Chivaree!

The Farmer and I were visiting, yesterday, about a friend of ours that is planning on getting married and he tossed out, "Well, he'll probably run off to Vegas and get married, anyway."

"Then we can chivaree them!", I said, happily!

"We don't do that, here."

"Never? You all never chivaree?"

"Nope."

"Have you been to a chivaree? Ever?"

"I told you.  We don't do that here."

Proof that you can grow up in the same county, 50 miles apart, and live totally different cultures.

Chivaree...pronounced "shiv-uh-REE"....is the American spelling of the French word "charivari", which means, in it's literal translation, "rough music".  You can Google the whole history of it which, quite frankly, has mean origins.  But where I grew up....just across the county...it was done with good humor and the best of intentions.

When a couple snuck off and got married, without allowing the community to properly celebrate with them, they got chivareed.  The friends and community members would secretly plan a middle-of-the-night party, where all would gather at the newlyweds' house, bringing food, beverages (alcoholic and otherwise) a wheelbarrow, pots and pans to clang, rice to put in the bed as the bride was being hauled around in that wheelbarrow, and all other manner of nonsense and revelry.  Sort of a raucous reception to celebrate the union and show the couple that a party WOULD be had, whether they wanted it or not. 

The only one I really remember was when I was very young...maybe 5 or 6?...for Bill and Jackie Brown.  I remember thinking the grownups had lost their minds, but being very impressed at the party in the middle of the night.  I'm sure we didn't stay long, Mom and us kids, but it was something that stuck in my head, for sure!  It was loud and happy and good-natured, and so very strange, to have this big old celebration with no warning. 

So they don't chivaree, here. 
If our friend goes to Vegas, I do believe I might have to start something....

*For all you locals, reading the Chronicles: I'm sure you know who our "friend" is and if you happen inform him that this could occur, we may need to do a practice run at your house.  To celebrate 7 or 21 or 30 years of wedded bliss or something...

Crazy Mary

More questions for Crazy Mary!
I don't know what's more disturbing, really; that someone actually wonders about these things or that I'm taking the time to answer them. 

In no particular order of importance:

1. Do you read magazines from front to back or another way?

I usually just open it up in the middle and look for something interesting.  I almost always scan to the back, from there, then scan to the front from the middle.  EXCEPT in Bon Appetit, where I read the back page first, every time.  And Shape magazine, where I read the success stories first.

2. On what side of your mouth do you chew most of your food?

The inside.  Next question?

3. What was your favorite thing to do at recess, as a kid?

I went to country schools from Kindergarten through eighth grade, so this answer is not going to be a "stock" one....

When I went to Sand Springs school, there were still outhouses that we used as forts.  Isn't that great?! I mean, talk about the perfect dungeon for captured enemies! We left notes in them...love AND hate notes...and did capture prisoners or trick them into joining our camp.  Usually, it was Boys vs. Girls, but a couple years there, there weren't a lot of boys, so there was sometimes a mercy trade.  I'm not sure how merciful it was, to either side, but it sort of evened things up.  As I type this, I'm laughing that we really did that!  I know the teachers, bless their frazzled old hearts, were just happy we were outside and out of their hair so they could have a nip at the bottle and call another country school teacher for moral support....

At Big Dry, we didn't have playground equipment for the longest time, so we played "horses".  What country school kids DON'T? We'd thread a jump rope through the back belt loop on our jeans and another kid would take the reins.  This game came to a screeching halt when all the mothers started comparing notes and they put the kaibosh on this most lively of sports, because ALL our Wranglers had broken belt loops.  Our good Wranglers. 

The other really, really fun game that we played at both schools was Annie-I-Over.  Do you all know that one?  The kids split up into two teams (and you want the fast kids, here) and each team takes a side of the house...the long side.  The designated thrower on the one side throws the ball over the roof while hollering "Annie-I-Over!!!".  If the ball doesn't clear the roof, the thrower hollers "Pigtails!" and tries again.  If the ball DOES clear, the other team has to have a fair catch (not on a bounce) and the whole catching team comes blazing around the end of the building, with the catcher trying to tag someone on the opposing team.  If they tag 'em, they get to keep them on their team.  And thus sides are exchanged and starts all over.  The point of the game is to capture everyone on a team.  This can go on for DAYS, because there's always a sizzlingly fast kid that can't be captured, but he can capture plenty, exchanging slow kids back and forth, back and forth. 

At Sand Springs, we played it over the teacherage, and that was the perfect building!  At Big Dry, we played it over the actual school building and broke a window, eliminating the game from our choices until the next year when we got a new, innocent teacher fresh out of college and started it all over again.  By the end of the year, she'd have found someone to marry to escape the profession, or started chainsmoking and applying to schools in Alaska, so we never usually had to worry about losing the game for more than a few months.

4. What one thing did you decide not to buy that you really wish you would have?

Besides a winning Lotto ticket? 
Honestly, I'm not really a "thing" sort of person.  But I AM an "experience" sort of person and wish that I had spent the money to do some really fun things when I could.  Everytime I did, I didn't regret spending the money, because I'd live for a long time on ramen noodles and peanut butter to have the memory of whitewater rafting or midnight golf, you know? 
I can't really think of any one thing.  This is the blessing of being impulsive and crazy, to an extent!  No regrets until you get to age 70 and have to work at Walmart as a greeter because you spent your retirement  funds on a 15 day fly-fishing expedition in Canada....

5. Describe your life in six words.

Blessed. Rural. Surprising. Evolving. Yummy. Full.

Had you asked that question a month ago, before the sun came out and when things were at their tensest, here, it would've probably included words like:  Dreary. Medicated. Stuck.



The other question that was posed had to do with my favorite childhood television show and I answered that with the Waltons post, BEFORE the question was asked!

There you go.  Send Crazy Mary questions anytime!  

Shop Cats

Look at the pads of his paws....white feet, black toesies....like he walked through black paint or grease!

 The stools in the shop are almost always pre-warmed...

 Looking for a project to get in the middle of!

 Found one! Supervising, unless there's a cord dangling and then he checks the end.

 They get a lot of attention. 

 But when it's time to get serious about mechanic-ing, there's no time for cats!

First Calf 2011!

It's always a big deal.

Every year, the first calf is greeted with cheers and phone calls are made.

The kids and I pile into the car and drive over to see the little thing, take pictures and oooooo at how sweet he is. 

You'd think it would get sort of ho-hum.  After all, in a week or so, there will be calves all over.

But I can tell you that, for me at least, each new calf is dear and miraculous. 

No matter how many times I see it.

He can't decide whether he's getting up or down....

It's a terrible place, this in-between, and it's a long ways either way!

Going down!

I love how they rest their little chins on the ground, making themselves flat and round!  He's so very shiny new that the sawdust is sticking to him, making him look pretty scuzzy.  I'll bet this morning he's soft and fuzzy, his mama having worked him over several times to spiff him up.

Speaking of his mama....she's so cute! This is her first calf and she doesn't know what to think.  She DOES think, however, that we should be moving along and so we do...

 Little man, picking his way through the muck, past the barn.  It's so warm, right there!

That had trouble written all over it, so he got a ride.

 And THAT'S what we were walking around and through.  It smells just as charming as it looks. Although, (and you're going to think I'm nuts)(MORE nuts) I really sort of like the smell of barnyard.  It's....homey, to me.

 Okay, you see that big hill, just past the Farmer?  That's snow/ice/dirt.  And it has melted quite a little.  Can you believe that?  It's going fast, though....the days have been 40+ degrees and the water is running!

 These are the girls who are waiting.  Do you see how absolutely round they are? That makes me smile.
I remember how I looked, at nine months pregnant and it was exactly like that!  And probably as cheerful...

Last look at the barn...we left the door open a little, so the new mamas could have some fresh air...

NOW, Spring is here!

Time Machine

I found one!

Do you remember....?

The Waltons

When I was little, little...like four years old....my family had television.  And the shows I remember were: HeeHaw, 60 Minutes and The Waltons.  My Mom tells me that my first crush...even before Joe Gibson and his romantic moustache....was John Boy Walton.  And my Dad would tease me about him and I'd wail. 

We moved when I was five and didn't have television from then on, until I was in high school, I think.  But we'd see shows at our grandparents' house and so were not completely culturally deprived. The Waltons was a favorite of my parents and grandparents, so we suffered through it.  I remember it as greyish, boring and hokey. 

I found an unopened box of Season 1, last night, while looking through movies and thought I'd put a DVD in, to torture MY kids with. (They'd wail and the cycle would continue...)

The music started and I almost got tears.  Do you remember the theme song?

I'll bet you do.

The Waltons Theme

See?

It was sepia tinted and I don't know if they did that on purpose, or if that was just television color at the time.  Whatever the reason, it's perfect to my eyes, now, considering the times portrayed in the show...the 1930's. 

John Boy is still sweet.  I think I liked him because he was smart.  I don't know.  But I still like him.

I was startled to see that Ma is probably only a couple years older than I am now!  NO!

I love their house.  I loved it when I was a kid and I still do.  The big kitchen and table, the family room and...this is my VERY favorite part of it....the big front porch.  I have a terrible longing for a front porch like that.  How very midwestern of me, hm?

I had forgotten there were so many Waltons!  Can you remember all their names?  That's my challenge.  Without Google-ing or anything, look at the picture and try to name them all.  Bonus if you remember the mother and father's names.  And if you remember the grandparent's names, you must be watching re-runs somewhere.

It turns out, after the initial whining, that Maggie and Angus are already sucked in and want to watch more.  I'm glad.  I like that the family gets angry with each other, then mends the hurts.  I like that there's a little country store like Sand Springs Store used to be and that the neighbors are good hearted and nosy.  I like that they have to work together, as a family.  I like that they tease each other and support each other and share candy, but not willingly. 

So, once again, the Waltons are in my life.  At least for a DVD season.

I sure have missed them.



Dear Sara H.,

I just got the new issue of Bon Appetit, the magazine you so thoughtfully (or wickedly) subscribed for me this year.  The Farmer has EMT classes tonight, so I was going to wait until the kids went to bed, then gather up Bon Appetit and a glass of pinot noir and revel in richness.

It sat there, on the counter, in all its seductive glory, in the plastic wrapper.

Tick, tick, tick, tick...

3:30....

3:46....

4:03....

The Farmer came in to shower and leave for class. 

4:12....

4:28....

"Have-a-nice-evening-learn-lots-about-soft-tissue-wounds-and-hope-night-calving-is-easy-GOODBYE!"
 Slamming of the door behind him and a race to the counter!

Hello my sweet....
And I released Bon from the wrapper, hugging it to my body as I poured the pinot...
(No.  The kids are not in bed. But they ARE outside.  Good enough!)

Have you opened yours, yet?

Did you SEE that there's a whole section on Mediterranian cuisine?  Including a primer on how to roll grape leaves!  If only I HAD grape leaves...
And garden tools.
And passion fruit rum punch.
And....this is being tested on Friday....Steak Picadillo Soft Tacos.

No man ever greeted a Playboy magazine with as much greed and thrill as I did this Bon Appetit periodical.
(I can prove nothing....)

Bless you...a hundred times over.
And curses.  I didn't know what I was missing, before, and now I do.

The Farmer's Wife

(For the rest of my followers/surrepticious readers....Bon Appetite can be had for $12 a year.  You spend more than that on coffee every week!  Try it!)

(AND I want to encourage you to go to the website and get the Honey-Roasted Onion Tart recipe. And make it.  Really.  REALLY! Six happy bookclub women licking the platter can't be wrong...)

Pink Martini

My latest passion:

Pink Martini!

No...not the drink, although I'm sure it's perfectly delightful.

The musical group!

From Wikipedia:

Pink Martini is a 12-member "little orchestra" from Portland, Oregon, formed in 1994 by pianist Thomas M. Lauderdale. They draw inspiration from music from all over the world – crossing genres of classical, jazz and old-fashioned pop. Band leader Thomas Lauderdale describes the band's sound as "music of the world without being world music."

They're just classy.  They make me feel classy when I play them and cha-cha-cha around the kitchen!

Impossible to describe, just when I think they're more French, they toss out a Hispanic sort of jazz.  So, I think, "Ah...Hispanic!" and there's a Japanese song. 

You'd think this would be jarring, but it's a wonderful, surprising blend and I can't stop playing it.

The two albums (What DO you CALL them, now?) I have are:

And my favorite song is:

Lilly by Pink Martini

Also try:
Sympathetique
(the video stinks, but the song is great)

Or:
Una Notte a Napoli

Tell me what you think...

*I realize this is a leap, from Pat Green and George Strait.  Welcome to the maze of my mind...

You just never know...
Neither do I, really!

Naught Calving

I was going to write about night calving, but so far, it's been naught calving...we've got nothin'.

Well, that's not true.

We have four heifers who are about to explode with calves, and four more hanging out, seriously considering the option.  But they really have no motivation to calve, because the four dames who are the closest get to bunk in the warm barn every night.  And you can bet they know the way in! After they calve, however, they have to sleep outside on a hill WITH a calf they don't know what to do with. The moo-ternity ward is a much better situation and I do believe they're just clenched up, holding on as long as they possibly can.  Two squares a day, cozy sleeping quarters....nice!

I took my turn at the night calving last night, terrified that there'd be three heifers calve on my shift, and with complications at that.

Night calving is inconvenient and chilly.  It feels like an insult, to have to get up every three hours, stuff yourself into coveralls and muckboots, tromp through the corral, check each cow's behavior and their rear ends for signs of a calf coming.  In fairness, the cows are not impressed with this little ritual, either.  You can almost hear them groaning, "Here she comes, AGAIN..."  So we roll our eyes at each other, I look at each number and each tail region, on the four in the barn and the four in the corral, and I tromp back to the shop. 

Last night was beautiful...warm, no wind, all the stars out.  By the time I headed back to the shop, I was wide awake and enjoyed the night.  Everything else was asleep, except me and the cows.

And the shop cats.
We have two black and white shop cats that have taken it over, and even though they're SUPPOSED to be catching mice, they pretty much just harass anyone who happens to cross the threshold and rough 'em up for cheap cat food.  They really are cute, but when you're trying to sleep in the camper and they're squalling and leaping on it, rocking it to get you to come out, they're less charming.

We have an old fifth wheel camper pulled into the shop, The Redneck Guesthouse, for the night calvers to sit in and read, toss and turn in a sleeping bag for 2 1/2 hours, falling asleep 30 minutes before the alarm goes off for the next check.  There are snacks, water, and...this is big....electricity for lights to read by. 

The cats resent the camper, mightily, and actually are able to rock it by jumping on the step and (I think) the roof.  It's sport and I'm not going to give them the satisfaction of having roused me out of the joint, so I stay in there and mutter and pull the sleeping bag over my head. 

No calves. 
And you'd think it would feel like you'd wasted the night, but I was relieved. (As was my father-in-law, I'm sure.)  I don't mind doing it.  I like the cows and the quiet night, I like being able to read for three hours, uninterrupted, if I want.  I like (not) sleeping in the camper...it reminds me of camping with my Grandpa and Grandma Mosby...it smells the same. 

I hope the next post is FIRST CALF of 2011!!!

*Addendum: Tonight I was telling Maggie about checking the heifers and she asked, "Did they have pupae?"  Um...no.  They did not.  First grade science is a little blurry on that, I guess....

"And the five little bunnies lived happily ever after...the END!"

"Now I'll read YOU a story, Mags."

"I have a secret..."

"Huh?"

I love this picture....they're not kicking each other!

All of a sudden, he got the joke...

Kisses...

This post was for the grandparents who always call when madness and mayhem is busting loose in the background, and there's certain bloodshed to follow, so I have to get off the phone...

Spring training

I think everyone hits spring feeling a little...shlumpy and dumpy, after all the winter comfort foods and marathon movie weekends.  And the doggone catalogs start coming with lithe, firm 18 year old swimsuit models, frolicking on the sands of...BoraBora.  Or St. Croix. 

Spring is a time of eternal hope, so instead of pitching the catalogs the moment they cross the threshold, I thumb through them, wondering if there's any possible way...

Smart people buy shorts at Walmart and are satisfied and get on with their lives.
Smart people don't torture themselves with impossible ideals and circled items.
Smart people accept that God made them a certain way (not in a swimsuit model mold) and enjoy Girl Scout cookies with no self-recrimination.
Smart people laugh at the thought and draw mustaches on the wretched models, before tossing the pages in the trash.

Turns out, 'smart' isn't a word that is ever coupled with my name.
I know.
Shocking....

Here's what I do:

Look at the models half my age and think, "I think I can do that."
Show the catalogs to a friend 10 years my junior and ask her opinion....which, as we all know, is going to be WAY different than one of my peers. 
Take to heart her enthusiastic support, IF I get a tan.  I can't do it without a tan, she emphasizes.
Gather up all the Shape, Fitness and Self magazines that have the word 'bikini' on the cover.
Order the first two piece I've had the guts to buy since age....get this....21! (On big clearance sale...possibly the only smart thing I did in this whole process.)
Panic.
Add too many crunches/pushups/planks too fast. Ditto on miles running.
Die.
Get a tiny package from Fed Ex. (No. Way.)
Panic.
Try the feared garment(s?) on.
Admit a tan and extra work is needed, but it's not the spector of revolting skin that I anticipated.
Lots of extra work.  A pretty darn good tan.  An attempt to embrace vegetables as friends, not foe. 

Maybe by July, I'll have the guts to wear it on our deck, to the kiddie wading pool, after a glass of wine and checking to make sure there are no tractors in a 5 mile radius....

Thanks, George Harrison...

...for writing this song. 
There's a ranch wife in Montana who took it to heart, today!

Here comes the sun.
Here comes the sun, and I say
It's alright.

Little darlin', it's been a long lonely winter.
Little darlin', it feels like years since it's been here.
Here comes the sun.
Here comes the sun, and I say
It's alright.

Little darlin', smiles returning to the faces.
Little darlin', it seems like years since it's been here.
Here comes the sun.
Here comes the sun, and I say
It's alright.

Little darlin', I feel that ice is slowly melting.
Little darlin', it seems like years since it's been clear.
Here comes the sun.
Here comes the sun, and I say
It's alright.

Easing into evening...

There's a golden hour that happens about twice a week in our house....when everyone is quiet and busy and content.  It's usually as I'm preparing supper, puttering in the kitchen with music in the background, a glass of wine on the counter as I chop ingredients.  The kids usually wind up at the table with epic novels or masterpieces that they work on and chatter about, coloring and creating.  The light is soft, and sometimes I light candles, just because it seems right.  Sometimes we dance.  We talk about mermaids and pirates and carrots and falafel.  The kitchen starts smelling like pasta and garlic, and we start thinking about how long it will be before Daddy gets home and how wonderful the ravioli will be. We sing. 

Industrious little souls, NOT FIGHTING.  (This is big.)

This is a pirate story.  It says, "These are the good pirates and the captain gives orders and they do them."

I know.  I had to have the translation, too.

Maggie is writing a book that will actually be published, about mermaids.  This is her Christmas present from Don and Shelly and Baby Ison, and she's working hard on it.  It's worrisome that there isn't a marker for skin color.  AND....this is being disregarded completely....there's only supposed to be 20 words per page.  There's no way to tell a really good story with 20 words per page. Trust me. 

She IS her mother's child....

Our playlist at the moment.

Cheryl Wheeler is our latest favorite, followed very closely by Mary Chapin Carpenter.

(Susie K. R....I'm indebted to you for introducing me to Cheryl Wheeler!  When Goodbye Wifes and Daughters is written as a screenplay, I'm gonna say I knew that song back when...)

(And we all know it will be a screenplay.)

(And if you need a beleagered miner's wife extra...call me.)

Twillabie, suitably subdued for the occasion....

There's something so soothing about chopping vegetables for a salad.  Especially with a cabernet sauvignon to accompany the task.

The salad consists of (because foodies read this): spinach, onions, celery, green chili peppers, dried cranberries, glazed walnuts and feta cheese, with a sesame dressing.

The chili peppers surprise everyone, in a good way. 

I love salads that make you stop and say, "What was THAT?"

This is in my kitchen window...

I read it as the serenity of the evening settles in and the gifts of two dear friends bless me.

Celestia's angel and the card from Denise that reads:

"A multitude of small delights constitutes happiness."

Indeed.

True Confession #302

(Is anyone keeping track of the numbering? I think we're in the 300's, now.  I'm sure one of my more meticulous followers will set me straight if I'm off by 25 or so...)

This is humbling.

I've had more than one of you tell me that you follow what I read and then, based on that completely shaky, flaky information, you choose some of your reading material.  Bless your poor misguided little hearts...!

This will probably shatter whatever illusions you had (note the past tense, here) about my taste in reading material.  I'm tumbling down from the literary pedestal.  And landing on my face.

I know you're thinking I'm going to disclose a secret love for Harlequins, but that's not it.  (I'm allergic to Harlequins, frankly.)

It's worse.

I absolutely can't get enough of that trashy magazine called "People". 

It's true. 

I used to be happy to have to wait for doctor appointments, up to an hour, because I'd have time to hungrily read all the back issues of People. I didn't snatch copies out of other patient's hands, but I sincerely thought about it a couple times.  Fortunately for them, just a long, piercing glare seemed to do the trick.

When I was pregnant, I was ecstatic at the weekly appointments, because I got FRESH People magazines! YES! 
I was so informed about Nicole Kidman and Tom Cruise and Snoop Dogg and Jennifer Anniston that I'd have won celebrity trivia games, if only there was such a thing.

Now here's the thing:  I won't buy them.  I can't.  I cannot toss down five bucks a week to read that trash, no matter how wonderfully awful it is.  I do have my limits.  Even though I've left a few on the rack a little tattered, I just can't do it.

Here's richness, though....

I have a supplier.  A dealer.  Someone to feed this terrible, disgraceful, secret (well, not anymore) addiction. 

And once a month, I get a stack of People magazines! (They're weekly, so they build up quick.)

It's positively heady, to see that pile on my front seat in the Trailblazer. 
I am now back in the loop with fashion, celebrity relationships, hot music on the street and dreadful Hollywood gossip. 
It's glorious.

I hope we can still be friends, now that you know this about me.

And if you're REALLY nice, I might pass the mags along to you when I'm done....

Spelling Bee!

I'm going to preface this post right away with the statement that I absolutely can't stand spelling bees. 
Before you all squawk and holler and fluff, it's not the idea of spelling bees that I don't like....I think they are a good thing, educationally, and good spellers warm my heart.  What I don't like about them is the sheer monotony of the process, the scary student-eating microphone, the pressure of an audience when you have to spell the word "hors d'oerves", the picky little rules that we only hear once a year and are still unsure about.  And did I mention the monotony of the whole thing?

So, in Jordan, the spelling bees run all day. All the students from the rural schools come in and spell with the town school kids.  They start with the 7th graders.  Then they go to the 8th graders.  Then the 2nd graders.  Then the 1st graders.  I have a 1st grader, so I sat through the 7th, 8th, and 2nd graders, just to watch my little toothless 1st grader spell "had". 

And here's how it looked.
The 7th and 8th graders were just about as impressed to be there as I was.  And there were a PILE of them!  My goodness!  The class sizes in Jordan, for a while, were dwindling to five or six kids per grade.  But the 7th grade must've had 25 kids, at least. 

It was sort of amusing to watch them slouch to the microphone, spell and slouch back to the end of the line.  When you're in 7th and 8th grade, it's not cool to look excited or happy about anything.  Or even mildly interested.  One should maintain an air of "barely conscious of the surroundings".  But they are probably the most self-conscious creatures on earth and I feel for them.  (They would later come back, in the afternoon, for the "official" spelling bee, where the winner would advance to the state spelling bee, I think.)

In sharp contrast, the 2nd graders practically bounced up to the microphone.  They were delightful!  And they were old hands at this spelling bee stuff, having been mere 1st graders last year, but seasoned spellers this year.  There were a lot of them, too.  Easily 25-27, I would think. 

One 2nd grader is STILL making me smile, as I think about her! She was a little sprite with a sparkle in her eye, blonde hair and a sharp little chin, and she stepped up with spirit to the microphone.  No slouching, here!  She'd spell her word with a bright little voice, wait to see the green flags and then SKIPPED...yes, she literally skipped....back to the end of the line!  And there she fairly danced, although she was being quiet and good.  Gosh, I just wanted to squeeze the dickens out of her.

The 1st graders were pretty nervous.  They were serious.  They had seen the microphone.  They had watch the red and green flags.  This was a big deal.  And quite a few of them were missing teeth, so when they spelled, sometimes it was tricky to decide if it was "F" or "S"....

Here they are:

Aren't they cute and serious and sweet with their little hands folded nicely, waiting for their chance to spell?

 Benjamin Ross G. was very precise.  He'd get his word, repeat it, then say "O-KAY."  Then spell it. I love that kid....!

 Maggie, waiting in line, making sure of where I am and thinking about the words.  She would spell them, in line, with the kid who was at the microphone....I watched her lips move!  Behind her is a little firecracker and her new friend (whom she meets about every 3 months, just like a brand new kid).  If they ever actually DO collaborate on anything, look out Jordan....

 Spelling her first word, "had".  Correctly!

 A-a-a-a-n-d-d....back around for another word. 

She made it three rounds, I think, if you count the practice round.  And she was completely fine with that.

When asked about her day and what she thought, Maggie pretty much just talked about eating at the cafe and going to the library.  We didn't hear a word about the spelling bee.

*Side note, here.  It's even MORE excrutiating to take a 4 year old to a spelling bee.  Angus was a VERY good boy, for the most part.  Quieter than I expected and very well-behaved.  Probably better behaved than me.  But at one point, he drew a picture that he wanted Maggie to see, so he just hauled it up and showed her, right in the middle of the 1st graders spelling.  And trotted right back, once he was satisfied she approved.

Busybodies

I dunno....Garth Vader?

 We have kittens! The rotten mama kitty, Cordelia May, had four kittens out in the doghouse in -20 weather.  We only managed to save two and they have been a welcome diversion for winter weary kids.

 Montana spring cookout....

 I got cookie cutters at the Denver Zoo, for the kids and I to make WILD cookies!  This, in case you can't tell, is a frosting-heavy lion...with sprinkles!

(It's not really decorated unless you use sprinkles, according to Angus.)

Kangaroos, lions and giraffes...

Maggie labored over this giraffe, bemoaning the lack of brown frosting with which to make it truly authentic....it was distressing, too, to not be able to make the spots just so...

NO TEEF!!!  Don't you think little kids with no front teeth are about the most adorable creatures on earth?