Friday, December 6, 2013

I want to make cookies.

I went for a run the other day.  Crazy, I know.  I came up behind one of our neighbors who was walking.  He's a walker.  Always has been.  He and his wife live in town.  They walk to the top of our hill.  Sometimes alone.  Sometimes with each other.  I always stop to talk.  Tom used to swear, a lot.  Even if the kids were in the car.  He's an impassioned guy.  What can you say?  And then he had a stroke.  And couldn't swear anymore.  Actually, he couldn't talk anymore.  But he's making his way back.  His brain is working hard to reconnect.  What he says now is, "I know.  I know.  I know."  He repeats it over and over again.  But he still walks.

When I was approaching him I was wondering if I should stop and talk.  Grab his hand.  Let him know I'm here.  That I hear him even if he can only say, "I know."  But before I reached him he veered into the Christmas tree farm and walked up the hill into the mist of the evergreen scent.  I want to bake him cookies.

I trotted a little further up the road and ran into my good friend Cath and her mother-in-law.  They were on a walk.  Cath just had a baby and she snuggled that thing close to her chest as they scooted down the slippery dirt road.  She's a super woman, Cath is, so we've been exercising since Mazzy's been about 2 weeks old.  I mean not just the general run-of-the-mill exercising but Cath's been doing push-ups and pull-ups and Olympic weight lifting shit.  It's crazy.  I was still on the couch 6 weeks postpartum.  Loving every excuse to relax.  She's up every two to three hours at night.  I know how hard this is.  I want to bake her cookies.

I turned around because it was starting to get a little dark and I sorta looked like a tree instead of a bright light.  On my way back I almost got run over by a reindeer- not really- just my good friends Suzie and Brooks and their big boy Langdon.  They had just picked out their Christmas tree.  Brand new tree for a brand new house.  Brand new baby to be born soon to fill up brand new house too.  All this brandnewedness makes me want to bake them cookies.

On Tuesday I picked up Bee's sister.  Her name is Theo.  We've been taking care of her here and there to give Bee someone to play with.  They're good playmates.  We're going to be adopting Theo after the New Year because her owner has to move into her 76 year old mother's apartment.  She's trying to put her son through college and she's a single mom, doing it all on her own. She's almost in tears every time I see her.  I want to bake her cookies too. 

On Wednesday our new neighbor walked up the driveway to the house to tell us the alpacas were out.  She introduced herself and her yellow lab Biscuit.   While Theo humped him, I apologized for not coming up to say, "Welcome to the neighborhood.  I'm the loser who hasn't baked you cookies yet.  Oh, but can we sled on your hill?  Because we used to do that.  And it's super fun."

I want to bake cookies for the neighbor down the hill who had to go back to work this week after being home for a year with her new baby.  It's so hard.

I want to bake cookies for the neighbor up the hill who still is in dispute with her ex-husband about who gets what.  It's been about 5 years.  It's too hard.

I want to bake cookies for the neighbor up the hill who drives to the other side of town three times a week to walk a dog she doesn't own but who is holed up in a barn stall and doesn't see the light of day or get to sniff the wind. 

I want to bake cookies for the really good friend who had to go back to get another mammogram, a second opinion, because her primary doctor doesn't trust the first.  It's too much worry.

I want to bake cookies for my husband who 1)gets upset that I bake cookies for everyone else but don't leave any for him, 2) has been struggling over the decision to maybe take another job,  and 3) has sore body parts.

I want to bake cookies for my daughter who is struggling over whether to choose the play or gymnastics, and why do kids have to choose anyway?  Can't they do it all?

I want to bake cookies for the snow man who lost his head, and the bird who hit the window, and my cat who is jailed to the top of the t.v. stand because we now have two dogs that want to eat him.  Okay, well, I'm stretching it here but life is hard and I wish it wasn't. I wish I could spend my days making cookies to make it all better.  And I wish that that would work.

Tuesday, October 29, 2013

It's PAT!

Today I bought Pat's Sweet Italian sausages for dinner.  Sausage: pork and goodies all rolled into one.  I was there when he first started making them.  Back in the day.  When the Market was a "small" market.  At the corner of Main and Bridge.  Pat would grind my ground beef right IN FRONT OF MY FACE!  I miss the place.  I never minded waiting for Pat- he moves at a snail's pace.  I would pick stuff out of the cooler that I didn't need while I waited- shit like maple creme and chocolate milk.  Who needs that?  But his ground beef was the freshest, wrapped in white paper like the "olden" days.  The  new Market doesn't do that and it tastes like the Styrofoam they serve it on, for jeezum sake.

I saw Pat the other day at the Jonesville Post Office.  He rolled out the door and spoke sincerely to another elderly friend.  I don't know how old he is but he's hunched and backed and moves with deliberation.  He had on his Richmond Market hat and fleece vest and probably a pair of fleeced lined khakis but I failed to take note.   I saw his skin colored Mercury and was reminded of my Grandparent's Oldsmobile.  It all seemed so fitting- a reliable old American car for a reliable old American. 

I love seeing, to this day, Pat's hunched back stacking his meats to display at the Market.  I'm not sure what he feels/thinks about the "new" place. He doesn't nearly have the same contact with his customers and I'm certain he's not dealing with the same custom orders he had at the old Corner Market.  But maybe he likes the slower pace.  The one thing I have noticed, however, is that he still whistles while he works.

He whistles ALL THE TIME!  It's just a whistle- no specific tune.  I mean, who does this anymore?  Do you know anyone who whistles ALL THE TIME?  It's amazing.  AND he moves SOOO slowly!!  Who does this anymore??  Do you know anyone who moves slowly ALL THE TIME?

I soooooo want to be Pat the butcher.  I want to move slowly.  I want to whistle while I work.  Did I mention I want to move slowly?

I'm in the car.  A LOT!  Driving them (shutter) anywhere they want to go.  Going from Point A to Point B and everyone tells me I should soak it up because some day they won't want to be with me and I'm all, like, they don't WANT to be with me right now- they want to get to POINT B.  Eeegads.  Let's slow it down people!

The only time I'm walking slowly (or moving deliberately) is when I'm walking in the woods with Paul Bunyan and then it's all about stopping to look at drainage options, single track trail options, best trees for tree house options, and how to build a bridge over said creek.  Which is all fine and dandy- really it is.  Because if this is the only time I'm moving at Pat's pace then I'll take it.  I'll take it!  BRING ME TO THE WOODS ANYDAY!  I LOVE THE WOODS!

Some day I'll be old too- I can't ever picture me moving that slowly or that hunched over- but maybe I will.  Maybe I'll sit still to have one complete mug of tea.  Maybe I'll be able to listen to what my kids really really need.  Maybe I'll be able to listen to what I really really need.  In the meantime, I'll listen to this, because it makes sense to me, especially when they sing:

And I'll walk slow, I'll walk slow
Take my hand, help me on my way.
And I'll walk slow, I'll walk slow
Take my hand, I'll be on my way.

You'll help me walk slow- won't you??

Monday, September 30, 2013

Dew in the Morning.

It's thick because the grass is so long, because he's been riding his bike and not mowing, because he raced 50 miles yesterday on his mountain bike, because he's 40 and doesn't want to feel it, because we all do this, because getting old sucks, because it feels good to feel young.  I'm working now, because (well) everyone expected that I should, because a job fell into my lap, because nature works in the weirdest ways, because I guess it's supposed to be what I'm doing.  Saturday was Parent's Weekend.  Up and over the App Gap at 8 a.m., sun luring me, highlighting the bright oranges, making me have to squint, making it harder to see the fallen apples in the road, making it more of an enjoyable ride.  Meet the Parents, talk about my class, hope it aligns with what they want for their children, pack it all up and head back over the gap.  Jamfest 2013.  Boys are packed for hockey but wear their soccer stuff, because soccer is in an hour, because that's how it was scheduled, because that's how the world works.  Bristol Jamboree, two games, one goal a piece, because my guys know how to get er' done, because that's how we roll, because that's how the cookie crumbles, because...wha?  Back in the car from Bristol to Essex because hockey "team placements" are in an hour, because that's how it was scheduled, because that's how the world works, because I have no control over it.  Boo.  Nerves galore because everyone wants to succeed, because it makes the confidence soar, because it gives a boost to the ego.  But I have to go.  Back over the Gap.  Scholarship dinner.  Gala.  Big ToDo.  First, however, I shower outside, sun behind the trees is setting, my favorite time of day, so chips and beer while I shave.  It's a perfect combination, because they're all the things I love in the world (beer, chips, hot showers) all rolled up into one, because that's how life should be, a tootsie roll of your favorite things.  Find a dress that barely fits, because the back fat is directly related to how many beers and chips are consumed, because that's just a rule of nature, what goes in must come out, and if it doesn' stays on your back in the form of larger tootsie rolls.  Whatever.  Sun now chasing me, highlighting the bright oranges, making it harder to see the fallen apples in the road, making it more of an enjoyable ride.  Meet the Parents, talk about their children, wish I had a million dollars to bid on all the great trips around the world, because how cool would that be, because the world is a big place, because that's how it was created, because something in space blew up, because....I don't know why something in space blew up.  Drink one too many glasses of wine, get entranced with the live action, because it was amazing to witness people's generosity, because sometimes the people with the most money actually like to give it away, because it makes them feel good about having all that money, because maybe they feel guilty; I'm making stuff up now.  Ditched on my dish duties because I was having so much fun, because the wine was free, because it was an open bar, because the school wants you to loosen up, because they feel this gets you excited about spending your money because that is, in fact, probably how it works.  Feeling guilty today because I didn't help out, because I'm a team player, because I was raised that way, because I like relying on each other to get things done, because it makes it easier to go through life to have a teammate, because doing it all alone is no fun, because life is short, because someone said we humans can't control that, which means we have to live life to its fullest.  The Dew is thick.  Be grateful. 

Thursday, August 29, 2013

My Report: What I Did Over the Summer

Ricker Pond June 29-30

 We measure time in many different ways.  Sometimes the seconds tick by.  Sometimes they crawl. 

This summer I measured time by the number of carcasses that fell from the perfect web constructed from the hot water faucet in my bathroom to the wall.

 We measured time by the length of grass and the number of weeds present upon our return.

We measured time by the mold growth on the toe kicks in my kitchen and school bags hanging in limbo for the fall.

Avalon Beach  July 1-5

We measured growth, in our own way, by the number of times Timmy peed in his bed (I think his brain shuts down during a spurt).

We measured growth in the amount of ice cream ingested.

 And by the scarcity of fights. 

 Knight Island July 16 and 17

 We stopped taking count of the hours and moved around only if we were hot or hungry.

We skinny dipped if we wanted to, boys still not caring if their mothers were naked.

 We took in the stillness of the lake.

 And played in the waves when it wasn't.

 We measured time by the progress of the sun.

And by the lapping of the waves against the dawn.

Burke Mountain July 27 and 28

We measured fun by the stinkiness of our armpits.

 And by the number of nights slept in a tent.

 We measured fun by the number of books we read over the summer.

Which was maybe one.

 We measured fun in a field of grass.

Niagra Falls August 1st

Some billions of water go over the falls every second.

It's hard to wrap your head around this measurement.

As it's hard for me to wrap my head around how much I love these guys.

Minnesota August 4-14

She measured time this summer in meters canoed.  She measured headwinds.  She measured distances of portages.  I couldn't be more proud.

We always measure fun in Minnesota by the gallons of gas used for tubing, knee boarding, wake boarding and skiing.

We measure the perfectness of dock days- 1-10.  By the number of Long Island Iced Teas imbibed.  We gauge our fun by the number of tube runs taken into the sunset.

 First Day of School August 28

Yesterday, we measured growth by the fact that Timmy wouldn't take a photo with his brother.  I guess we've reached the "too cool for school" phase.  Hence, the picture of Auggie with his best bud Ollie.  Into the history books this photo goes.

And yesterday, after school, we celebrated the whole of summer, bottled up into one afternoon of juicy delight.  Unlimited rides, a celebration of art, cheesy steak on bread.  And with the din of the demolition derby in the background and bed time looming on the horizon, we took one last ride into the blinking night.

And then...we got puked on.

We will measure this summer by all the time slept away from our beds, from the dinners eaten out of the cooler, and by the number of flips done on the trampoline...and not by the last moments of the night on the Full Tilt.  Or the scent of vomit on our shoes.

Monday, July 8, 2013

Oh, Momma.

I guess Mother Nature was pissed that we were having so much fun drinking on the beach and doing front walk-overs and cart wheels and such.  She was aaang-gree.  Because she pissed on us.  Crazy urine flow- 2 inches in some six minutes.  So they say.  We wernt home.

She made a river of our road.  Upturned hunting camps and all the antlers inside.  Made the mice run for their lives.  She made the creek go where it has never gone before, pushing gigantic culverts where they didn't need to be.

So they're fixing it, like good little fixers do.  I'm listening to the beeping and dumping and pushing and moving.  I feel like a Wump from The Wump World hiding from the "earth-shaking machines" which "rumbled and roared high above". 

And as dump trucks bring up our new road in segments, she is still pissing on us.  

So they're trying to decide where to put culverts and where to make the stream go- all in anticipation that this will happen again.  And again.  And again.

I have not a garden.  Well, I do, but not much grows.  It's a mud puddle with bits of kale and onion.  And everything is moist- the couch, the towels, the sheets.  It's all moist.  Mold is growing on my cabinets where grease secretly hid.  And now, a living breathing fuzzy thing has invaded without invitation.  It seems to grow while I'm looking at it.  I think I have mold on my eyelids.  It's definitely behind my ears.

Mother Nature is cruel.  I had four robin babies in a nest in the crutch of my satellite dish when I left for the beach. I checked on them when I got back and they lifted their measly beaks to me as I pushed the screen out of the window to peek.  Yesterday they were gone.  Another kind of bird sat in their place.  I think there are birds out there who steal babies.  It's the second summer I've witnessed this kind of kidnapping.  It just doesn't seem right.

And Mother Nature, too, made very sharp rocks.  Very very sharp rocks, which punctured my air mattress while I was camping and made me lie all night on said sharp rocks.  It just doesn't seem right.  It just doesn't seem fair.  Mother Nature, please make it right.  


Wednesday, June 19, 2013

I've Fallonized my life...

I have exactly 3 hours before I become a taxi driver.  Three hours to sit around and do nothing before three children who can't drive anywhere want me to drive them somewhere.  NEED me to drive them somewhere because they can't be HERE with nothing to do.  140 acres of nothing to do.  A pond with nothing to do.  Swings and streams and jumping apparatus with nothing to do.  Zip lines and cute fuzzy baby animals to cuddle with nothing to do.  Seriously.

So because I love this man and sometimes get a chance to watch, I'm going to make my own PROS and CONS list of my life right now.

1. Bruins have made it to the Stanley Cup Playoffs

Pros: Playoff hockey is some of the best hockey to watch.  I love hockey.  And I like watching good hockey.

Cons: There is a LOT of playoff hockey, which means there is a LOT of imbibing in beer and chips and pizza and popcorn and generally being lazy.  I've also been staying up way too late for this 40 year old which makes for a very short (not in stature) Mommy the next day.  But whatever.

2.   I got a new car

Pros: No struts or axles about to break.  Front breaks don't need to be replaced.  A back gate that stays up.  No sliding door that gets stuck and doesn't shut on its own.  An air conditioner that works.  It's clean clean clean.

Cons: Not as much room as my awesomely spacious mini van.  I don't feel as cool without my mini van (I know this is messed up).  I have children who don't care about keeping it clean clean clean and will step in dog poop (not purposely, I know) but still step in poop and then climb into my new clean clean clean car. But whatever.

3.  It is the end of the school year

Pros: This means that there are (at least) four reasons to bake cookies, muffins, whatever.  I like to bake, especially when whatever I bake leaves the house so I can't eat it.

Cons: more dishes to wash and a husband who gets pissed that no one is willing to share what we bake for events/teachers/parties with him.  But whatever.

4.  Summer is (maybe) here!

Pros: We don't have to get up at 6:30 every morning to get somewhere.  

Cons: When we do finally get up someone is usually bored within 15 minutes.  I've made a list of 25 things (and 25 additional things just for Claire) for them to refer to when they say they're bored.  I'm tired of saying to them that boring people are bored.  They just don't get it.  But whatever.

5.  The adventures begin! Beach, camping, Minnesota!  Let's GO!

Pros:  Yay!  Fun.

Cons: House sitters, animal sitters, packing, unpacking, laundry, weeding, cleaning and the general anxiety I have about leaving the house.  This stresses me OUT!  Can someone else do it?  Please.

6.  I got a new job for the fall teaching high school students. (part-time)

Pros:  Yay!  I'm back in the game.  

Cons:  I actually have to do something now.

Friday, May 17, 2013

A Wombat Celebration of Mary

I've hijacked the Hussy's blog.  I know this lovely lady isn't likely to toot her own horn, so I'm doing it for her.  About a month before Mary's birthday, Paul Bunyan sent the following e-mail out to the Wombats:

         After much deliberation and emotional stress I have come up with a simple plan. Many could not swing the Tuckermans weekend (we'll have to revisit that in the future because I found a rental for all the families!) and I decided it should just be the girls because you ladies have more fun without us guys anyway. Also, I was told there was some discussion about a more intimate party and I know that Mary would prefer this to a big event. So, save the night of Fri the 19th and I will be sending you all out to dinner @ The Kitchen Table Bistro in a semi-private room. The reservation I made is @ 7:30. We will keep it a surprise and Medora will be taking Mary out to dinner because her looser husband is taking her to hang out with her in laws for her 40th. You can all dress in black tops and decorate the room how you like or whatever you want to do to pimp her. I will take care of the tab with the exception of drinks and gratuity if that sounds all right. Details to come.

Love to All,
Paul Bunyan

And so, it was decided that we would don ourselves in sequins and celebrate this fine lady in style.  In an attempt to honor our gal Mary, we all wrote a little something about this fine lady.  After some dancing and delicious food, we shared our words,  Here they are:

From Susan

Blue sky a mornin’
Happy Hollow girl with big beaver
Pond skating decades.
Chicken Pot pie love.
Peanut butter frosting love.
Homesteading hussy.
Forty years old now.
Year after year you amaze
Me, With strength of self.
The forties are fab.
No directions are needed.
Create your sweet path.

From Jules

Beautiful Mary
Knitter of coveted hats
Our Venus in furs
Sensitive badass
Friend, earth mama, doula
Roller derby next?

From Andrea

Mary, Mary, quite contrary
how does your garden grow?
with friends and dogs
and hops and hogs
and hand knit hats all in a row

Mary, Mary, extra-ordinary
ain’t nothing this chick can’t do
she skates and writes
and swears and bites
with more than enough sass to share

Mary, Mary now yer forty
What are you gonna do?
Spanx it up
Fill up a cup
and let us celebrate with you

From Jenny

Mary, sweet Mary
So beautiful contrary
tell us how does your sugarbush grow?
When 1st we met twas wooly and wild

Lately I’ve heard ‘tis trimmed and ready to go!
Her spirits relentless
whether fur clad or pantless
and her heart as big as the moon

Oh Mary, sweet  Mary
fabulously contrary
Oh how you make us all swoon!

From Lee

There’s Something About Mary

Magnificent at everything you do
Always with a beautiful smile
Ravishing in that hot pink dress
Your holiday soiree's and gal pal gathering are one of a kind

Girl you are amazing
A wombat to the core
Never without your charming sassy wit
Zesty fun lovin’ fabulous mom
Everyone wishes they looked that good at 40
Nifty knitter
Many incredibily lucky ladies call you their friend
Underwear fashionista
Lady extraordinaire on the ice
Everyone loves you!!
Rockstar in a fur coat

Cheers to you Mary!! Happy birthday my lovely dear friend!
A million xo’s

From Mud

Ode to Mary

I love that you are my friend.  Your presence comforts me and puts me at ease.  I love walking through the woods with you surrounded by canines who race back and forth like trout moving upstream.  We walk through mud, snow, and ice talking about dreams of the future in our woods, about friendships and husbands, about addiction and growing old.  Sometimes we talk a lot, and sometimes there is silence.  What I love is that it is not uncomfortable to be quiet with you.  In silence we learn who is a true friend.

When I am falling behind on a run, or struggling to keep up with a group, you are always there for me with words of encouragement.  You could easily race to the top and get their first, but instead you stand by me.  You have been my anchor through a slew of storms over the past 10 years.... through miscarriages, death, infants, toddlers, family mayhem, trauma, post traumatic stress..... you have helped me stay strong and carry on despite sadness, frustration and loss.  But through the madness and fog of the tough times, is the light and warmth of the good.  Warm summer days, sitting by the pond, a cocktail in hand watching our children play together with smiles on our faces and theirs or looking back at our tracks on a powder day, panting and grinning from ear to ear.....

You say you don’t know what to do next in life, but what you don’t realize is how much you are doing now.  I am in awe of your ability to juggle 3 children and live your dream of making a living off the land.  I am amazed by your athletic prowess and dedication to your team.  You are truly an inspiration.

Ten years from now, on your 50th birthday when the boys are 18 and most of my dogs have died, we will go south to warmer waters with our husbands and start a bed and breakfast for cute young sailors.... I will be the bartender, and you will cook the food.  Austin and Spencer can do the cleaning;)

Just know that no matter what else happens in life, one of your biggest accomplishments is being such an amazing friend to many and especially me.  I love you old lady.  Here’s to 40 more!!!

From Catherine

Here's to the Hussy
There's one thing you're wrong about, Miss Mary… one thing you're wrong about indeed. You think only three people read your blog? Ha! You make me snort and laugh if you believe that. Or, maybe I should put on my Hussy tone to respond to that. "Who are you fucking kidding? Fuck you crazy lady for thinking that!"
I'm not a weekly reader. I like to let some time lapse, and then make a pot of tea, and sit in my gross bathrobe and have a long read so I can soak it all in.
Impressive insight.
Wondrous wisdom.
Brutal honesty.
Rude, crude, downright hilarious humor.
An artistic eye.
Beautifully crafted words.
Usually I laugh. Sometimes I cry. I love it when I cry because I'm laughing so hard. Often, you make me think about things I normally don't take time to ponder. Usually shit having to do with the meaning of spawn.
Today, in preparation for your 40th, I made that cup of tea and read every post in the Wombat category. All 33 of them … Thirty Three! Thank God we have you, Homesteading Hussy, documenting the highs, the lows, the milestones, the minutia, the outrageousness, the traditions, the growth, and the meaning of it all. It would be a crying shame to let these moments fade with our memories. And, as much as I hate your fucking camera, I do love it when you point it at other people, or at the back window of an Econoline van where we're drawn penisis and vaginas for the world know … Mary G and Her Wombats have Here!

To know you through words is quite a unique gift indeed – perhaps a more clear reflection than I could pull out of you myself.
After 33 blog posts and 3 cups of tea, I think about your very special gift that brings your thoughts to life. But then I take a step back and realize all of the special gifts you have, and how blessed you are to be such a Jill-of-all-Trades. Amazing writer, photographer, cook, craftsperson. Builder, brewer, athlete. Parent, doula, friend. Explorer, adventurer, boat-rocker.  Beautiful and one-of-a-kind BIATCH!
You are a gem, Mary, and we are so happy to celebrate the very special YOU tonight!

From Katy
Mary, Mary Mary

What can’t you do?  
  • You are one of the few people I know who was not only a division I athlete, but one that played in the final four every year and almost made the Olympic National Team
  • You are one of the few people I know who has continued to be a team player--even into your 40’s.
  • You saved my ass when I signed on to coach high school field hockey and had not a clue as to how I could coach these girls.  
  • You have raised dogs, chickens, cats, alpacas, and pigs.  
  • You grow veggies and children like you were born to do it
  • You  had twins with a 2.5 year old and you nursed them and used cloth diapers.
  • You have always been my role model for how you have raised your children-- with lots of love, but understood limits.  
  • You hand spin, dye and knit the most gorgeous textiles I’ve seen
  • You know how to make a great cocktail-- those L.I. teas I was introduced to 9 years ago at Green River will never be forgotten.   
  • You bake the most delicious cakes I’ve ever had-- you’ve made a wedding cake for 90 people!
  • You write with humor and wit and sincerity that I will make you famous some day.
  • You rip on tele skis, a mountain bike, hockey skates, and I hear you are also a really good golfer, too.  
  • You’re an amazing artist-- look no further than behind your stove!
  • You have incredible will power-- whether changing your diet, fasting, or going on jaunts on the wagon.
  • You are tougher than nails-- you hardly let us know how much those Lyme buggers are bothering you and carry on with such stoicism and strength.
  • You suck the marrow out of your summers.  You get around and you make it happen.  
  • You adore your husband and model the give and take that a healthy relationship should emulate.
  • You don’t give a shit.  You say what you want, you do what you want, and you don’t get bogged down by worrying what others think.
  • You dream and you dream and you have come it with so many amazing ways to grow old....... tent platform B & B, brewery, post partum doula, writer, .......
  • You have a heart of gold.  You’d do anything for a friend.  When someone needs you, you are there....... doing exactly what that person needs, even before that person knows she needs it.  You were literally my angel when Cally broke her leg and I had a 3 week old...... You came to my house every week without even asking if I needed you -- preparing meals, strapping Hazen to your body, having your children read to and entertained Cally, and giving me the much needed break I needed to ski or just let go and breath.  I will never forget your generosity and find such comfort in knowing that your friendship is there for me.  
  • You wear your heart on your sleeve and that honesty and sincerity are something I cherish.

Thanks for being you.  I’m so glad you came into my life over 10 years ago.  Having you here has made me a better person.

From Jen (with help from Mud) and sung before the event:


1.   Here’s where we begin our song
This road of friendship’s grown so long
Our Mary with her heart of gold
Has reached that point, the bitch is old

2.   Don’t expect---that we’ll go easy on ‘er
--If we did, this song would be a yawner
“So listen up you pack of bitches!”
(We say that only in her honor)

Mary, Mary, don’t be fussy
Just cause you’re the homestead hussy
Don’t mean we can’t take you out
Dress you up, scream and shout

“Lordy she’s one gorgeous bitch
Can’t be more than 26
Forty if you’re really countin’
What’s she do on that there mountain?”.....

3.   She’s a lover, and so funny
Loves her kids and loves her honey
--We’d all learn a thing or two
Watching her do what she do

4.   But Jesus Christy, she's so feisty
When she drinks Long Island iced tea
Watch your back, she’ll take a smack
And leave her hand print ‘cross your crack!

"I refuse to smoke your weed
I just never felt the need
Now pass the margaritas please”

5.   Her talents have so many shades
She’s a jackass of all trades
Fiber spinner, gourmet dinner
Gifted writer, rooster fighter

6.   Photo taker, blog creator
Shit’s so good you gotta hate her
Pig pig miller, beer distiller
Veggie grower, Bunyon blower


7.   Baby charmer, homestead farmer
Pubic hair is now a goner
Lime diseaser, husband pleaser
Helpful doula, girl you rulah

8.   NC double A offender
Once an o-lymp-ic contenter
Rippin skier, you should see ‘er
Crossfitelia--let me feel ya!

9.   Plays ice hockey like a chick
Likes to hold that big hard stick
You won’t find this lady lunching
Nor will she be carpet munching

10. Self deprecating, masterbating
Gets off on alpacas mating
Likes to show her pubic shanks
In the hole of her beige spanks

“Though I can’t suck my own tit,
I have a very special clit
And I will crush you in crossfit...”

CHORUS x 2, repeat last line

I can't think of a better reason to put on the sequins and celebrate!  The Wombats are lucky to have Mary in our lives!