You know how you're a parent and your kids are little and you experience those moments that are like, "I will never forget this as long as I live?" And then, ten years later or whatever, you can't remember most of it, even all that stuff you swore would be with you forever?
I am experiencing that right now. Well, it's actually been for the past decade or so. I have things in my shoe boxes and memory folders that I have no idea why I kept, even though at the time I am sure I thought I'd always remember. I have been sifting through my memories, trying to find the ones that stand out, but unfortunately all I'm coming up with are the bad ones . . . the times I lost my temper, the times I screwed up, the times I let the birthday kid down, etc.
I've been trying to come up with some positive memories for one kid in particular, and I'm failing in a particularly bad way. Could it be that I was really such a bad parent that I can't find anything good to look back upon? This is the best that I can come up with...
After ten or twelve years (and five or six kids) in the same house with the same walls, we finally decided to upgrade the bedrooms, move the kids around to new rooms, and repaint. This one kid and I had come up with a really cool plan - walls the lightest tan possible, with a multi-colored stripe that zigged and zagged around the room. We picked this light, creamy tan color that reminded me of a cafe au lait, moved all the stuff out, primed the walls, and began to paint.
Everything went well, at first. Then the paint began to dry. It dried much darker than we ever expected. It was like buying a make up compact and putting it on, only to realize that it makes you look like you have the worst fake tan imaginable. We had such a cool paint scheme in mind, and now this dark tan was going to ruin our plan.
We decided to go and buy a lighter shade of paint, without telling (or asking) The Man In Charge, and repaint the room in secret so he would never know. Back at the paint store we picked a much better color - I think it was called Malt - but we knew it was going to be perfect.
As soon as we had the time (probably after HE was in bed) we cracked that new can open and began to repaint. Uh-oh. Something wasn't right. The new shade of paint was going over the wrong shade, all right, but the two colors were exactly the same. It was so close that we couldn't even tell where the new wet paint ended and the old dry paint began!
By then, the two of us were somewhere between shock and panic, and didn't know whether to laugh or cry. What to do now? We decided to finish putting the new paint over the old, reassuring each other that it wasn't going to be that bad, getting more and more hilarious by the moment. We finished in the wee hours and left the room and shut the door behind us, for better or worse.
In the sunshine of the next day, we were relieved to find that the paint indeed had dried lighter, and the new room was exactly the light creamy shade we had hoped for. When it was completely dry, we used masking tape to create stripes of various widths, and made the coolest stripes in shades of blue, brown and pink. It was (and probably still is) the nicest room in that house.
I love that memory.
I miss those days.
THE STEFO CREW: Organized Chaos, Minus the Organization
Friday, August 13, 2010
Sunday, August 8, 2010
2011 Garden Plan
Andy, look these over and let me know your thoughts. They were too large to email.
Andy, look these over and let me know your thoughts. They were too large to email.
Andy, look these over and let me know your thoughts. They were too large to email.
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Chickens Are So Selfish
Every evening, an hour or so before dusk, we go out back and let the chickens out of their pen, so they can get some exercise and fresh food. We also really enjoy watching their antics.
We wait until near dusk because we live in town and although we want them to have some free-range time, we can't let them out too long without supervision or they might get into the street or bother the neighbors. And quite frankly, an hour of idle chicken-sitting out back is about all I can stand. Stuff to do, you know, stuff to do.
That really is quite the backyard flock, isn't it? The original wild chicken, our six older hens, plus the nine hens I mail-ordered (and the thirteen roosters that came free with them), and nine older hens in my next-door neighbor's old pigeon coop. We feed and water the older hens (as well as collect their eggs).
When the light starts fading, they begin making their way back into the pen. The white chickens are always the first to bed.
Chickens like to get as high off the ground as possible. We used to have a roost about two feet off the ground, but then I got the bright idea to put one up by the ceiling, with a ladder to get up there.
At first, only the white ones went up there. But now it's becoming quite the hot spot.
The problem is that the chickens are all so selfish. They only think about themselves. As soon as they get up the ramp, they settle into a comfy spot and won't budge. Since there's only one ladder, this can pose a problem.
Traffic jam.
P.S. Some of the chickens in the pictures are no longer with us, thanks to a neighborhood dog. We lost one of the three white, one of the three orange, two of the five black, and two roosters. The white chickens are my husband's favorites.
We wait until near dusk because we live in town and although we want them to have some free-range time, we can't let them out too long without supervision or they might get into the street or bother the neighbors. And quite frankly, an hour of idle chicken-sitting out back is about all I can stand. Stuff to do, you know, stuff to do.
That really is quite the backyard flock, isn't it? The original wild chicken, our six older hens, plus the nine hens I mail-ordered (and the thirteen roosters that came free with them), and nine older hens in my next-door neighbor's old pigeon coop. We feed and water the older hens (as well as collect their eggs).When the light starts fading, they begin making their way back into the pen. The white chickens are always the first to bed.
Chickens like to get as high off the ground as possible. We used to have a roost about two feet off the ground, but then I got the bright idea to put one up by the ceiling, with a ladder to get up there.At first, only the white ones went up there. But now it's becoming quite the hot spot.
The problem is that the chickens are all so selfish. They only think about themselves. As soon as they get up the ramp, they settle into a comfy spot and won't budge. Since there's only one ladder, this can pose a problem.
Shove over, willya?
Traffic jam.Then there are those who are never satisfied, even with the high roost.
P.S. Some of the chickens in the pictures are no longer with us, thanks to a neighborhood dog. We lost one of the three white, one of the three orange, two of the five black, and two roosters. The white chickens are my husband's favorites.
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Murder on a Tuesday Morning
I don't have any pictures to accompany this post. You'll thank me.
Yesterday, we lost six chickens to a neighborhood dog. It was a fairly large but skinny husky that got out of his yard. He found the chicken coop and seemed to regard it as some sort of chicken vending machine. We really don't know how he got at the chickens, since there were only two small corners where the wire was not completely attached. The chickens never bothered getting out before - how on earth could a big dog get his head (or whole body) in? I guess I grossly underestimated the power of a determined predator.
However he did it, Sarah saw him kill a chicken around 10:00 a.m. and came to get me. By the time I got myself up there, two more chickens lay dead in front of the coop.
At first inspection, it appeared that we were missing ten chickens from the coop. Six of these were found, dead, lying in various places in the surrounding field. They weren't mutilated, just dead. The rest were still unaccounted for until later that afternoon, when we found them pecking around outside of the pen. The dog must have pulled them out alive, and they were able to escape into the woods.
Brian was good enough to dig a hole and go around, collecting the casualties with a shovel, while I closely inspected the chicken coop, tightly securing anything that looked small enough to get even a paw through. Then I sat out back in a car, staking out the place, waiting for the criminal to come back for his next fix.
In the meantime, Sarah went on Facebook and lo and behold, there was a picture of the murderer, posted by his distraught owner. Apparently he always came back right away whenever he got out before. Of course, that was before he discovered the chicken dispenser.
Sarah called the owner, who came up to our area. I never got to meet her, but she found him without much trouble. She told Sarah that he's a very friendly dog who wouldn't hurt anybody. She didn't offer to make restitution for the dead chickens.
All in all, it was a very eventful start to a very stressful day, and it didn't get any better after that. It was one of those days when you're just glad it's over.
Yesterday, we lost six chickens to a neighborhood dog. It was a fairly large but skinny husky that got out of his yard. He found the chicken coop and seemed to regard it as some sort of chicken vending machine. We really don't know how he got at the chickens, since there were only two small corners where the wire was not completely attached. The chickens never bothered getting out before - how on earth could a big dog get his head (or whole body) in? I guess I grossly underestimated the power of a determined predator.
However he did it, Sarah saw him kill a chicken around 10:00 a.m. and came to get me. By the time I got myself up there, two more chickens lay dead in front of the coop.
At first inspection, it appeared that we were missing ten chickens from the coop. Six of these were found, dead, lying in various places in the surrounding field. They weren't mutilated, just dead. The rest were still unaccounted for until later that afternoon, when we found them pecking around outside of the pen. The dog must have pulled them out alive, and they were able to escape into the woods.
Brian was good enough to dig a hole and go around, collecting the casualties with a shovel, while I closely inspected the chicken coop, tightly securing anything that looked small enough to get even a paw through. Then I sat out back in a car, staking out the place, waiting for the criminal to come back for his next fix.
In the meantime, Sarah went on Facebook and lo and behold, there was a picture of the murderer, posted by his distraught owner. Apparently he always came back right away whenever he got out before. Of course, that was before he discovered the chicken dispenser.
Sarah called the owner, who came up to our area. I never got to meet her, but she found him without much trouble. She told Sarah that he's a very friendly dog who wouldn't hurt anybody. She didn't offer to make restitution for the dead chickens.
All in all, it was a very eventful start to a very stressful day, and it didn't get any better after that. It was one of those days when you're just glad it's over.
Monday, July 26, 2010
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