What Was I Saying?

I have lots of pictures of the sawmill doing its thing yesterday, as well as pictures of the massive logs it was sawing up and the resulting slabs of wood that are big enough to make a table top out of. And I had lots of clever accompanying explanations and commentary. But it's all gone now, courtesy of Cubby and what I must assume is another growth spurt. I could swear that kid has a watch hidden somewhere (in those useful pockets, possibly). How else would he be able to wake up every three hours exactly to demand food?

ANYWAY.

So I did not sleep last night and all cleverness has fled the premises of my brain. However, I still have the pictures and will do a post about the wood milling in the next few days.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go take a shower and drink some coffee in an attempt to kickstart my cognitive functions. Peace out.

One Thing Leads to Another

A. took a truckload of tree branches and wood for burning to the beach yesterday evening. While he was down there, he snuck out in his boat* to do a little illicit fishing. Sneaky little bugger. But I forgave him, because he returned with a nice big pike for our dinner tonight.

And speaking of A.! He's finally going to get those trees he obtained many months ago milled into boards today. The action is going to all be at his friend's house, but I might try to take Cubby on a field trip up there sometime today to see the portable sawmill in action. He might not be too impressed, but I kind of want to see it.

And speaking of today! The forecast is calling for 80 degrees. WHAT? It's April 2nd, in case you didn't know that. It is NOT 80 degrees on April 2nd around here. Like, ever. I think this may be record heat.

And speaking of heat! I have no short-sleeved shirts that are convenient for Cubby feeding. A shopping trip seems to be in order.

And speaking of Cubby feeding! I foresee new vistas of heat hell opening up to me this summer, when I will be required to cuddle close to a raging little furnace for his frequent feeding times. Yay.

And speaking of hell! What the hell is this post about, anyway? Got me.

Happy Friday.

* I haven't mentioned A.'s boat yet. All you need to know about it is that he built it himself. Out of plywood. Yes, it floats. And no, he had never built a boat before. Woodchuck ingenuity knows no bounds.

A Serious Oversight

I don't know what I could have been thinking yesterday, posting about my loathing of snaps (seriously--HATE) and various other inconsequential thoughts about children's clothing when there was REAL news to share.

We ate the last of the potatoes*.

I KNOW. I always experience a moment of panic at this point, when I'm pulling the last, sad, sprouting potatoes from their boxes in The Pit of Despair and contemplating the months ahead. Months when I will not have hundreds of pounds of potatoes sitting in my cellar, awaiting their date with destiny in the form of my potato masher. It makes everything feel very unstable somehow. As if my anchor in this uncertain world has been suddenly wrenched away. I mean, I can't just make french fries whenever I feel like it now. Or mashed potatoes. Or roasted potatoes. Or Julia's potato salad. Or . . . well. It's just all very sad.

Now just remind me of this feeling when I'm bitching about hilling the growing potatoes in the garden, okay? Thanks.

P.S. Yes, I realize I could go to the store and buy as many potatoes as I want. It's just not the same. Trust me.

* I also used the last shallot yesterday, but shallots don't inspire such angst. For me, anyway.

Fashion for the Under One Set

In no particular order . . .

Just who decided that pants for three-month-old children need pockets? What are they supposed to carry around in there? Cellphones? Car keys?

I am really, REALLY beginning to hate snaps. No, not beginning--I DO hate snaps. Changing Cubby requires doing up the snaps on his diaper cover, then the snaps on the onesie, and then, at night, the snaps all the way up his sleeper. By the time I'm done, my patience is gone and my fingers hurt. Really, they hurt from those snaps. HATE.

While hooded sweatshirts for infants are incredibly adorable, the adorableness is significantly reduced when the hood part falls entirely over MY infant's face while he is sleeping. A pretty notable drawback to putting him in overly-large clothing. But he's not newborn or three-month size anymore*, and the 3-6 month sizes are still a little too big. Hence the adorable suffocation factor of large hooded sweatshirts. Just give him a few weeks, and then those sweatshirts will fit perfectly. And then be too small in about three days.

This children's clothing thing is exhausting.

* No, he is NOT three months old yet; he's not even TWO months old yet. My child is a behemoth. And that's why I'm always so damn hungry.

Feed Me

I'm pretty hungry these days. Not surprising, considering the small human leech who is intent on draining my life force in the form of milk. This same leech makes it kind of hard to prepare food, however, which leaves me with limited options. But I do have one go-to, never-fail, quick and easy food that sustains me pretty much on a daily basis: peanut butter on bread.

In the morning when Cubby is screaming for his (third) breakfast and I have to eat something before I pass out? Peanut butter on bread. In the afternoon when there are still a couple of hours before dinner and I know I'll never make it? Peanut butter on bread. At night before I go to bed, when I'm just a little hungry and know that if I don't eat something, I'll be unbearably ravenous when I get up for the 2 a.m. feeding?

I'm sure you get it.

I even considered just keeping a loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter in our bedroom so I can eat when I actually wake up at 5 a.m. instead of waiting until we go downstairs at 7 a.m. But I thought that might be taking it a little far.

What's your go-to, must-eat-now food? I'm willing to branch out.

We Really Need To Remedy This

I'm not a big picture taker. I don't like carrying a camera around everywhere (and not just because I tend to do things like leave them outside in the rain and drop them*). I don't like interrupting special moments with a flash. I just . . . don't really like taking pictures. Which is really too bad, because as little as I enjoy photography, at least I will occasionally manage to get a photo here and there. And that's more than can be said of anyone else in our house. A. and the MiL don't take photos. Ever.

Yes, I took this picture of the infamous Tummy Time. Though I like to call it Faceplant Time, myself.

What this means is there are about thirty photos of Cubby by himself, maybe five of A. with Cubby, and exactly two of me with Cubby. So a photo album of Cubby's first two months would make it appear as if he pretty much raised himself with brief guest appearances by his parents. And actually, until yesterday, there was exactly ONE photo of me with my son. That one in the hospital that the nurse takes of the new family immediately after the birth, in which the mother's smile is more like an exhausted grimace of relief, the father looks more than a little shell-shocked, and the baby looks like . . . well, like a newborn.

Not exactly the most photogenic moment.

ANYWAY.

I've been telling A. for a couple of weeks now that I really would like him to take a picture of Cubby and me. But the camera was always upstairs, or Cubby was always in mid-shriek, or something. Then yesterday, when Cubby was asleep with me on the couch and the camera happened to be on the table right next to the couch, A. finally took a picture.

Yeah. We need to keep working on this.

* Incidentally, I STILL haven't got a new camera. All photos courtesy of the busted one.

Two

I can't really believe this, but I started Going Country two years ago today.

How is it possible I've been producing this drivel every day for two years? Don't ask A. and the MiL, who really thought it would be impossible for anyone to write something (vaguely) entertaining every single day. *

In the past two years, some things have changed.

The most notable change, obviously.

And some things have remained the same.

Yesterday's labor. Yes, we are still stacking and burning wood in almost-April. And yes, that is kind of depressing.

Through it all--the good posts, the bad posts, and the frankly pathetic posts--there you've been. Faceless people who are nonetheless a real part of my life, who come here every day to read and comment and share the adventure that is life at Blackrock.

I've said it before, but it bears repeating: Thank you for reading. Thank you for commenting. Thank you for sharing it all with us.

And stick around for the next two years. I have no idea what they'll bring. But I can guarantee you this: Whatever it is, I'll find the humor in it.

* My secret? I'm not aiming for the profound here. Obviously.