Good people doing good things

If I looked better in a feed cap and boots I'd be a farmer. In the meantime, I'm content to track chicken shit into the aerobics studio at my gym on the soles of my shoes and leave the hard stuff to these good people.

GH_Peek in Progress from The Greenhorns on Vimeo.

If you want to help get this film finished, go HERE and give them some moolah.

In my next life I will be a music teacher

Again, I'm late to the party here (8 million You Tube view, Tori Amos), but I just can't resist these kids. First, they are totally singing music of my generation, secondly they are just so unbelievably awesome (check out those heartfelt hand motions). I weep over and over again when I watch them. Here's the skinny on them and their cool teacher.

Dude!

May you stick all your landings this weekend!

xoxo Samantha

It's possible I've found Michael Jackson's replacement

This weekend (between chicken killing and book club) I introduced the kids to family movie night.

Our first selection? Chitty Chitty Bang Bang  (well, half of it.).  Ollie and Maggie were rapt, basically completely silent and unblinking the entire time.  Except for Dick Van Dyke’s vaguely Tyrolean song and dance number, “Me Ole Bamboo,” during which Oliver, still without removing his eyes from the screen, said, “I want to do that.  I want to be like them.” It sounded like some sort of prophesy, such was his intensity.

Between the dance classes and the voice coach, it looks like I’m in for a long haul as a stage mother. And sewing all those spangles on his leotards is going to be a real bitch.

 

But you have to admit, it’s pretty irresistible.

I want another wedding

Ok, I know I'm probably super slow on the uptake here considering 12 million people have already watched this on You Tube, and my mom sent it to me, and my 60-year-old Unitarian Universalist lesbian cousin sent it to my mom, but, I love it anyway.  It makes me incredibly weepy-happy.

The Mister and I walked down the aisle to Johnny Cash singing Memories are Made of This and it was pretty great.  But now I wished we'd boogied.

Our Lady of Dora the Explorer

This morning Maggie got dressed all by herself, the whole shebang, even the socks and shoes.  Oliver ran into the bathroom where I was getting out of the shower to tell me about it. “Maggie got dressed all by herself,” he said. “Isn’t that impressive?”

Um, that’s a three syllable word, people. I don’t mean to brag, but that’s impressive. Maybe it’s all those New Yorker articles we read to them before bed.

Or maybe it has something to do with the lack of TV.  They saw nary a screen flicker until they were almost three and now they watch only DVDs (including the never-ending Thomas the Tank Engine--Oh My GOD but that’s boring) and only now and then. As far as I know, they’ve never seen a commercial.

Before you think I’m some insufferable, holier-than-thou ass wipe, I just want to say that although I was mostly on board with the no-TV rule, The Mister and I had some real blow-ups over his Stalinesque adherence to our self-imposed hardship (the path to the people’s liberation is through interminable hours of PlayDough kitchen!). I mean, can’t a mother get a break once in a while?  What’s the harm in putting on 30 minutes of Dora while you grab a little shut-eye, or mix an old-fashioned?

Actually, I can answer that: the harm is in how easy it is.  I had heard about the whole TV-as-babysitter model, but until I tried it I had no idea.  I had NO idea. It’s like a miracle. The closest I’ve come to real silence in the last three years is when I put on a copy of Sesame Street’s Learning Letters. I sometimes watch as my little angles sit rapt and motionless in front of the TV and wonder why I made it so hard on myself for so long.  This whole time I could have been showering, or brushing my teeth, or even returning emails!

I can’t get that time back.  But maybe there is some consolation to be found in the fact that my kids love books and have great vocabularies and know how to catch chickens. 

Or maybe your kids grew up on a steady diet of The Bachelorette and I Didn’t Know I was Pregnant and could recite pi to its 23rd digit by age two.  Feel free to put me in my place if so.

Why it's fun to be a twin

Built-in bathtub toys...

May your weekend be this much fun. See you Monday, all squeaky clean.

xoxo Samantha

P.S. have you seen this yet? The Mister does a mean Khrushchev. That's him, banging his shoe. Weird family, I know. But at least we don't have to wear ties to work.

A chicken coop to call our own

Last Saturday we (well, the Mister and our friend Mark) had themselves a good old fashioned barn raising. By which I mean they drank beer and almost finished a sweet little 3'x4' chicken coop.  

Here's the thing: despite what he thinks, The Mister is not all that handy.  And here's the other thing: despite what I think, I am not all that laid back.  I want to be what my friends and I call a "simple mellow"  You know the type: no makeup, enjoys mountain biking, owns lots of fleece, doesn't screech at her husband during parties, would be totally happy with any old coop.  Alas. Not me.

So, I was a little worried about the whole DIY coop thing.  I was a little worried about buying all this mismatched, salvaged wood at Building Resources and just letting the Mister go all commando on the coop design.  Because, well, I know myself well enough to know that I couldn't love an ugly coop.  Furthermore, an ugly coop might just ruin the whole chicken husbandry experiment for me altogether.

So you can imagine my relief when I saw this beaut.

The Mister's face is peeking though our egg collecting door 

Don't you just love its modern lines and clean design? I am so in love with our little coop I don't know what to do with myself. Now it just needs a roof and some paint. It's going to have a pink window.  Set at a jaunty angle.  A PINK window, people! Could life get any better than that?

A thing I like

This video of Maggie trying to catch a chicken.  Is it just me or is this effing hilarious? Oh, and please note the pink window in the background.

Happy mom's day, yo!

Happy Mother's Day!

I know this video doesn't apply to any of us, but it sure is funny.  (Thanks, Miranda)

Chicks Gone Wild

The Mister thinks I'm such a tough farmer chick because I can pick up chickens and scoop up handfuls of bugs without flinching. Get me near a spider and it's a whole 'nother, much squealier picture.  But I must admit, I like this image of myself as no-nonsense and unfussy (it helps balance out the fugue state shopping trips to Nordstrom Rack and the way in which I am helplessly drawn to Us Weekly).  

Here I am, being totally hardcore with the circle of life.

Happy Birthday My Darlings

Dear Magnolia & Oliver,

Today you are three. No longer babies but real, honest-to-God kids. I remember so clearly gazing at your amazing faces when you were these tiny, larval newborns and saying "You're so wonderful.  You're so wonderful."  And you would look back at me and try to focus. And if your eyes managed to rest on mine, I would think you were geniuses. But, believe me, your baby selves can't hold a candle to what you have become.  

You are both so loving and funny and smart and affectionate and curious and brave.   You know the word "celebrating."  You can say "That's a huge spider" in Spanish. When I am having a hard time, you rub my back instinctively.  You dance on your tippy toes and like Motown and eat uncooked spaghetti. There is not a bug you are unwilling to pick up. 

I am just in awe. In my eyes, the air around you veritably sparkles. Happy birthday.  I love you so much. 

xoxox Mom

 

Cluck cluck here—a chick video

They are growing.  I swear.  We've had our chicks for five days and they are BIGGER.  They still poop in their own food and fall asleep like they've been cold-cocked, but they are starting to seem distinctly chicken-like.  There's a beadiness about the eyes and these funny little chicken mannerisms like pecking and scratching and stretching one foot out behind them. Are they cute?  Oh yes they are.

Which, of course means we have to get going on building a coop.  Before we know it, the eight weeks will be up and our little birdies will be pullets and ready for the great outdoors.  I can't wait to start tossing them bugs. 

A thing I like

Mustache napkin rings.  Need I say more?

Help us name our chickens and win a prize

Oh yes we did.  Four little five-day-old black fuzzballs. And now our whole household is just plum chicken crazy.

 As you can see, we're having a little trouble naming them (I feel that the Mister, smart as he is, is particularly handicapped). So far we have one Barred Rock named Tilly, who is proving to be something of a bully, and a Cuckoo Maran named Lucille, after Ms. Ball. 

But otherwise, we're at a loss.  I'm liking Kung Pow and Cashew, for the two remaining chicks, but I'm not sure. 

Send me some suggestions.  If we chose your names, I'll send you an advanced copy of Novella Carpenter's not-yet-released book, Farm City.  Ms. Carpenter is sort of the inspiration behind our new urban farmyard, though, so consider yourself warned. 

A thing I like

My coworker Elizabeth Jardina's blog about the chickens at Sunset. She's a fact checker extraordinaire and my go-to gal for all sorts of chicken-related information.  Also, she warned me against this and I didn't listen. 

We're not exactly the Jacksons

And just like that, my dreams of having a family band are shattered.

What do you think?  Can I at least hope for high school marching band?

A thing I like

I'm reading a book called Farm City: The Education of an Urban Farmer by Novella Carpenter. It's not officially out until mid-June but you can read her blog here.  She has a full-on farm going in a vacant lot in the ghetto of Oakland, CA.  She's majorly hardcore, but sort of my hardy and hale DYI model.  I mean, I just want a couple laying hens and some cucumbers and she kills her own bunnies for meat.  Still, very interesting stuff.  Sort of Mad Max meets Wendell Berry.  

My first video blog-yay!

Um, here I am showing off my kids and my video making abilities.  The backstory of the complicated narrative is that the kids' great grandmother (Pete's grandma) gave them a weird and creepliy life-like plaster kitty. Ollie has been cat-crazy since way before he could talk.

Look here.