend, on the radio announced, "If you are in the area of Taylorsville, you should take cover immediately! A tornado has been sighted west of Taylorsville, heading east at 20 mph. Take cover immediately."

Amazingly, it was at that very moment that we passed the giant, green interstate sign that read, "Taylorsville, 1/2 mile." #2 shrieked from the backseat, where the goat was letting go once again, "Mom! Are we in Taylorsville?! That sign says Taylorsville!"

There was this weird juxtaposition in my head. Our friend's voice, so comforting...was now scary to us and that just didn't fit in my brain. My only thought was, "What would Handyman do?" I knew he wouldn't stop. There were semi's blowing by me, as I slowed because the rain was so heavy that even high speed wipers weren't doing the job.

I just knew that Handyman would not stop, and so I was not stopping on the side of the road, in a deluge, in an SUV with GOATS in it, to wait for a tornado to come.

I told #2 to watch out the left side. If she saw, actually saw, a tornado, I would consider pulling over. I explained to her that I could drive north at 55-65 mph, and that was a lot better than a tornado moving towards us at 20 mph. We weren't going to sit and wait to be hammered. We could beat it.

I don't suppose it helped much that I had let them watch Twister that summer.

We kept listening to our friend on the radio, telling us to take cover. The sky was that awful shade of green/black, that you learn as a midwestern child. That color that just means "fear".

I can't remember if anyone prayed out loud. If we didn't, I know we all were praying silently. Even the goats.

And sure enough, as always happens in this crazy state, we drove away from the chaos--never saw a funnel cloud--and into bright, beautiful sunshine. By the time we crossed into the downtown area, it was all clearly behind us.

Only I would drive through a tornado, with two goats in a car. These things never happen to other people. We made it home. Handyman had made a little pen for "the goatie girls" and a little hayrack in their stall. We unloaded them into the barn area, where they peed again. #1 heroically cleaned out Handyman's truck immediately, as per my instructions, so as to hide the unpleasant details from her dad.

I swore them both to secrecy--the girls, not the goats. They were never to tell their father that 2 goats had urinated in his car, multiple times...no matter how funny it was. What ever possessed him to put that tar paper under those floor mats, is beyond me. But I can't tell you how thankful I was for that.

Handyman, who actually loves Jane Austen, and all our theme-related pet names, actually named the new girls...Flora and Fauna. And yes, I know it is not Jane Austen'ish. But once we heard them, we knew we'd hit on the right ones.

(If anyone has a day-trip to beat that one, I would love to hear about it!)

Goat Saga, chapter 3

Before I continue, my daughters have pointed out that they BEGGED me to go along. I did not draft them. They couldn't bear the thought of me being alone on such a long drive--and seeing something first! Thank heavens for their selfishness. Not sure I would have made it without them. Misery loves company.

They also both testify that when we passed the "Knife Sale" domicile, there was a man out front...with a long beard. I am not kidding. I did not see that gentleman, because I could not take one eye off the windy, curvy road. I only saw the knife sale sign because it was on a 4x5' sheet of plywood leaning up against the mailbox. And "Knife Sale" is not a sign one sees frequently. I think it was God's providence that I did not see that gentleman. Or else we might not be goat owners today.

And so I continue, we DID actually turn off the paved road. By this time, the road signs were just random numbers and letters strung together. In the flat counties where I grew up, west of Indianapolis, those numbers mean something. Usually they relate to the orientation of the roads based on the county seat. But down here, where all surfaces slant and sometimes you can't even see the sun, I doubted there was any plan to it.

We wandered a little on the gravel road and then, were to turn left onto a smaller road, that had a rickety little bridge, I kid you not. My daughters, of course, do not know anything about "Deliverance"; but I'm telling you, by this time, my heart is doing a little jig and the infamous music is playing in my head. And my mother's voice is ringing out, "Why would you bring two young girls out here, for a CRAIGSLIST ad?! Have you completely lost your senses?!" And I was agreeing with her.

Then suddenly the mailbox with the right number appeared, and there was a clean, modest little house with a barn. The cars looked like they were in working order. The sun was shining. My mother's voice faded somewhat. We got out.

There was nothing fancy, and nothing scary, in immediate view anyway. A nice, tall woman came out and she knew my name, so we had actually arrived, sans GPS even! As we entered the dark, cool barn, I had a small wave of fear, but was quickly settled by a healthy, shiny horse, and the ambient smells and sounds of a farmyard.

We met our girls, one of whom was relatively wild...a young 'un she hadn't taken much time with. She was the one going into the dog crate. The big girl was tame and like all goats, curious and bright-eyed. The girls loved them at once. The lady told us the goats had just taken a leak, so we might be able to avoid that in the car. (This had not crossed my mind really. Or if it had, I guess I thought goats wouldn't feel comfortable enough in a moving car, to pee. Too late now.)

We were able to load the little gal into the crate. She was about the size of a small German Shepherd. The larger goat wasn't too keen on jumping into the back of my Expedition, which I had stocked with hay, for eating or sleeping on. So the lady just gathered her up, all 85 lbs of her, and hefted her in. Down came the tailgate and the bleating began.

As with horses in a trailer, once they're in--you hit the road. I handed over the cash, we waved and back out on the gravel we went. And I reminded #1 that we now had to follow those directions backwards. I hope she had been paying attention because it might be important...I had absolutely no idea where we were.

Since it's my birthday, I will blog B4 I work!

So, it was a beautiful summer afternoon, as #1, #2 and I headed off in search of our next farm addition: The Goat Girls! We spent much of the time pondering what names would fit with our Jane Austen theme. I think we were pretty settled on Jane and Lizzie, or Eleanor and Marianne. Although Marianne didn't seem very goatish to me.

The drive was lovely and we soon arrived in Brown County, with its charming, windy roads. As we turned off the main state road, with which I felt familiar, it had started to rain. And as this is Indiana, the sun was still shining brightly and the rain was heavy enough for wipers. We continued to wind south, I think.

I had written directions off my email and had an address. We wound down past the Story Inn, which I have been to once before. I remembered that it was in the absolute middle of nowhere, and felt a little blip of anxiety as we turned away from Story and headed off in a new direction, on a smaller road.

Then I paid a little more attention to my written instructions and noted that it said 20 miles past Story. I gulped. Twenty MORE miles, on this road? I'm sure I spoke out loud at that point, because I am not known for shutting up at appropriate times. It was something like this, "Good grief! How much further now?!" At which point #2 asked from the back, "Are we in Kentucky?" and we all laughed. "Who knows? We could be close to it, at this rate."

The rain sort of ended, but the curving road did not. I'm sure if the roads were straight, we would have been on our way home by now. I really wanted to see this route from the air--or maybe not.

The homes got smaller and further between. We saw a mobile home on a sharp slope, with skirting that made almost a basement underneath the one end, seriously. Out in front of this place was a piece of plywood propped on the mailbox, handpainted to say "Knife Sale" ?!? I shrieked a little, and pressed on the accelerator harder.

And I drove a little faster and wondered what in the world was I doing, bringing two daughters into the hill-country on a Craigslist expedition to pick up goats from someone I have never seen and don't know?! What if it was a nefarious trap?! There isn't good cel coverage down here...what have I done?!? I had some confidence in the tone of the emails we had exchanged. The language the woman used indicated knowledge of dairy goats--I tried to soothe my anxiety.

I kept driving and driving and finally, and in Jeff Foxworthy's immortal words, "we turned off the paved road..."

Adventures in animal procurement

I haven't shared this hilarious story from last summer, and I want to do so before I forget it all. I am old, now. In 2010, I was far enough beyond breast cancer to begin a post-cancer mid-life crisis that for me, predictably, involved horses. I found a 5 year-old thoroughbred, with no issues, on the Internet, and obtained him--without specifically asking my husband--for free. The owner delivered him to the stable I where I've been connected for many years and I thought all my dreams had finally come true.



It was very exciting. I owned a TB. He was handsome and athletic and I was boarding him at a real stable. It was what I had wanted all my life, honestly. It was also over 90 degrees every single day from May on. It was quickly determined that he would need training that I couldn't provide. Then I started cleaning stalls to pay for the training.

I had learned in college that I could trade hard, honest work for whatever horse-stuff I couldn't afford. And I was eager to sustain my fantasy that I could be a good wife, mother, rural property owner and equestrienne. I would drive 12 miles one-way to clean stalls for several hours. Then I would groom my horse after someone else had ridden him and I would drive home exhausted, cook for my family, do laundry and clean my barn. Just what every girl dreams of...

Long story short, he wasn't quite the right fit for me. A terrific horse, a tremendous opportunity, but I couldn't sustain the training he needed, either financially or logistically. So I made other arrangements for him and began a descent into horse-divorce depression. Death of a dream. And in order to short circuit that mourning period, I decided I'd get what I'd REALLY been wanting--dairy goats.

I was sure that my horse phase had officially ended. I had had to work myself to the bone to pay off the training debts for a horse I couldn't consistently ride. I told myself that I was too old, too weak, too chicken and too poor for any more horsey adventures. Goats would be just right. They couldn't kill me. I didn't have to be brave and I didn't have to do a whole lot with them to prove myself to anyone. And, Handyman and I love goat cheese...

So, I found just the ones I was looking for on that mother-of-all bulletin boards: Craigslist. Two dairy does, under a year old. Specifically, an Alpine and a Toggenburg (which I had wanted since my first summer camp job in Michigan, where we had one.) Toggs are uncommon and so this convinced me that I was destined to be a great goat cheese maker. The arrangements were made.

These two little gals were down south, a little more than an hour away. In hill country. I had discussed with the owner about putting the smaller goat in our large wire dog crate. She thought that would work, but thought the bigger goat would not fit in a crate. I was not going to borrow someone's horse trailer to pick up two little, albeit not mini, goats. The dog crate would take up one half of the back of the Expedition and the larger goat would have to be loose, next to the crate.

I am not terribly knowledgeable about goats, but a little horse and dog experience, some riding instructor safety training and enough fear of the unknown to keep me wary, made me think that an unrestrained goat weighing almost 100 lbs., loose in the back of my Expedition might not be the smartest decision ever. So, Handyman graciously cut a piece of plywood to fit upright behind the seat of his Expedition. The Expedition with the rubber floor mat with the curved edges. (This will be important later.) Handyman is such a smart guy that he took the mat out and put roofing felt paper underneath the mat, to cover the holes where the seatbelt clamps are placed. I don't know why he thought of this, but we were all so thankful for this foresight.

I drafted #1 and #2 to go with me. It was a beautiful, sunny afternoon and we were driving to one of the most scenic areas of our state to pick up our new pets. What fun! (Why Handyman puts up with these sporadic plunges of mine that always involve money and more work, is beyond me!)

Tumble Dry now set to low

Another gigantic change at Netherfield...mom will be home 3 days a week now! Happy dance!

We went from homeschooling 3, to breast cancer, to public school for one and free-range/homeschooling for 2, to public school for 3--mom working 5 morning hours/5days week, for a year. Then I had the summer off, along with 4H 2 nights/week. Then we gutted the kitchen, and the master bath, and invited the contractor in to do major work. Then I went back to work 2 weeks before the kids went back to school. Then the kids went back to school. Then #1 had 5 weeks of studying Islam, with a project on Islam. Then #2 had a unit on Islam, along with a paper OR a children's book on the 5 Pillars of Islam, to be donated to the local elementary school (!). Then the kitchen never made any progress because Handyman is never here and #3 cried one night that she missed the kitchen. Then I got a letter from the IRS saying I forgot to pay last year's quarterly payment.

Then I decided I had reached my limit...and that's a good thing.

Dreamin'

What if your dream horse came into your life belonging to someone else? The color you wanted...the build you wanted...the talent you wanted...the personality you wanted. Would you be happy, or jealous, or a little of both?

What if you were busy living your life and he was more than you could ever spend on a horse, but you got to ride him, for free?

What if the more you got to know him, the more you loved him and then you had to stop riding him because he was going to go showing with someone else?

What if you didn't get to see him again for awhile? Would you be able to just fuggedaboutit--sorta like a high school romance, great and dramatic, but burnt out and over.

What if you could have him, at your house, indefinitely...but he was too lame to ever jump again and might not become sound?



What if your husband said, "That's why we built three stalls." :)

Pinch me...I think I'm dreaming...

Going without

We, in America, don't have too much opportunity to "go without". I tell my girls all the time, "This is America, there is always more." Thankfully. Being part of the lucky sperm club that allowed us to be born here does not make us particularly familiar with denial.

So I wanted to give you a more in-depth picture of what state we are actually in, without a kitchen.

We tore out our kitchen the week after 4th of July. I know this because we planned it all at Scott and Jane's 4th of July party. Handyman said he had a week off and then he was starting a 5-day/week movie for one month. So we decided if we were going to get this whole shebang started, it had to be then. After all, we had purchased the cabinets in November!

So for a week, Dad and Handyman and sometimes Rachael, Mom and I, hauled things out. We did keep the island intact and have used it to great effect, figuring out where and how to position the new island. In fact, it has become a useful tool shelf. I wanted to consider wheels on the new island, but Handyman wants a prep sink and that silly plumbing just doesn't move well.

So our status is this: The ceiling drywall was removed; the insulation above it was removed along with the perimeter bulkheads. The ceiling is rafters, wiring and subfloor for the upstairs above it. There is an open hole above the sink where the vent used to enter the master bath (which is NON-FUNCTIONING!). We put a screen door, covered with plastic, in the doorway between the kitchen and the dining room. This kept the A/C in the main part of the house.

The walls have been stripped of 98% of the drywall and nasty insulation behind it. There are wires running to plugs hanging by a screw. There are open cold-air return holes near the floor, which I have blocked so cats cannot go down them. The windows we installed 8 years ago and never painted are shimmed into place.

The new subfloor has been installed everywhere except under the original sink wall, where I threw myself on the floor at Handyman's boots on July 10 and begged for mercy. He wanted to finish the subfloor before leaving for the movie and I said, "Why would you quintuple (a Scrabble term) my misery by taking my sink and dishwasher?? Please, please leave me the sink." (I should have used this method when it came to the upstairs toilet...might've helped my situation.)

So, he left me the sink and dishwasher. It allows me to pretend that I have a real kitchen. Even though the backsplash for that sink is made of particle board.

There is a duct running floor-to-ceiling and a large waste pipe from WHAT USED TO BE THE MASTER BATH, also. The laundry is still up and running in its location that will become the student desk area, with two windows instead of one tiny one.

The entrance to the "back room" has been widened to 4', as planned, and we have sheeted it with heavy black plastic, which lends a festive mood to the whole place. Oh, and the half-bath off the kitchen, where Handyman spent so many happy afternoons in the crawlspace re-doing amateur plumbing debacles, has been covered over with plywood, by the contractors.

We called the contractors back in March, so they could get started while we had good weather (read: no heat necessary), and so they got here just before Labor Day. :) So each morning, after they hand me my deodorant, I head off to work and they stay here and suck money out of our savings account--I mean work on the new back stairs, roof-changes, etc.

They are smart, fast and hard-working. And we talk football in the mornings now. Then I leave for my high-paying sandwich job.

I think the kids have begun to get an appreciation for my cooking, because I don't do it anymore. I think we are saving money from our food budget to pay the contractors (but not nearly enough). I drink yesterday's coffee to save money, and we mooch off Handyman's mom as often as possible.

I kept thinking some of the cats would get eaten by coyotes this summer, as is usually the case, and that would lessen my pet-food budget--but that hasn't happened. I also drive Handyman's dad's little red car to save on gas.

Of course, the flooring we bought 8 years ago for the kitchen does not match the cabinets we bought last November for the kitchen. Fortunately, our house has about 3,000 sq. feet of space still needing finished, so we can use that flooring somewhere else. But, that means we have to pick out and pay for more flooring.

But Handyman is never home. As soon as the kitchen was gutted, he got work for the next 12 years straight, out of state, or so it seems. Everyday I come home from my high-paying sandwich job to an empty house (well, the contractors are usually here, just getting ready to leave), and walk through my stark, plywood kitchen with no counter surface. Past my brushed stainless refrigerator to the plastic-covered screen door, and wonder why in God's name we did all this??

As quickly as possible, I get back outside, with the dogs and I head out to the barn--the glorious barn that took all my kitchen money and all Handyman's remodeling time for 1+ years, and I play with my ridiculous money-eating horses and those stupid, goofy little hay-wasting goats and I text Handyman, who is in Bermuda shooting bathing suits or something, and tell him how much I love it here.

Hard to Admit

I didn't want to mention this to anyone, because then it would be "out there", admissable. I have become a remodeling wimp. My chops are sagging. For so long I have fancied myself quite the tough girl, capable, strong, fearless, adaptable. But alas, tis but a ruse. I am a pansy in disguise.

Without my own bathroom, I whine and fuss and it's embarrassing. And currently, it is almost like that scene in The Money Pit, where Shelly Long opens the medicine cabinet and the workman on scaffolding on the other side hands her her birth-control pills.

I have a realistic-looking sink. In fact, it would be a real sink, IF IT WEREN'T DISCONNECTED! So I put on make-up at the mirror, listening to the chatting workmen on the other side of the wall. Then I notice the toilet sitting across the room, in pieces and I remember...I DON'T HAVE A BATHROOM OF MY OWN ANYMORE. I share with two girls who make my goats look neat. This isn't pretty, so I'll stop now. (But wait until the middle of the night, when I have to go down two flights of stairs, down the hall, past two large windows, into the bathroom with the COLD TILE FLOOR I HATE!!)

Today the contractors put in two gigantic beams in our garage ceiling. When they built our garage 24' 2x8's for floor joists were allowed...not anymore Paduwan. So up went the uber-beams. And the Jumanji-hole in the floor of the back room is now full with concrete. Tomorrow, the day the first rain in a month is due to come, they will be building out some dormer on the outside before they start cutting through the roof underneath. And they have to frame up the new stairs to the back room. Which will have to get a new name...back room = storage place we love to hate.

In the meantime, the gals and I are having hommus for supper, with cheese sticks, the occasional chicken nugget, bagel, microwave popcorn and tomato soup that I cooked in an electric skillet (courtesy of my SIL). For a treat last Sunday, I cooked macaroni and cheese in a 3-gallon pot on a propane burner in my driveway!

Maybe Grandma will take pity on us again...and hire a plumber.