I had thought to write about how I got duped into becoming one of "them". One of those hunter types. I wanted to explain how I slowly morphed into a person who used phrases like:
"I've got'em in my sights!"
"Look at the rack on that one!"
"So there I was..."
As I sat and thought about each and every hunting trip that I have been on, I came to the realization that they all had a common theme or lesson if you will. It was simple:
I was not meant to be a hunter.
Journey with me.
Year 1 of Blissful Married Life - I was coerced into applying for a doe hunt. Mark and his parents tricked me by saying it was a "party" hunt. I was picturing drinks and dancing but instead I learned we all got to shoot a deer. Well, on that fateful day, I found out that I liked shooting deer so much that I ended up shooting two. I filled Mark's tag and mine. Oops!
Elk Hunt #1 - In a show of wifey support, I decided to go with Mark and his Dad on an elk hunt. Mark and I had slept in the back of the truck and he had gotten up a little bit earlier than me. When he hopped back into the bed of the truck he was just standing there looking around and not paying attention to me. I took matters into my hands, literally. I reached up with one hand and squeezed his package (Hey! We were newlyweds!). No big deal, right. Well, Mark looks down at me and says "My Dad just saw that". Can people really die of mortification?
Same Elk Hunt - Mark is bow hunting for elk and as we were walking through the forest, he pauses and asks "Can you hear that?". I listen for all I'm worth and come up with nothing. He tells me "It's a bear. Let's stalk it". A BEAR! I don't think so! As Mark cautiously starts to walk in the direction of the noise, I start to search frantically for sticks and branches on the ground. Then when I spy one, I quickly step on it until it breaks with a loud SNAP. I do this a few times before Mark catches on. He was being patient because he was attributing my loudness with my clumsiness but after 10 snaps in a row, he finally figured it out. Needless to say, I scared the bear away. Ha!Ha! I ain't afraid of no bear!
Elk Hunt #2 - This one really paints me in a bad light. Mark and I went elk hunting. Again. (We did not have children yet so I had lots of spare time). Mark went out hunting in the morning and since it had snowed, I chose to stay inside the nice, cozy tent and read a book. Mark came back all excited because, of course, he had shot an animal. Figures, the one time I don't go with him, there's finally some action. Anyway, he asks if I'll help him pack it out. Sure, I say, not having a clue what that really means. We start hiking out to the spot and as we get closer and closer to a ravine, I think to ask him where exactly he had shot this elk. "Just at the bottom of this hill." You have got to be kidding me. This is the Grand Canyon's cousin. This is not a hill. I suck it up and we travel to the bottom (practically on our bottoms) and find the elk. Mark proceeds to debone it and gut it. I actually help with this part and I am only slightly appalled to see the steam rising into the air as we opened up the body cavity. Mark, showing off, starts to name all the different organs and even points out the "poop shoot". Seriously, can we get a move on here. It's cold and creepy. Girls would never show that kind of thing. Girls would never put a scrotum on their gear shaft either. Just a point.
Anyway, Mark starts to debone the animal and get all the meat which he puts into game bags. It is starting to get cold and I, being the paranoid one, am envisioning predators scenting the meat and coming around to find it. I am watching the woods and telling Mark to hurry up. Finally, when I've asked for the 482nd time, "Are you done yet?" He tells me that he is almost done with the meat but he wants the antlers. It is freezing, predators are hunting for us, ticks are starting to swarm and he wants the antlers? Okay. I try to breath through my nose but I can feel my normally sane self starting to leave and my alter ego - Crazy Woman - come in ready to do battle. I grab a spare pocket knife from Mark and I take matters into my own hands. Those antlers were standing in the way of my getting back to hunting camp and warmth and safety! I started to hack at the neck of that poor elk and before I knew it, I had somehow managed to cut it's whole head off. Mark looked at me with a whole new level of respect. Crazy Woman then growled at him and said she was heading back to camp with or without him. That's when I turned into a pack mule. Mark said he wanted the meat, the rifle (he wouldn't leave that at hunting camp), and the antlers all to go back to camp in one trip. I got stuck with one game bag of meat, one rifle and one elk head with antlers. Mark packed 3 bags of meat. We crawled out of the ravine and I tried to leave the head. Mark wouldn't let me, so I had to leave the meat. (He left one bag also and came back for them on his own.) It was a long walk back to camp. I had boosted the elk head onto my back and was holding onto it with an antler in each hand. I was also carrying the rifle slung across my shoulder. Crazy Woman was still in control and she was able to not shriek about the thought of ticks. It was one long walk back to camp. I have not offered to help pack out any more animals.
Doe Hunt #2 - I have a scary cow story to tell here but I am getting tired.
Doe Hunt #3 - Owen was 3 months old and our babysitter had canceled at the last minute and so Mark was stuck at home with the kids. His parents and I went out hunting instead. To make a long story short I'll just skip to the highlights. I was a nursing mother of a very hungry baby. By the end of the day, I was the one ready to be shot. By the time I made it home (after shooting my doe with 1 shot while it was running at 200 yards away. You may call me Eagle Eye or Bad A - you choose) my breasts were so full that I could have bounced quarters off them. Owen nearly drowned.
Doe Hunt #4 - This story is unwritten because it actually doesn't happen until tomorrow. I am taking the boys (all 3 of them) with me and we will see what adventures await us. I will also have my camera so be prepared!
November 13, 2009
November 11, 2009
How? Part 2
I have been rereading the Twilight series recently and in the first book Bella discovers that Edward is a vampire and then she makes a decision - she doesn't care. She loves him and that is that.
I was forced to make the same decision with Mark - well, except for the vampire part.
I got my first inkling when we were first friends and we were driving somewhere in his pick-up truck. It was a little 2-door '87 Toyota truck and it definitely looked like it had seem some dirty days. The inside wasn't too bad though. As I sat gingerly on the seat I looked around and noticed a very strange -looking thing on the gear shaft. It was furry and it covered the top knobby part of the gear shaft. I had no clue what in the world I was looking at so of course, I asked.
"What is that thing right there?" I politely asked my friend Mark.
He glanced at me and smirked. "A scrotum."
Hmmm . . . the only scrotum I had heard of was in sex ed. Was he being serious and if he was, who's scrotum was this? Also, YUCK!
"So, a scrotum, huh?" I said in my most cool, grown-up, "nothing-fazes-me" voice.
"Yeah! It's from a caribou I killed when I went hunting in Alaska with my Dad and brothers." As he launched into the whole story, he didn't even notice me swallowing back the vomit that was suddenly in my throat.
Later that day when I got home, I called my friend Nicky and told her that while I thought Mark was cute and a nice enough guy, he was a little deranged because he obviously thought it was cool to put a caribou SCROTUM on his gear shaft. He was not my kind of guy. I liked a guy that could dance, make me laugh, and keep me safe from ticks and not use the word scrotum in polite company (mine).
Well, by the time Mark and I ended up dating, he had sold that truck and moved on to another and I forgot all about the scrotum incident. I know. How, you ask? Beats me. I think, I was blinded by loooove.
It all came rushing back to me one sunny day in June. Mark had asked me if I wanted to do something fun. I always love to do something fun so I said sure. He left me in his parent's house, visiting with his mom and when he came back inside a few minutes later, he told me we were all set. We hopped into his truck and drove out to my old stomping grounds - Reith Road. We were driving along, I was singing along with the radio and he was laughing at me, when he slowed down and pulled over. As he turned the truck off, he turned to me and asked "Do you want the shovel or the fishing pole?"
Come again? My mind raced. Are we going fishing? Are we burying something? What in the world? And then it came back to me. The scrotum. I should have known this boy would turn out weird!
I tried to casually say that I wasn't feeling well all of a sudden but Mark just laughed at me and pulled me out of the truck. I could see he wasn't going to fall for my line so I decided a shovel seemed like a good defensive weapon and I told him that's what I would carry. He smirked (that's his favorite expression by the way) and handed it to me while he hefted the fishing pole out of the back of his truck. Then he started walking down the road. This is not a popular road so no one passed by us and you could only hear country sounds - bugs, the river, dogs barking in the distance. It was so quiet that I was more than a little startled when I heard a rattling noise.
Yes. A rattling noise. Oddly enough, the same sound that rattlesnakes make when someone is irritating them. Like say, irritating them with a fishing pole. Mark began to call out to me "When it strikes, cut it's head off with the shovel!"
"You have GOT to be kidding me!" I yelled back.
He calmly walked around the snake and as it slithered away, I felt my knees buckle. I leaned on the shovel and laughed. "Boy, you had me going there! I thought you really wanted me to kill that snake!" Ha, Ha! If my laugh was a little hysterical he never said anything.
Mark waited patiently until I calmed down and then he calmly explained to me that we were hunting rattlesnakes today and the fishing pole was used to get the snakes to strike and the shovel was used to cut their heads off. We would then bury the heads so that wild creatures wouldn't eat them and die and we would keep the bodies. He said the meat was decent and the skins were pretty cool. The snakes would be stretched out on the road right now because it was warm and they liked that.
I gulped and since I was still blinded with that loooove thing, I stuttered out the words" o-okay" and asked for the fishing pole. I would try anything once and I didn't want him to think I was a wuss. I made a mental note to myself to not mention a word of this to my mom.
As we walked down the road looking for our next target, I kept giving myself pep talks in my head.
"You can do this Miriah. You're a lot bigger than a snake"
"Danger is your middle name."
I also prayed. "Please Lord, if you scare away all the snakes I will never try to run them over ever, ever again."
Mark suddenly grabbed my shirt. He had spotted one. It was at least 18 feet long and from where I stood, I could see the poison dripping from it's fangs. I didn't notice any bulges along it's body and I concluded that it was hungry and probably waiting for it's next meal right now. Me.
"Are you ready?" Mark's words jerked me back to the present and I decided to give it my best shot. Never let it be said that I didn't give it my all. I started tapping the end of that fishing pole for all I was worth.
"Babe - you need to get closer. You're still 10 feet away from the thing. We want it to coil up and strike at you, remember?"
Oh, yeah. STRIKE- AT- ME. That's right.
I inched closer, tapping, tap, tap, tapping. The snake felt my nervous vibrations and started to coil up and turn it's head to gaze upon me. It's beady little eyes were evil and I could hear it's hiss. The forked tongue started to flicker in and out as it figured out the best place to bite me.
Taaaaap. Taaaaap. "Here, snakey, snakey, snakey....
The next few seconds were a blur. This is what Mark told me happened.
The snake struck at me and kept coming for me. I apparently screamed, threw the fishing pole at it, and then sprinted for the truck. Since it was intent on me, (I think it could taste my fear) Mark had plenty of time to use the shovel for it's intended purpose and that was the end of that snake. He buried the head and then came to find me.
I was in the truck hyperventilating and chanting to myself "danger is my middle name, danger is my middle name, danger is..." Mark threw the dead snake's body into a cooler and got into the truck. "Wasn't that fun?" he asked me. When I didn't snap out of it, he gave me a kiss and that woke me up.
I looked at him and said "I do not like hunting."
He just laughed at me, again, and we drove back to his parent's house. I swore my second blood oath that night (again, I had to use spit because I didn't have any blood I was willing to spill).
I was never going hunting again.
Boy, I wish that blood oath would have worked.
I have more hunting stories to share...
I was forced to make the same decision with Mark - well, except for the vampire part.
I got my first inkling when we were first friends and we were driving somewhere in his pick-up truck. It was a little 2-door '87 Toyota truck and it definitely looked like it had seem some dirty days. The inside wasn't too bad though. As I sat gingerly on the seat I looked around and noticed a very strange -looking thing on the gear shaft. It was furry and it covered the top knobby part of the gear shaft. I had no clue what in the world I was looking at so of course, I asked.
"What is that thing right there?" I politely asked my friend Mark.
He glanced at me and smirked. "A scrotum."
Hmmm . . . the only scrotum I had heard of was in sex ed. Was he being serious and if he was, who's scrotum was this? Also, YUCK!
"So, a scrotum, huh?" I said in my most cool, grown-up, "nothing-fazes-me" voice.
"Yeah! It's from a caribou I killed when I went hunting in Alaska with my Dad and brothers." As he launched into the whole story, he didn't even notice me swallowing back the vomit that was suddenly in my throat.
Later that day when I got home, I called my friend Nicky and told her that while I thought Mark was cute and a nice enough guy, he was a little deranged because he obviously thought it was cool to put a caribou SCROTUM on his gear shaft. He was not my kind of guy. I liked a guy that could dance, make me laugh, and keep me safe from ticks and not use the word scrotum in polite company (mine).
Well, by the time Mark and I ended up dating, he had sold that truck and moved on to another and I forgot all about the scrotum incident. I know. How, you ask? Beats me. I think, I was blinded by loooove.
It all came rushing back to me one sunny day in June. Mark had asked me if I wanted to do something fun. I always love to do something fun so I said sure. He left me in his parent's house, visiting with his mom and when he came back inside a few minutes later, he told me we were all set. We hopped into his truck and drove out to my old stomping grounds - Reith Road. We were driving along, I was singing along with the radio and he was laughing at me, when he slowed down and pulled over. As he turned the truck off, he turned to me and asked "Do you want the shovel or the fishing pole?"
Come again? My mind raced. Are we going fishing? Are we burying something? What in the world? And then it came back to me. The scrotum. I should have known this boy would turn out weird!
I tried to casually say that I wasn't feeling well all of a sudden but Mark just laughed at me and pulled me out of the truck. I could see he wasn't going to fall for my line so I decided a shovel seemed like a good defensive weapon and I told him that's what I would carry. He smirked (that's his favorite expression by the way) and handed it to me while he hefted the fishing pole out of the back of his truck. Then he started walking down the road. This is not a popular road so no one passed by us and you could only hear country sounds - bugs, the river, dogs barking in the distance. It was so quiet that I was more than a little startled when I heard a rattling noise.
Yes. A rattling noise. Oddly enough, the same sound that rattlesnakes make when someone is irritating them. Like say, irritating them with a fishing pole. Mark began to call out to me "When it strikes, cut it's head off with the shovel!"
"You have GOT to be kidding me!" I yelled back.
He calmly walked around the snake and as it slithered away, I felt my knees buckle. I leaned on the shovel and laughed. "Boy, you had me going there! I thought you really wanted me to kill that snake!" Ha, Ha! If my laugh was a little hysterical he never said anything.
Mark waited patiently until I calmed down and then he calmly explained to me that we were hunting rattlesnakes today and the fishing pole was used to get the snakes to strike and the shovel was used to cut their heads off. We would then bury the heads so that wild creatures wouldn't eat them and die and we would keep the bodies. He said the meat was decent and the skins were pretty cool. The snakes would be stretched out on the road right now because it was warm and they liked that.
I gulped and since I was still blinded with that loooove thing, I stuttered out the words" o-okay" and asked for the fishing pole. I would try anything once and I didn't want him to think I was a wuss. I made a mental note to myself to not mention a word of this to my mom.
As we walked down the road looking for our next target, I kept giving myself pep talks in my head.
"You can do this Miriah. You're a lot bigger than a snake"
"Danger is your middle name."
I also prayed. "Please Lord, if you scare away all the snakes I will never try to run them over ever, ever again."
Mark suddenly grabbed my shirt. He had spotted one. It was at least 18 feet long and from where I stood, I could see the poison dripping from it's fangs. I didn't notice any bulges along it's body and I concluded that it was hungry and probably waiting for it's next meal right now. Me.
"Are you ready?" Mark's words jerked me back to the present and I decided to give it my best shot. Never let it be said that I didn't give it my all. I started tapping the end of that fishing pole for all I was worth.
"Babe - you need to get closer. You're still 10 feet away from the thing. We want it to coil up and strike at you, remember?"
Oh, yeah. STRIKE- AT- ME. That's right.
I inched closer, tapping, tap, tap, tapping. The snake felt my nervous vibrations and started to coil up and turn it's head to gaze upon me. It's beady little eyes were evil and I could hear it's hiss. The forked tongue started to flicker in and out as it figured out the best place to bite me.
Taaaaap. Taaaaap. "Here, snakey, snakey, snakey....
The next few seconds were a blur. This is what Mark told me happened.
The snake struck at me and kept coming for me. I apparently screamed, threw the fishing pole at it, and then sprinted for the truck. Since it was intent on me, (I think it could taste my fear) Mark had plenty of time to use the shovel for it's intended purpose and that was the end of that snake. He buried the head and then came to find me.
I was in the truck hyperventilating and chanting to myself "danger is my middle name, danger is my middle name, danger is..." Mark threw the dead snake's body into a cooler and got into the truck. "Wasn't that fun?" he asked me. When I didn't snap out of it, he gave me a kiss and that woke me up.
I looked at him and said "I do not like hunting."
He just laughed at me, again, and we drove back to his parent's house. I swore my second blood oath that night (again, I had to use spit because I didn't have any blood I was willing to spill).
I was never going hunting again.
Boy, I wish that blood oath would have worked.
I have more hunting stories to share...
November 8, 2009
How? Part 1.
Hunting has been on my mind.
My family is not a hunting family. Yes, I do have some crazy uncles and cousins who enjoy the sport but growing up hunting was never anything my dad did or my mom even liked to talk about. My Uncle David is an avid hunter and I still remember clearly the year he decided to take me with him on a deer hunt.
I had just turned 8 that summer and my Uncle David didn't have any children of his own yet. I can't imagine what possessed him to take a look at me (all knobby knees, scraped-up shins and buck teeth) and decide that he could transform me into a hunter. I think it must have been a male version of "the ticking clock".
My mom granted permission for me to go and I was over the moon! Camping out was going to be so much fun! I had never been camping before and I was nervous as well as naive. We get to hunting camp and my Aunt Marie (David's wife) was there already with her brother Jack who was a year or two older than me. There were also a few other hunters who I didn't pay much attention too until later the next day when I suffered my first humiliating camping disaster. Then I noticed by golly. Who wouldn't with the way their laughter was booming across the countryside?
Anyway, not to drag the story out to long, everything was going fine until my Uncle David tried to wake me up the next morning. I am not a morning person now and I was not a morning person then. He finally gave up when my kicking, biting, scratching little body refused to leave the sleeping bag. He and all the men left and my Aunt Marie and I woke up later and read books around camp. "I love hunting!" I told my Aunt Marie. She just smiled at me with her wise eyes and said nothing.
Later that day all the men returned hooping and hollering because they had each shot a buck and now they were going to pick them up with the truck. My Uncle David invited me along and since there wasn't room in the cab, Jack and I rode in the back under the canopy. We bounced along a dirt road for a few miles and then we unloaded. I played around with some sticks and waited for the men to load the bucks into the back of the truck. Then it was time to head back to camp. Jack and I once again rode in the back but we had company now and it was more of a tight fit. I was looking at one of the animals when Jack told me "Don't get to close to them. They're covered in ticks."
Say What!? Ticks!! I was immediatly grossed out and FREAKED out! My imagination took off and I was already looking all over my body for little black bugs to be crawling around trying to find just the right place to latch onto me and start bloating their bodies with my blood. I backed away from the deer as far as I could go (not too far) and pretended to be very nonchalant about the ticks (Jack was a year older than me and I had to be as cool as he was). Meanwhile I was watching out of the corner of my eye for any ticks who possessed ninja skills and could fly through the air to land on me.
When we got back to camp, I waited at the very back of the truck until all the deer were unloaded and then I made my escape. I didn't care about the blood or the guts I saw. I was scared of the ticks. As I scrambled down off the tail gate I swore to myself that I would never put myself in the position to be eaten by ticks ever again.
After dinner I was feeling better and over my scare of the ticks. I now had a new scare. The dark forest and my pressing need to use the bathroom. I kept imagining all sorts of things waiting out in the dark for a little girl like me. Bears, wolves, ... ticks. I decided to be sneaky and just go behind a tree that was practically in camp and that way everyone would be sure to hear me scream for help if I needed it.
I slowly edged my pants down and peered out into the dark woods. I thought I heard something to the left of me so I scooted over a little bit behind the tree to be that much closer to camp. I waited breathlessly until I was sure that nothing was going to grab me and then I started to go. That's when I heard it.
I heard a roar of laughter from the camp that had to have scared off every tick within a 10-mile radius. I hurried to finish my business and then I turned around. Everyone was laughing and pointing at me. Some were holding their bellies in laughter and others were just shaking their heads and chortling. Was I the only one who didn't know the joke? My Uncle David got up finally and walked over to me. Then he bent down and whispered to me that I hadn't been behind the tree after all.
I was done with hunting after that. My Uncle David and his ticking clock would have to look elsewhere because I was only using indoor plumbing from now on. Between the ticks and the not-quite-peeing behind the tree incident I swore my first blood oath that I was never going hunting in my life again. (I didn't have any blood so I actually had to spit instead).
Looking back at it now, I think that Lord must have been laughing also but for a different reason. He could see my future and what it would bring into my life.
It would bring Mark.
More hunting stories to follow in the next few days. Don't say I didn't warn you!
My family is not a hunting family. Yes, I do have some crazy uncles and cousins who enjoy the sport but growing up hunting was never anything my dad did or my mom even liked to talk about. My Uncle David is an avid hunter and I still remember clearly the year he decided to take me with him on a deer hunt.
I had just turned 8 that summer and my Uncle David didn't have any children of his own yet. I can't imagine what possessed him to take a look at me (all knobby knees, scraped-up shins and buck teeth) and decide that he could transform me into a hunter. I think it must have been a male version of "the ticking clock".
My mom granted permission for me to go and I was over the moon! Camping out was going to be so much fun! I had never been camping before and I was nervous as well as naive. We get to hunting camp and my Aunt Marie (David's wife) was there already with her brother Jack who was a year or two older than me. There were also a few other hunters who I didn't pay much attention too until later the next day when I suffered my first humiliating camping disaster. Then I noticed by golly. Who wouldn't with the way their laughter was booming across the countryside?
Anyway, not to drag the story out to long, everything was going fine until my Uncle David tried to wake me up the next morning. I am not a morning person now and I was not a morning person then. He finally gave up when my kicking, biting, scratching little body refused to leave the sleeping bag. He and all the men left and my Aunt Marie and I woke up later and read books around camp. "I love hunting!" I told my Aunt Marie. She just smiled at me with her wise eyes and said nothing.
Later that day all the men returned hooping and hollering because they had each shot a buck and now they were going to pick them up with the truck. My Uncle David invited me along and since there wasn't room in the cab, Jack and I rode in the back under the canopy. We bounced along a dirt road for a few miles and then we unloaded. I played around with some sticks and waited for the men to load the bucks into the back of the truck. Then it was time to head back to camp. Jack and I once again rode in the back but we had company now and it was more of a tight fit. I was looking at one of the animals when Jack told me "Don't get to close to them. They're covered in ticks."
Say What!? Ticks!! I was immediatly grossed out and FREAKED out! My imagination took off and I was already looking all over my body for little black bugs to be crawling around trying to find just the right place to latch onto me and start bloating their bodies with my blood. I backed away from the deer as far as I could go (not too far) and pretended to be very nonchalant about the ticks (Jack was a year older than me and I had to be as cool as he was). Meanwhile I was watching out of the corner of my eye for any ticks who possessed ninja skills and could fly through the air to land on me.
When we got back to camp, I waited at the very back of the truck until all the deer were unloaded and then I made my escape. I didn't care about the blood or the guts I saw. I was scared of the ticks. As I scrambled down off the tail gate I swore to myself that I would never put myself in the position to be eaten by ticks ever again.
After dinner I was feeling better and over my scare of the ticks. I now had a new scare. The dark forest and my pressing need to use the bathroom. I kept imagining all sorts of things waiting out in the dark for a little girl like me. Bears, wolves, ... ticks. I decided to be sneaky and just go behind a tree that was practically in camp and that way everyone would be sure to hear me scream for help if I needed it.
I slowly edged my pants down and peered out into the dark woods. I thought I heard something to the left of me so I scooted over a little bit behind the tree to be that much closer to camp. I waited breathlessly until I was sure that nothing was going to grab me and then I started to go. That's when I heard it.
I heard a roar of laughter from the camp that had to have scared off every tick within a 10-mile radius. I hurried to finish my business and then I turned around. Everyone was laughing and pointing at me. Some were holding their bellies in laughter and others were just shaking their heads and chortling. Was I the only one who didn't know the joke? My Uncle David got up finally and walked over to me. Then he bent down and whispered to me that I hadn't been behind the tree after all.
I was done with hunting after that. My Uncle David and his ticking clock would have to look elsewhere because I was only using indoor plumbing from now on. Between the ticks and the not-quite-peeing behind the tree incident I swore my first blood oath that I was never going hunting in my life again. (I didn't have any blood so I actually had to spit instead).
Looking back at it now, I think that Lord must have been laughing also but for a different reason. He could see my future and what it would bring into my life.
It would bring Mark.
More hunting stories to follow in the next few days. Don't say I didn't warn you!
November 1, 2009
Is Halloweenie over yet?
This question was posed to me this morning at precisely 5:18. I replied with a grunt and then a yell "Go back to bed until you hear the rooster crowing!"
We don't live on a farm or have any roosters in our near vicinity but I was hoping that listening for one would keep Owen occupied long enough for me to pry my eyelids open.
Having kids is so much fun. Sometimes I don't know if I'm laughing because it's funny or because if I don't, I will need to check myself into a mental institution. Today I'm going with the fact that they are funny.
They have loved every minute of this month. They helped their Dad pick the pumpkins from our garden and set them up inside and outside the house.
They helped their Mom feed her incessant urge to bake by decorating all and any things she cooked up.
(Can you tell which one was Owen's and which one was Caleb's?)
Owen always decorates with a plan in mind ... kind of.
Caleb, on the other hand, knows exactly what he wants his creation to look like.
I hope the boys are hungry because I will probably only eat 2 of these. (I'm not a huge sweet eater.)
Both boys gutted their own pumpkins this year and Caleb even designed and cut out his own face.
Owen got to go to the pumpkin patch with his pre-school and he came home with the most homely and lop-sided pumpkin I have ever seen. Do you see where half the apple is? That was originally the stem of the pumpkin. (The stem had broken off already.)
The big day Caleb let us put some face paint on him. We had to convince him that real (Army) men wear make-up and that his face wouldn't stay that way forever.
He liked it.
We ended up only trick-or-treating for a short time and then they just wanted to come home and pass out candy to all the "customers". Since we get a lot of "customers" in our neighborhood they were kept pretty busy.
Now it's time to start thinking of Thanksgiving! I'll tell Owen tomorrow to go back to bed until he hears the turkeys gobbling.
We don't live on a farm or have any roosters in our near vicinity but I was hoping that listening for one would keep Owen occupied long enough for me to pry my eyelids open.
Having kids is so much fun. Sometimes I don't know if I'm laughing because it's funny or because if I don't, I will need to check myself into a mental institution. Today I'm going with the fact that they are funny.
They have loved every minute of this month. They helped their Dad pick the pumpkins from our garden and set them up inside and outside the house.
They helped their Mom feed her incessant urge to bake by decorating all and any things she cooked up.(Can you tell which one was Owen's and which one was Caleb's?)
Owen always decorates with a plan in mind ... kind of.
Caleb, on the other hand, knows exactly what he wants his creation to look like.
I hope the boys are hungry because I will probably only eat 2 of these. (I'm not a huge sweet eater.)
Both boys gutted their own pumpkins this year and Caleb even designed and cut out his own face. 
Owen got to go to the pumpkin patch with his pre-school and he came home with the most homely and lop-sided pumpkin I have ever seen. Do you see where half the apple is? That was originally the stem of the pumpkin. (The stem had broken off already.)
The big day Caleb let us put some face paint on him. We had to convince him that real (Army) men wear make-up and that his face wouldn't stay that way forever.
He liked it.
We ended up only trick-or-treating for a short time and then they just wanted to come home and pass out candy to all the "customers". Since we get a lot of "customers" in our neighborhood they were kept pretty busy.
Now it's time to start thinking of Thanksgiving! I'll tell Owen tomorrow to go back to bed until he hears the turkeys gobbling. October 22, 2009
This ones for you!
This post if for my bingo-lovin, "I'll only remarry if he's young, hot and rich", spunky, one-of-kind grandma.
The one who taught me my first cuss word (on accident) which she has also, almost, taught my boys. I caught her just in time.
The one who has always been my secret keeper. The one and only time I ever peed my pants was when I was playing at her house. Mortified and crushed, I asked her not to tell my mom. She promised she wouldn't and she never did.
The one who has always been one of my closest and best-loved friends.
The one who will pee her pants when she sees that I've put a picture of her on my blog.
My Grandma is everything I want to be when I grow up. She knows how to have fun and how to laugh loud when she finds something to be funny. She sets goals for herself and follows through with them. She is a world traveler and loves to dance. She is willing to try anything once and I have inherited my love of learning and reading from her.
My Grandma is the yardstick by which I measure all other grandmothers. None have ever come close. Growing up, my grandma let me pick her fingernail polish off when I was bored in church. She met me for lunch at least once a month during elementary school. She was the loudest cheerleader at every single one of my volleyball and basketball games. I often spent the night at her house and we would go for walks and bike rides or just stay in and read books or simply visit.
She took me with her on one of her bingo cruises a few years ago and we had a blast. We went out snorkeling and sailing and our personal favorite, boating in the mini-boats. I'll never forget her yelling at me to go faster! faster! as I'm driving this little boat across the ocean. My knuckles were white as I clenched the steering wheel (mind you - I have never driven a boat in my life) and I was freaked out for both of us, but grandma was at the front of the boat laughing and having a great time. I of course went faster just to make sure she got the most bang for her buck.
My Grandma is one of the luckiest woman alive. She wins more bingo money that anyone I have ever heard of. Grandma and I have played a lot of bingo in our time and I can already see me continuing the tradition. Her luck rubs off onto me and I occasionally strike it rich also. We always split our winnings 50 50. That's the kind of friendship we have.
Yes, my Grandma is lucky, but truly I am the lucky one. She has always been a bright spot in my life and I treasure each and every memory that we have made together. I always share "My Grandma... " stories and my friends love it. "I need a Grandma like that" is a popular response to most of my stories. Sorry friends, she's spoken for.
I love you Grandma - Happy Birthday!
The one who taught me my first cuss word (on accident) which she has also, almost, taught my boys. I caught her just in time.
The one who has always been my secret keeper. The one and only time I ever peed my pants was when I was playing at her house. Mortified and crushed, I asked her not to tell my mom. She promised she wouldn't and she never did.
The one who has always been one of my closest and best-loved friends.
The one who will pee her pants when she sees that I've put a picture of her on my blog.My Grandma is everything I want to be when I grow up. She knows how to have fun and how to laugh loud when she finds something to be funny. She sets goals for herself and follows through with them. She is a world traveler and loves to dance. She is willing to try anything once and I have inherited my love of learning and reading from her.
My Grandma is the yardstick by which I measure all other grandmothers. None have ever come close. Growing up, my grandma let me pick her fingernail polish off when I was bored in church. She met me for lunch at least once a month during elementary school. She was the loudest cheerleader at every single one of my volleyball and basketball games. I often spent the night at her house and we would go for walks and bike rides or just stay in and read books or simply visit.
She took me with her on one of her bingo cruises a few years ago and we had a blast. We went out snorkeling and sailing and our personal favorite, boating in the mini-boats. I'll never forget her yelling at me to go faster! faster! as I'm driving this little boat across the ocean. My knuckles were white as I clenched the steering wheel (mind you - I have never driven a boat in my life) and I was freaked out for both of us, but grandma was at the front of the boat laughing and having a great time. I of course went faster just to make sure she got the most bang for her buck.
My Grandma is one of the luckiest woman alive. She wins more bingo money that anyone I have ever heard of. Grandma and I have played a lot of bingo in our time and I can already see me continuing the tradition. Her luck rubs off onto me and I occasionally strike it rich also. We always split our winnings 50 50. That's the kind of friendship we have.
Yes, my Grandma is lucky, but truly I am the lucky one. She has always been a bright spot in my life and I treasure each and every memory that we have made together. I always share "My Grandma... " stories and my friends love it. "I need a Grandma like that" is a popular response to most of my stories. Sorry friends, she's spoken for.
I love you Grandma - Happy Birthday!
October 18, 2009
October 16, 2009
October
I'm actually embarrassed by how little ( or not at all) blogging I've done since school has started. I actually sat down once and just stared at the computer not sure how to begin. Tonight I decided that I'm just going to pretend that I have blogging faithfully this whole time and it will be like a conversation picked up by good friends who haven't seen each other in a long time but it's like no time has gone by at all. Did that make sense? Good - I knew my good friends would get it!
October is always one of my favorite months. It seems to turn some switch on in my brain and I get out my fall decorations, which are in my favorite colors - red and orange and my baking urges kick into full gear and I just get giddy with excitement about all the holidays and get togethers that I know are right around the corner.
Last weekend, I finally let the boys in on the secret that Halloween is coming and they are still coming down off the high of that news. Caleb wanted to be a spy but changed his mind to an army ranger once he found out they sometimes paint their faces. Owen has switched from a dinosaur, to a puppy, to a hunter, to a police man and I think he has finally settled on being a race car driver. My friend Melissa brought over some clothes her son had outgrown, and a race car driver costume was in the bag. Owen fell in love with the mask and has been faithful to that costume ever since.
I decided to make my first set of treats last weekend too and my little helpers were right there with me to do all the hard parts. Like putting the eyes on the ghosts. (Side note - Caleb's eyes were all perfect where as some of Owen's ghosts were sporting up to 11 eyes, not including the ones that "fell into" his mouth).
Next came our pumpkin treats and the boys had to sprinkle orange sprinkles and then add the green stems as well. Once Owen ran out of orange sprinkles (a new container mind you) and he only had 3 pumpkins done, he was delegated to just putting the green stems on.
Here is a finished plate of treats. Now, I know some of you see ghosts and pumpkins but if you look closely... even closer... you can see my children's personalities peeking out at you as well!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)