Saturday, November 12, 2011


After a day of relentless wind and fairly cold temperatures, the temperature in our bedroom last night when I went to bed was a relatively chilly 54 degrees. Since we sleep in the north room, 54 degrees is downright balmy compared to the ridiculous readings we will have in there later in the year. But 54 degrees is plenty cold enough.

Especially since I didn't have my bed warmer on hand.

My bed warmer is A. He must have really good circulation or something, because he doesn't need to be in bed more than ten minutes to raise the temperature under the blankets at least five degrees. This is not so appreciated in our un-air-conditioned room in the summer, but in the winter, it saves my life. It takes me FOREVER to warm up when I go to bed. I don't have good circulation, and my feet will stay cold for a good hour after going to bed.

So I took appropriate measures last night in preparation for a night by myself in bed. First, I kept on the long-sleeved shirt I had worn as a bottom layer yesterday. Not removing all your clothing is key in cold weather to conserving some body heat. If you change every item of clothing, then your body first has to heat those clothes up, which saps precious heating energy from things like feet. So I left that on. Then I put on a heavy sweatshirt, fuzzy socks, and heavy pajama bottoms.

Then I jumped in our bed, which is currently covered in flannel sheets, a wool blanket, a heavy cotton coverlet, and a down comforter. And I stayed frozen in one spot for a good fifteen minutes, lest by moving I should come into contact with an inch of bed covers that had not been warmed by my body heat.

However, I did warm up and fall asleep relatively quickly, which was the goal. And then I woke up two hours later BURNING UP and had to shed the pants and socks.

But lest I sound as if I complain too much, I should mention that A. was gone because he was hunting. And camping. In the snow. So he was definitely much more uncomfortable than I was last night.

He'll be home tonight. We'll both be glad about that.

Friday, November 11, 2011

Who Am I?

Yesterday afternoon, Cubby and I were hanging out in the shop with A. while he made a sheath for one of his homemade knives. He used a squirrel hide that he had salted some time ago and sewed it up with a needle and some button thread I found in our sewing drawer.

Exactly when I became a mother who spends quality time with her family that involves stitching dead animal hides, I do not know, but it seems clear I am no longer going country. I am so, so gone.

Wednesday, November 9, 2011

Canine Resignation

Oh no. Here he comes again. I know how this ends.

Yeah yeah. Trot trot. The same thing, every time.

Please. A little respect, child.

So this is how it's gonna be from now on then, huh? Fine. But you owe me BIG TIME, lady.

Tuesday, November 8, 2011


Already this morning I've had to change both my clothes and Cubby's, due to an unfortunate incidence with dog poop. He both stepped in it (GROSS) and then got it all over my pants when I picked him up, AND picked it up with his hands (SO MUCH GROSSER, CHILD, STOP THAT). And then, after we had been inside to wash our hands, we went back outside and he fell into a pile of (cold, not to worry) ash on the driveway from leaf burning*.

So, new clothes for all, then!

And then A. and I went to vote, so I put on some semi-respectable clothing for my public outing. But now I have to change AGAIN back into not-respectable clothing so I can go clean out the gutters.

That's just how mornings with toddlers--specifically at Blackrock--go, I suppose.

Off to the gutters I go. Wish me luck.

* A pile of ash in which I found the metal part of my trowel. Cubby ran off with it about a week ago and I couldn't find it. Apparently it was hiding in the leaves that got raked up and subsequently burned. The handle was rubber, and it burned clean off. The blade part is still all there and fine, though, so I can get A. to make me a wooden handle to stick on there, I guess. Fun.

Monday, November 7, 2011

A Poll

Is there anyone who actually likes Daylight Saving Time? Anyone? Seriously, all I see and hear from people is how much they hate it, how it screws up their schedules, and especially how it makes children into raging demons for at least a week or so as they try to adjust to their new bedtimes and wake-up times.

YOU try explaining to a not-quite-two-year-old why he's still awake at 6:30 p.m. when he can quite obviously tell that it is really 7:30 p.m. and therefore past his bedtime so PUT ME TO BED RIGHT NOW, MOM, SCREW THAT CLOCK.

In Cubby's case, that takes the form of manic hyperactivity and repeated queries as to, "Nap? Nap? Nap?" In case you were curious.

So really, now, in all seriousness: Who out there can profess to actually liking the time change? And if no one does, why in the name of everything true and holy and my child's schedule are we still doing this stupid thing as a country?*

* Although not everyone in the country does, of course. Oh, Arizona. I hated so many things about you, but your refusal to acknowledge DST was one small thing about you that I LOVED.

Sunday, November 6, 2011


When Belle the Devil Cat is really trying to avoid Cubby (which is much of the time, due to his desire to "feep!"--flip--her*), she scuttles under the Awesome Subaru.

I know you're under there, Belle . . .

He tried a couple of times to crawl under there with her. Then he got stuck and didn't enjoy the process of being hauled out. Also, I have taken great pains to point out the pipes ("pup!) under the car and explain how they can be hot after the car has been driven ("ha?"). So he doesn't crawl under the car anymore and Belle is safe.

But only as long as he gets distracted by something else before she decides to come out. But if he's still there monitoring her movements when she tries to escape? Then the chase is on.

Don't worry; Belle always wins.

* I must admit, however, that even the times when Cubby has eluded me and caught up with her and grabbed handfuls of her fur or done something else to cause her pain and him a no-doubt deserved clawing, she's done nothing more than meow loudly and run away at the first opportunity. It turns out that, to everyone's surprise, the Devil Cat is good with children. Okay. I guess we'll keep her.