Yee-Haw!

The Girl Scouts had their Daddy (and Granddaddy)-daughter dance today, and the Mlineks rocked it.

(Miss Lucy insisted on jumping into the picture and bringing the crazy, as she so often does.)

 While the cow-folk were doing the "Tush-Push" (I am not even making that up!), Ruth was sitting around at home, being happy for no reason at all:

A good day all around!

The trouble with living in the fake country

I like to call where we live "the fake country," a place where your neighbor might have, in their otherwise perfectly suburban yard, a goat pen.  Or, more inexplicably, a horse.  A place where the waitress at your local diner might tell you that working through her 3rd trimester hasn't been that hard at the restaurant, it's milking the cows on her farm that is really killing her.

Most of the time I love living here.  It's the best of both worlds, where I can stroll past the horse farm during my walk (not to be confused with the suburban house, where there is only one horse) and drive less than 15 minutes to get sushi (and it's good sushi, too.)  Sometimes, though, it can make life a little awkward.  In places like story-time, for instance, that mecca for stay-at-home suburban moms who are willing to do anything to get out of the house, even if it involves the public humiliation of dancing to "head, shoulders, knees and toes" as if it were actual music.

The theme for Storytime last week was mice.  All the books featured friendly, adorable mice doing things like having tea parties, making cookies, and playing hide-and-seek.  We played a game involving matching colored felt mice to colored felt clocks and sang songs about how you should never, ever, scoop up the field mice and bop them on the head.

Settling in to read the sequal to "If You Give a Mouse a Cookie,"* the librarian asked the kids what they would do if they saw a mouse in their house.  One little girl said that she would have a tea party (inspired by the book we'd just read), one little boy claimed that he might keep the mouse as a pet.  Lucy looked over her peers with that blunt, straightforward way she has and then loudly (so loudly! I really cannot emphasize enough how loudly) yelled out over the other children, "I would put the mouse in a trap!  Then throw it in the garbage!)

The librarian chuckled, and the other parents looked at me in horror.  But what can I say?  Twice a year when the field in front of our house is plowed, we actually do have mice visiting our house, and when they do.....we kill them and throw the trap away.  Although the mice we get can be kind of cute (they look exactly like the Frisbys from The Rats of Nymh, tiny little things with a habit of hopping more than scurrying and standing on two paws instead of all fours) my girls are not at all sentimental about them.  All the books in the world might anthropomorphize mice, but when my kids see a mouse they see something that is a pain in the neck anywhere but outdoors, what with all the pooping and eating of chocolate chips that they do. 

Oh, well.  We luckily weren't going for the "most sheltered" award at the library anyway.  I do wish Lucy would learn to control her volume a little better, though.

*Am I the only one out there who thinks they are starting to milk the "If you give a..." cash cow to death?  I love the "Mouse...Cookie" book, I was on board with the Pig and her pancakes, we even own the one about the Moose and his Muffins...but it's all starting to feel a little done-to-death, isn't it?  I mean, there are only so many overly-pushy animals in the world.

Cranky musings of a pregnant whiner who does not appreciate nature the way she should

Every hour spent working in the yard confirms to me how much I hate working in the yard.

When we are done, sweaty and tired, itchy and achy, it might help if I felt a sense of accomplishment but I don't. What I feel is a sense of despair, that we will never have enough time, enough money, enough energy, enough willpower, enough know-how to ever transform this potentially beautiful yard from the white trash dumping ground of the dead and dying (except for the prickly weeds, which are flourishing nicely) that it currently is.

Chris and I recently saw a t.v. show where drug smugglers offered to landscape the yard of an elderly lady for free, so that they could secretly grow marijuana in the corner. They did good work, and her yard looked great (aside from the plot of weed - although, to be fair, that also was well-maintained and looked about as nice as a garden of illegal drugs can.) Is it wrong of me to be jealous of this scenario?

The slip and slide was defective....

...but they worked it out! Here's the before and after videos!

Zombie Groundhog

We had a wild time in the fake country tonight.

I am warning you now: the stuff below is not for the squeamish.

Chris and I were cooking dinner in the kitchen, and the girls were all playing outside with the neighbor kids. Suddenly, Beth came shrieking up the hill from the playset, and barreled into the kitchen yelling, "Groundhog! Groundhog!"

"Where?" Chris asked, looking out the window. Beth explained that they had been playing on the slide, when somebody noticed a large, furry animal sitting at the bottom.

"What did it do when you saw it?" Chris asked.
"Uh, not really anything," said Beth. "It just sort of sat there and looked at us, like this." With that, she did a pretty spot-on groundhog imitation, with her paws held up to her face.

So Chris got his shotgun (a.k.a. the child-sized critter-killin' machine from WalMart) and sped off down the hill where the kids were all gathered together, watching the groundhog who was indeed crouched beside the slide.

Chris could tell immediately that something was wrong with the animal, so he did what needed to be done. When it was over, we all crowded around the dead groundhog. One of the neighbor kids asked if Chris could turn it over, because she thought that it might have only one arm, so Chris turned it over and...

Oh, wow. Are you ready for this?
It was the most disgusting thing I have ever seen in my life. Half of the groundhog's belly was covered in maggots. Maggots. You can see them in the picture above. The groundhog was literally being eaten alive before Chris put an end to it.

So we buried the dead, and we were all relieved to have it out of sight.

Out of mind is another matter, though.

The fake country can be a pretty brutal place.

Good Boy!

For once in his life, Jasper was actually helpful!

I needed to aerate the ground a little bit near where I plan to plant some veggies tomorrow, so I grabbed a shovel while I was outside with Jasper. To my amazement, Jasper made my chore at least ten times easier. I would just point the shovel at the spot I wanted dug up, and Jasper was more than willing to oblige. I felt like Timmy with Lassie!

Anything more refined, such as weeding - or any activity, really, that doesn't require the whole area to just be tossed joyfully in the air, would be out of his range. However, if you need some land dug up, this dog's for hire!

First fire of Fall!

How's that for alliteration?

There are two seasons that always find the Mlinek family obsessed with fire. We love our cozy, warm, crackling fireplace in the winter, and we go crazy over our (admittedly, very primitive) fire pit in the fall.

The fire department behind our house was holding a bluegrass festival last Friday and the day was cool and crisp, so we hauled some logs down the hill and roasted ourselves some hot dogs (and apples, and marshmallows) for dinner. The music from the festival was fun, although the girls really enjoyed the s'mores more. We'll do this quite a few times before it gets too cold, but last weekend was just magical. It was the first fire of the season, and just so much fun.

Roasted marshmallows and sandboxes, however, mix just as badly as you'd think they would:

A first for me

It has taken me almost 9 years and five children for this to happen, and it was every bit as unenjoyable as I imagined.

I had to call poison control.

Yes, you guessed which child occasioned it.

The funny thing is that earlier in the day I was talking to my mom on the phone, and mentioned that we have been spending most of our time outdoors because Lucy gets into less mischief there. Not ten minutes later I was desperately trying to pry a bright red berry out of her mouth. I did not succeed, and she swallowed it with a shudder.

The good news is that the berry was only a little bit poisonous. Lucy will hopefully wake up from her nap fully revived. The bad news, of course, is that I have no safe place in which to seek refuge from her tyranny. Oh Lord, please give me the grace to guide this child (relatively) safely through her childhood; well, that or a padded cell.

Chesterton and lilacs

I can't help but mention the lilacs again. I'm not by nature an exuberant kind of person, but I have been unreasonably, deliriously joyful these days and it is all due to the lilacs. They are so beautiful, and smell so much like heaven that I feel I can barely even stand it. They make everything good, if you can understand. Or maybe it's that they help me to feel the goodness that is already in everything, but often overlooked. In any case, all the sweet things in life are lately much, much sweeter.

My cousin Margie stopped by overnight, on her way to Ohio to see her family. It was great to see her - for one thing, I haven't had the chance to really talk to her in over 10 years, and she has two adorable kids I needed to get to know! For another thing, she has been living in Germany and she brought Milka! For anyone who has ever had Milka, no more needs to be said.

So between the lilacs and the family and the Milka, it's been a great morning.

After Margie left, I sat down to feed Lucy and flip through Gilbert Magazine while I drank my coffee. The coffee was better than usual, Lucy was cuter than she has ever been, and the magazine, while always great, was a delight. The subscription was a gift from my mom, and when I read this quote I laughed out loud. I've been devoted to CS Lewis for as long as I can remember, but I never knew much about Chesterton (other than that he wrote the Fr. Dowling mysteries, and I'm not a huge fan of mysteries.) Well, I'm finding myself succumbing to the charm of this man the more I read of him. He like a prior version of CS Lewis, only with more beer and impishness (and maybe a smidge more common sense, although I'm not really the one who could judge that.) So, here's my new favorite quote. Mom, I am sorry, but you have nobody but yourself to blame!

Nothing has contributed more to the impiety and inhumanity of our time than the exaggerated cult of cleanliness. The Pharisees had it; in the beginning they worshipped washing; and in the end they set about the slaying of God. GK Chesterton

It's comforting to know that I am not in danger of becoming a Pharisee!

It's spring!

Today was gearing up to just be......one of those days. I actually got almost 8 hours of sleep last night, but I still woke up feeling like I was trying to move underwater. Lucy dumped a bowl of soggy cereal (and lots of milk) all over herself and onto the floor. Later on, after bathing a milk-soaked Lucy, I discovered a tick on Abbie while rinsing her hair. After removing the tick (matches didn't work, but slathering the icky thing with Aloe made it retreat, thank goodness), re-washing Abbie's hair, getting everyone dressed and starting lunch, Abbie had a potty emergency and ended up wetting herself.......and me, as I crouched beside her pulling down her pants.



Just one of those days. But today it hardly mattered at all, because of this:

The lilacs have bloomed! I've opened all the windows, and the perfume from the lilacs has filled the entire house making it impossible to be grouchy, even when I'm soaked in toddler urine.

I had also been planning to post something about how these trees have impacted my appreciation of the Creator:

I have so many posts back-logged, though, that I don't think I'll get around to it. But they erupted into gorgeous white blooms the second the weather turned warmer, and later on they will sprout green leaves (they are already turning) and by early summer they will just look like standard trees. I've never before realized that there were trees that would blossom........for no reason. There is no fruit or anything, it's just a burst of beauty for no reason at all.

Let the field be joyful, and all that is therein: then shall all the trees of the wood rejoice Before the LORD: for he cometh...

Mulch

Our plans for the weekend just arrived.

Next weekend is probably booked, too.

I can't wait until the slave labor we've been cultivating finally matures enough to help out with this kind of stuff!

Walkin' in a Winter Wonderland

It is snowing today! Chris got a good crackling fire going around noon, Claire and Abbie and Lucy spent over an hour staring out of the windows just watching the snow falling, and Beth's teacher reprimanded me for not putting her in boots. * Winter has officially arrived!

The girls came up with an awesome game outside: they made complex mazes out of their footprints in the snow, and we spent a good long time trying to find our way out of them. I thought my maze was pretty cool - it took me a good 20 minutes to make it, and it wound all the way around our yard, but the girls told me that it was too easy. I will get my revenge the next time it snows.

*(Come on! Who needs to go through the hassle of boots in order to walk two feet from the door to the car, and another 10 feet on - shovelled!!-cement from the car to the school door. Her feet don't get wet. She hardly even needs a coat, she spends so little time in the actual outdoors.)

Photo for Christmas card, take 1

Aaargh! I took close to 30 pictures yesterday, and this is the best I could come up with.
I don't think it is possible to get all of them to look at the camera, keep their eyes open, and smile without grimacing all at the same time. I need to up my photoshopping skills.

(By the way, Mom - the sweaters were a big hit!!!)

The life and times of Baby Zuttini

I thought we were making progress yesterday. Abbie came over to me and sensibly explained that the baby bunnies were hungry, and she thought it would be a good idea to set Baby Zuttini Bread outside so they could eat it. We didn't actually do it - our yard critters don't need encouragement to hang around looking for free meals, but I thought it was a good sign that Abbie's love affair with the zucchini was coming to an end.

But then an hour or two later the Make-A-Wish Foundation volunteers came over to ask Abbie what her wish is. The first thing she did - and I mean the very, very first thing - was to dash downstairs and grab Baby Zuttini Bread so that she could introduce it to them. They were, of course, very impressed with Abbie's beloved vegetable.

Her wish, by the way, was to go to Walt Disney World. Those of you who know me well may laugh at that, knowing my long, deep hatred of all things Disney - his fake "World" in particular- but.........the Make A Wish setup is pretty sweet, and I need to set my personal distaste aside because the girls will really enjoy it. We'll find out in a couple of weeks if her wish is granted (and it probably will be.) I'm just hoping, at this point, that come January we won't need to tote along a withered and mummified Baby Zuttini Bread.....

File under: my kids are weird

We are so surrounded by zucchini here that it is beginning to warp the girls. I had this coming, I guess, what with my childhood haunted by my lost beloved "Pet Pepsi Bottle." I should have expected at least one of my kids to develop a random affection for some inanimate object. But this? This I just didn't expect.

Here is Abbie with her new favorite toy. Her name is "Baby Zuttini Bread," and she now follows Abbie wherever she goes. It's been three days now since Baby Zuttini came into our lives, and I have to say that she's not exactly looking her best; we can overlook the many (many, many) scratches and nail marks now pocking her squeaky green skin, but her wilting top (head? hair? ) has me worried. Abbie is trying so hard, though, to take good care of Baby Zuttini. She feeds her, rocks her to sleep, admonished her when she asks for too many Pedia-Sures, and wraps her up in blankets to keep her warm. She also dances with her - Baby Zuttini really likes to dance.

If this lasts much longer, we are going to need to replace Baby Zuttini. I have enough replacements for sure, but let's hope it doesn't actually comes to that.

How much zucchini bread can one family possibly eat?

The bounty of the earth is stressing me out.

I totally know that it's bad to let the zucchini grow so big - the only thing it's good for at this size is bread. Lots and lots of bread. But I can't keep up with it! I swear, I'll go outside one day and see a few teeny tiny little zucchini-ettes, but the very next day they've grown so heavy that the girls can't help me carry them into the house. Aaaaurgh! Does anybody want one of my giant zucchinis? Anyone? Anyone?

I don't yet know the zucchini-bread-consuming limits for a family of 6 (or 5, really. Lucy isn't yet participating.) But I have a feeling that, by the end of the summer, that question will be solved.

"A hit, a very palpable hit!"

The quote is from Hamlet.

The post concerns a groundhog.

Warning! The bottom of this post contains a picture of a dead animal. A very dead animal.

You've probably guessed by now, if you've followed our groundhog saga, that.....he did it! Chris shot the groundhog! I have been planning two posts about how weird my kids are, but this is big news and needs to take precedence. Plus, it kind of fits into the "my kids are very strange" theme.

I have been worried about how the girls would react when Chris actually killed the groundhog, or rather, groundhogs since we discovered that our unwelcome visitor procreated sometime this spring. But I completely underestimated how bloodthirsty these girls are. They were absolutely thrilled by the whole thing, and not only were they not upset, they actually fought over holding the bag containing the dead groundhog. And they clearly thought very highly of Chris' gun-totin' skills. We are not raising a passel of shrinking violets here.

So the funeral was held yesterday evening for "Little Groundhog." It was a very casual affair with little fuss. The grave is marked by a treestump, located convieniently on the edge of our property. And there is plenty of room for more graves.

So here are the promised pictures! I am aware that Abbie is really trashing-up the joint, what with the no clothes thing and the sagging diaper. I actually don't even know where her clothes went, she had been wearing a very pretty little sundress, and as for the diaper - well, we were distracted by all the bloodshed going on.

Notice, though, the size of this groundhog. Yes - it is the small groundhog. The big, clearly diseased one is still at large. But not for long. There is a new sheriff in town, and he's totin' a brand-new childsize rifle from WalMart, so watch out!

We've been busy growing things

Sorry about the long silence here. I'll be putting up several new posts in the next few days.

When good groundhogs go bad

We loved our groundhog. Last year, I really enjoyed watching the little guy waddling around in the mornings, nibbling on the flowers. It gave our yard a cozy, country-ish feeling, and I really felt like the groundhog and I had a real connection, especially in our shared desire to never, never, ever actually encounter each other face to face. If I so much as tapped the window, the groundhog would dart back into his hole. We never heard so much as a rustle when we were outside. Those were nice days.

Last weekend, we noticed that the groundhog had grown bold after his winter hibernation. He mosied around the yard undisturbed while we tapped on the windows at him, and when we went outside he kept his little head poked out of his burrow entrance, watching us. This seemed strange, but we weren't really alarmed. That is, until things got creepy.

In the late afternoon last Saturday, after everybody who had come over for Katie's Communion had gone home, the groundhog decided to pay us a visit. I was upstairs, and heard Chris yell urgently for me to come down to the basement. What I saw there forever shattered my little love affair with the groundhog. He was standing in front of our basement door with his nose pressed against the glass, looking in at us. His eyes were beady and evil. Worst of all, he was covered, covered in fleas who swarmed around him as though he were the decapitated pig's head from Lord of the Flies. Chris pounded on the glass, but our sinister visitor only backed up slightly, keeping those light less eyes fixed on us. It was seriously one of the freakiest things I've ever seen. I just know that this image is going to figure in my nightmares for some time to come.

Once again, our "fake country" feels a little too real for comfort. In a move that really pushes us towards hillbilly-hood, Chris ran out to Wal-Mart to buy himself a critter-shootin' machine. He spent most of yesterday afternoon sitting in the kitchen with his shotgun, waiting for the groundhog to make his appearance. Of course, now that the groundhog has asserted his dominance of the yard he probably won't feel the need to wander in full view for a while. But when he does, Chris will be waiting.

Last summer I considered naming this creature. What a novice I was back then! This summer, I'm plotting out an animal graveyard.

The Mole's Hollow - not just a euphemism!

Remember the post where I mentioned my fear of whatever was rustling in the dead weeds? Well, guess what? When I named this blog, little did I realize just how appropriate it would be.

As far as I can tell, we have at least one mole living with a vole or two right beside the house. We have one very large, very distinctively mole-ish hole, surrounded by a ton of little holes, with a few vole-specific runways thrown in. I guess it's Wind in the Willows out there, where all the animals are living in harmony. Excepting of course the large mammals living in this house, all of whom are pretty hostile to anything that qualifies as a rodent.

So, what to do? Part of me thinks that the idea of moles hanging around the garden is kind of cute. But then the other part of me saw a picture of a mole, and was terrified by how freaky it looked. Then there's the other part of me, the one who still says "pop," and "nebby," and who thinks that black and gold is a beautiful combination - this part of me can't help but thinking, "I need a safe place - somewhere with lots of concrete, where I can feel at home."

I thought we moved to the fake country. What are all of these real animals doing here?