Yup, I'm a Mom

So remember the flannel-lined jeans that I have mentioned more than once? And that I pretty much live in from November to April? Well, they are warm, but they are not stylish.

I KNOW. SHOCKING.

In fact, they're distinctly unattractive. They are Mom Jeans--kind of loose-fitting, high-waisted, tapered legs, the whole thing. Plus, to add to the ugly, they have Great Stuff on them from when I was helping A. seal some holes in the attic. Just so you know, Great Stuff is totally impossible to get out of clothes. It dries into a permanent fixture on anything it touches.

Hot.

I try not to wear these appalling pants when I leave the house, because I do have some pride. Except for this morning when I realized we were out of milk, and I can't drink coffee without milk. So I went to the market in the village wearing my ugly, stained Mom Jeans.

At least now I actually AM a mom. I am totally using Cubby as my excuse for sartorial crimes.

Alone and Afraid

Last night, just as I was taking off my socks and preparing to put on my pajamas for bed, I remembered that the chickens had not yet been shut away. A. was already huddled in bed, so I put my socks back on, threw on the first coat I found when I got downstairs (A.'s nice wool overcoat, because I am all about the classy), shoved my feet into some shoes, hunted down a flashlight, and FINALLY made it outside, where I trudged somewhat grumpily up the lane to the chicken coop.

I didn't bring any of the dogs out with me. I thought about it, because it's really, really dark out there, and the dogs make me feel safer. Unlike when I lived in a city and had to be afraid of human predators, I now feel just a twinge of fear when I'm out after dark because of wild animals. Not, actually, as much fear, as those wild animals may be wild, but they aren't armed and are much more easily scared off. But I still like to have the dogs with me, because they can sense things way before I can. Things like raccoons, or even coyotes. And they're not afraid of those things, either.

But the dogs were totally zonked out by the fire and I didn't have the heart to make them get up and out into the 14-degree dark. So I went out on my own, and OF COURSE as soon as I got to the forsythia hedge I heard something sort of large rustling around in there. And saw a reflected glow in some critter's eyes when I shined my light in that direction. But as there was no immediate attack by whatever was in the hedge, I elected to suck it up and master my fears. So I continued along the hedge to the chicken coop, expecting all the while for a large raccoon to launch itself out of the hedge and attach itself to my face.

This did not happen, of course, and my face is still thankfully raccoon-less. But next time, I'm waking the dogs up.

This Doesn't Add Up

Our neighbor mentioned to me awhile ago that she had seen somewhere that for every person and pet in your house, you should clean one day a week. This sounds to me like some kind of bogus calculation espoused by the Good Housekeeping Institute and designed to make you buy more Swiffer Wet Sweeps. Or whatever that junk is.

But let us try this handy calculation for my situation. Just for entertainment purposes.

4 people
+ 3 dogs
+ 2 cats
----------
9 days

So I'm supposed to be cleaning my house nine days a week. That's super.

I'm going to have another cup of coffee now.

That Boy Again. And His Dog.

Ahhh. It's so relaxing by the fire. So peaceful. So soporific. So . . .

What's this? The hairless puppy is pulling handfuls of fur from my flanks?

Eh. ZZZZZ.

Now that's a good dog.

Drifting Away

Still snowing, and now, for added enjoyment, let's add some drifting to the fun! WHEE!

Drifting, for those of you unfamiliar with this joy of winter driving, is when the snow gets blown across the road. This is a particular problem in farming areas because of all the open fields that allow for unobstructed blowing of the snow from that field onto the road. So you could be driving along on a perfectly clear day, no snow in sight on the road, and then WHAM! There's a foot high drift in your way. It's super fun.

There are several areas of bad drifting between our house and the Small City. It is also still snowing hard. This is why I made the executive decision to cancel Cubby's appointment for Round Two of his flu shot. Driving 40 miles roundtrip in this weather for a flu shot seems foolish in the extreme. It's not as if it's an emergency. So Cubby and I will stay huddled in the house today and the snow can drift all it wants.

Hello Snow!

Yup, there's some snow out there. Not a whole lot, maybe a couple of inches, but enough to cover everything and make it look less dead and ugly and more winter wonderlandish.

I generally like the snow, especially now that I'm not expected to shovel it (thanks, Cubby!). It has the benefit of muffling the sound of the traffic on the road, as well as providing an insulating effect for the house. Our bedrooms always feel warmer with a layer of snow on the roof. This is much appreciated, especially for poor Cubby, who is already sleeping in a long-sleeved onesie, two pairs of fleece pajamas, and a microfleece sleep sack. Poor kid looks like the Stay-Puf Marshmallow Man. But he does seem to be staying warm, so puffy he will stay.

As for me, I've put my beloved flannel-lined jeans into heavy rotation and pulled out the heavy wool sweaters. We're all looking a little, um, thicker than normal, but keeping cozy.

I hope you are equally cozy on this fine Monday morning, poppets. Have a nice day!

GiT ( and Me) to the Rescue!

A. and I went out last night*.

I KNOW. CRAZY. But that's not the story.

We were on our way home from the Small City about 9 o'clock, only about a quarter mile from our house, when I saw a van parked at the end of the gravel road I used to run on. Its hood was up and its hazard lights were flashing, so I told A. we should stop. It was blowing snow and freezing cold--no kind of night to be broken down.

Besides, we were in the truck and A.'s a guy, so he is, by definition, a GiT. And GiTs have a code of conduct that requires them to stop and help motorists in distress. Like AAA, only with rusty pick-ups and feed caps.

ANYWAY.

I fully expected to get to the van and find that the driver had already called a tow truck and was just waiting for it. Instead we found a middle-aged lady by herself with no cell phone. She had driven about 75 miles from a not-very-close city and gotten lost on her way to a friend's Christmas party. When she stopped to check her directions, her transmission failed completely. So she was sitting in the dark by herself in a broken-down van. In a snowstorm. On a dark gravel road with no idea where she was.

That's pretty much my nightmare.

She showed A. the directions she had to her friend's house. Turned out she was almost there, so she jammed herself in the cab of the truck with us and we drove her to her friend's house. She was, to put it mildly, exceedingly grateful. She invited us in to the party, but we declined with a tip of our feed caps and drove our pick-up off into the sunset.

Figuratively speaking, of course.

* To dinner, Home Depot, and the grocery store, because we know how to LIVE IT UP.