Spring Training

The Easter Bunny did come yesterday. He (or she in this case) left a few candy wrappers on the couch. I told the kids, when they found them in the morning, that He must have needed a break between houses. woops.

I don't really know what to tell the kids about why the Big Brown Bunny comes into the house, magically through the walls, to leave jelly beans hidden everywhere for them to find in the morning. We don't get into the Jesus Christ thing...we're not the church goin' type and I guess we're goin' to hell for that, but I suppose you gotta believe in hell to get there. But that's another spring story for another spring day.

Anyway, Paul Bunyan was away for the weekend down at the Frozen Four (what a game!) and then had to go straight to work (and celebrate with Andrea Philips, co-worker of PB's and wife to our HERO Capt. Philips), so I had to come up with some activity for my three little "psychos on sugar," who all ate about 1/3 of their Easter buckets. We had all originally planned on going to Stowe to ski. My friends plan an 80's ski party every Easter at Stowe. I have yet to be able to go. But this year, now that the rats are skiing in a pack and on their own, I thought I could bring'em with me. So when I woke to snow flurries this morning, I thought, if I don't go skiing, how the hell am I going to tucker these bunnies out?

Here's what stupid does. Stupid looks at the snow conditions at Stowe (anyway):

Base: 23 degrees
Summit: 12 degrees
Machine Groomed/Loose/Frozen Granular

Stupid doesn't have another plan to tucker these bunnies out...so she goes anyway. Stupid wears her old 80's ski jacket, and hat, and glasses, despite the party pretty much being cancelled. Stupid gets the bunnies in their ski gear and gets them on the gondola, with the help of her very smart friend Katy, who isn't in 80's ski gear. Stupid starts skiing down the hill with bunnies. Here are her interpretations of the ski conditions listed on the Stowe website.

Machine Groomed: some machine, other than the fancy Stowe ski cat, came up on that mountain during the night. Stupid thinks it was more like the zamboni Paul Bunyan was watching all weekend at the Frozen Four.

Loose: If you could take millions of snow cones and instead of pouring blueberry, grape, or strawberry syrup over them, you (instead) poured some kind of grey matter on top and then spread this over the ice sheet that the zamboni layed the night before, you would understand what we were skiing through.

Frozen Granular: Large chunks of ice balls, similar in size and shape to small boulders, were periodically spaced on the trails, allowing for great entertainment for Claire, as she tried to pick them up and place them elsewhere, all while she was skiing down the mountain.

Stupid took two runs and then went to have a beer with her two smart friends Katy and E, who did not wear their 80's garb; and Katy's husband, who did not where his 80's garb; and Katy's baby Cally, who could wear anything and be cute; and E's son Rowan, who couldn't be talked into taking more than one run; and all my bunnies.

On the drive home I was trying to justify why I did such a stupid thing...and here's what I came up with. We were having Spring Training. I am training my bunnies to be the best damn skiers EVER. You want to learn how to ski on any terrain? SKI THE EAST! You want to learn how to ski on any terrain fast? SKI THE EAST BABY! You want to learn how to huck yourself off a cliff and land on small boulder shaped ice chunks and survive? SKI THE EAST HONEY! They really will rock when they take their tour of duty out west as a ski bum, which I may just require.

Well, I did get to have some peace and quiet on the way home, because wouldn't you know it, my goal to tucker them out worked!





Oh damn,











that was just in my stupid head.

And the Bikers Roll

It's official. The bikes are dirty. Yesterday, the sun was shinig, which was reason enough to drive down to the town rec fields, which are next to the Town Hall, which is next to the Baptist church, which is across from the Elementary school, which is at the base of Camel's Hump, in order to ride on the only paved car-free zone within 20 miles.









You'll notice here that my first spawn still has her training wheels on, which I believe is a direct result of living on a very muddy mountain and generally being a very cautious 7 year old.








Now this cat will probably be the first to take them off, but we're not there yet.






And that little scooter will be happy with them on or off; it just don't matter to him. We're all just happy to be movin' our legs.





Now, this cat, this cat right here, is Mud's son. You can read about Mud's road in my post entitled: One More Sign of Spring. He is 2 weeks older than the twins and they pretty much LOVE him...he has no fear. Which is why, at 4 years old, he's ready for this:




Are you sure you're ready?






Okay, here we go...

Hey, I'm doing it!

Yea, I got this down.

I got this covered.

See you later alligator.

I think we're a few years away...but I'll keep you posted.

August the Fifth

My husband's father's family are Germans. It's embarrassing that I don't know the complete heritage...who came from where, when, why, how? I know that the majority of the Augusts' have been born in August; I know (for sure) that the last three have. Whether or not the first two were born in August, I'm not sure. I'll find out and let you know. However, the fact that 3/5 have definitely been born in August is kinda cool...don't ya think? This is what I know...


August (the original)...???
August II...he was called Gus
August III...he is called Tuck (or Popi by my children)
August IV...he goes by Austin (or Paul Bunyan on this blog)
August V...he goes by Auggie (I don't think he knows his name is August, like the month)



August III, IV, and V have all been born in August. Our Auggie, our baby, is (for certain) a boy. Despite his obvious physical genitalia, here's how I know he is a boy: he has not wanted to pick up a pen, not wanted to think about holding a pen, or a crayon, or a marker, or even a Cray-Pas EVER. Sorry, this is stereotypical. He is 4 and a half. Now mind you, I graduated from Iowa (I'll explain later) with a degree in English and went right on to get my Master's in English at UVM (go cats go), and taught English at a private school before having my daughter, who is going to major in English at Harvard (just joking, maybe). Are you getting the reading, writing, holding a pen, ENGLISH part here? I'm not pressuring him, at all; not ever, no never, I promise. You have to believe me. Because I think you would have heard, in my voice, a bit of celebration when I went into his bedroom (which, mind you, is full of TOYS, like trucks and trains and tractors and race cars) and found him doing this...ALL BY HIMSELF (which, mind you, will be framed and subsequently posted on the wall)!












Now, I'm not sure if this is a hungry hunter like a Baryonyx, Velociraptor, Xenotarsosaurus, or a Stenonychosaurus, or possibly a peaceful plant eater like a Zephyrosaurus, Wannanosaurus, or a Riojasaurus. Wah? I guess it doesn't really matter in the end. However, I was certain our very own King August the Fifth from Lichtenstein could tell us what kind of fire spitting dinosaur this is. And so when I asked him (after my private little celebration I had in my head) he said, simply, "(duh, you English nerd) it was a Fabrosaurus."








And all I could say was..."that is fabulous...simply, fabulous. You, King August the Fifth, are Fabrolous."

The Sun Is Shining...You Know What That Means

Okay, this is going to be quick....it's supposed to rain tomorrow. Find yourself some beautiful local seeds.





Then add some gorgeous local dirt. YEA! Local dirt, there is nothing like it!





Then you get yourself two goombas...they're cheap labor.






You fill up peat planting containers (totally organic!) with local dirt.




Yea, it's so hot today (because the sun is shining) that we're in our bare feet...and hats. But the next step is to water the dirt...yes, water the dirt. And while you're filling up the watering can in the bathroom, please don't leave the water running so that it spills out the spout of the watering can and all over the floor, like a certain goomba did today. He lost 2 cents for that.

Next, take finger (as shown below) and insert into said dirt. Please note: this is not the sucking thumb!

Now...plant seeds. Tomatoes, I recommend. Maybe some cukes, possibly some zucchini. You decide. Let germinate. Needs sun (or grow lights). Let it stop snowing. Plant in the ground. Eat good food...local food...like, right out your back door local. Nothing like it. You try.

When You Say Nothing At all

You're either a dog person, or you're not. There is no middle ground here. Either you don't mind the slobber, or you do. It's that simple. I'm a dog person. I'm raising dog people. I married a dog person. I'm friends with dog people; Mud has 7 (seven!) and well, E isn't so much a dog person. But generally, we all have dogs, and love dogs, and will probably always have dogs until the end.


I'd like to introduce you to my dogs. My parents got a black lab when I was in college (empty nest syndrome). This dog ate through most of the house and their pocket book (figuratively). But she lived a long (14 years) and happy life (couch to herself). She was a black lab named Billie, which was, coincidentally, my nick name in college. I loved this dog. I love black labs. I can't help myself.

So, when Paul Bunyan and I lived in the sunny (can I emphasize sunny since it's been raining and snowing here for a week?) state of Colorado for a few years, I talked him into driving 2 hours East of Denver into the prairies of Nebraska to look at a black lab. This is what we found.



























This is Sydney. She was born in Sydney, Nebraska. She is our first born and like all first borns, she has her issues. She has never, despite all our attempts at training, learned to come when she is called. Here Sydney is tied up. We are camping in the middle of nowhere and she would have taken off to find a deer or bear or moose carcass to lose herself in.







Sydney once stole a gosling from a nest in Fairmont Park when we lived in Philly. She ran up and down the Schuylkill, shaking the poor baby goose in her mouth. She ran across the river and through a gaggle of screaming school children. Paul Bunyan just watched and pretended not to know her.



Sydney has had three serious cases of pancreatitis...that's about $3,000. She has eaten carcasses, compost, and whole bags of garbage. She is an amazing counter surfer and just almost got my bagel this morning, while I was standing right there.



Sydney ate our neighbor's chickens two weeks after the twins were born. There is no hard proof and Paul Bunyan wanted some. I thought the gosling story was proof enough.



Two houses, two electric fences: $1,000.



Sydney rarely gets up when we walk out the door, or in it for that matter. She barks at the dark, and smells really bad in the summer. But we love her none-the-less and that's mostly because she lets everyone do this.







She and Timmy have a real bond.

I was the driving force, once again, when we went to St. Johnsbury, Vermont, to "look" at Liebe (pronounced Leeba). You never drive somewhere to "look" at a puppy. That's just crap. Liebe means "love" in German and she definitely is a love. We got her on Valentine's Day 6 years ago. I don't have too many puppy photos of Liebe because, well, you know what happens when the third child comes along. But I do have a snip-it here of Liebe right after she joined our household. I think you'll see that Sydney is overjoyed to finally have a playmate.






Liebe is my little buddy. She is ready for adventure and never wants to miss it...which is why she is usually at my side. She is the best dog I know. AND she can jump off the dock, like, 20 feet. It's so cool.






Liebe is the best co-pilot there ever was. She never says that I'm going too fast over the bumps, or "Please don't bottom out the car again," or "Why didn't you stop at that stop sign?". I love her because she doesn't whine, or ask for help putting on her jacket, or need help tying her shoes. I love her because she doesn't say anything at all...actually. Which is why I'd like to dedicate this song to my dogs. The woman singing is a friend of mine; she is singing with her brother, which is something I can say I've never done before. So, Sydney and Liebe, this one's for you. And Char, I hope you're not too offended that I dedicated your song to my dogs. It just made sense to me.

When you say nothing at all 3 wav - Tim

The Raising

I'd like to tell you a little story. There once was a man who did everything he set his mind to. The end.


Paul Bunyan is just like this man. It's incredible. Every time he says he's about to do this super human feat, I'm always like, "there's no way dude." And then he just goes ahead and does it anyway. He did this two summers ago when he said he was going to build a post and beam garage and shop. Yea, Paul Bunyan is a nurse by trade. I haven't said that yet (and I'll explain my theory as to why he is a nurse later) but that's how he brings in the big bucks. I mean, he would love to make his living from the woods and in the woods, but the fact remains that he is saving lives three 12 hour shifts a week in the emergency room of our local hospital, the only Level 1 trauma center in the state. He is our hero. It's also nice to have someone like that around the house, because frankly, when there is a choking kid in this house, it's his name I call out.

So to go back to the whole post and beam thing, Paul Bunyan had never done that kind of thing when he came to me two years ago. But sure enough, if he says he's going to do something, he sure as hell is going to do it. Here's how it all unfolded:

My own Paul Bunyan, much to my chagrin, cut down some beautiful pines right around the homested here. And hired a beautiful portable saw, and a dirty man, to cut the trees to size. I'd like to state that Paul Bunyan definitely wanted to purchase one of these said "portable saws" until I talked him out of it.




















After the beams were cut to size, he had to mortise and tenon them; which basically means he had to put either penises or vaginas in them. Not to sound too graphic, but that's the most basic way I can explain what Stinky Jon and Paul Bunyan are doing here. Stinky Jon is one of Paul Bunyan's college buddies and closest friends, and he's also the one who knows a little more about post and beam building, as he built his house in N.H. in just the same manner, all by himself, with no nails!!




















While all this is going on, the hunting cabin, which once stood on the spot where the new garage was going to go, had to be taken down and was either burned or taken to the dump and in its place a big hole had been dug. This was super cool to a certain few boys who like big machines with big buckets attached to them.





















This, of course, made a muddy mess that a few certain muddy monsters couldn't resist playing in.





















But luckily, when the first Part A's went into Part B's correctly we knew things might actually work! Paul Bunyan laid the first supporting floor joists himself, with the help of his tractor.






















On "raising day" we had a good old fashioned raising with lots of friends and family. Everyone came to lend a hand (thank the good lord). This is Mike, our builder, who Paul Bunyan kinda has a man crush on. He is setting up our block and tackle, since we raised this sucker by hand. No cranes came to our aid...we did it old style with pullies, and well, a John Deer (didn't they have those back then?).


























Here is a snip-it of the first "bent" going up. A bent is a supporting wall. In Paul Bunyan's garage, there were three. We did the first two on raising day. The third one was done primarily with John, the tractor. I was very (very) nervous during this video, which explains why I was video taping the ground through most of it. I thought for sure that the whole thing would come back down on all our favorite people in the world. And they would all be dead. So...sorry for taping the ground. It was life or death.

Here is my father-in-law wondering how the hell we're going to raise that third bent without all our friends.

But sure enough, look who is celebrating building this thing from scratch...with his own dog garn hands. And, of course, a village of friends....and muddy monsters.

I love what you can do Paul Bunyan, especially when it seems like it's impossible.

Oh, I'm So Sorry Mr. Chickadee

I get kind of sad when winter leaves. What can I say, I'm a Northerner. I love getting snowed in and having to sit around the fire all night long. I love when Paul Bunyan has to plow three times in a day just so he can keep up with the snow. I love that snow is not mud, and it's not rain, and I definitely love how quiet it is. It doesn't make a peep. Which is why this morning when I woke up and looked out my window and saw the trees covered in the white stuff and heard the chickadees chirping, I knew I wasn't in Kansas anymore. The beautiful silence of the snow was, instead, charged with the shrieks of the slightly pissed off chickadees. "What the hell, hell, hell?" I felt really bad. I'm sorry Mr. Chickadee! Spring will come!